Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Oliver sat cross-legged on his bed, his phone resting in his hand as the screen glared up at him. His announcement post had gone live a couple of hours ago, a polished picture of him standing proudly in his new Haas team gear, complete with a caption thanking the team and expressing his excitement for the challenges ahead. The PR team had handled the wording, crafting it into a statement of humility and ambition, but it was his name at the bottom of the post. That made it personal. That made it real. Yet, staring at it now, the weight of it still felt foreign, like it belonged to someone else.

He hesitated for a moment before reopening the app, his thumb hovering over the notification icon. The post had already garnered thousands of likes, the numbers ticking upward faster than he could process. Comments were flooding in—well-wishers, fans, people he barely recognized from his past. The sheer volume was overwhelming, and he found himself wondering how anyone in Formula 1 handled this kind of attention daily. He scrolled tentatively at first, his heart racing with every swipe.

There were messages from fans who had followed him since karting days, recounting how they’d always believed he’d make it. Sponsors chimed in, eager to share their public support, and even some fellow drivers had left encouraging words. It should have been uplifting—should have felt like validation—but instead, it left him unsettled. The words on the screen were kind, but they felt distant, almost impersonal.

As he kept scrolling, his stomach tightened at the sight of a few less-than-positive comments buried among the praise. 

He thought more of the people in the academy would have texted. Kimi, his former teammate, was no where to be seen, at least not that Ollie could see, but Ollie had half-expected him to text. Maybe a quick congrats or even one of his typical dry quips. But his phone had been silent.

@FREAKS4BEARMAN

"Welcome to the big leagues, Oliver Bearman!" 

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@F1ADDICT

"Finally, someone with real potential stepping up."

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@LEWISHAMILFAN

"Haas needed this. Bearman could be the breath of fresh air they’ve been looking for."

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The praise warmed him, his chest swelling with a heady mix of pride and disbelief. These were strangers, people who had followed his career from afar, and yet their words brimmed with enthusiasm and support. They didn’t know him personally—just the driver, the competitor—but somehow, that made it even more surreal. Their belief in him felt like a wave of validation for all the years of sacrifice, the hours spent honing his craft, and the times he’d doubted himself. For a fleeting moment, he let himself bask in it, a small smile tugging at his lips as he scrolled through messages of congratulations and encouragement.

But the warmth didn’t last. As he continued scrolling, the tide of positivity ebbed, replaced by a colder current of skepticism. Comments dissecting his performance in Formula 2 cropped up, some questioning whether he was truly ready for Formula 1. “Haas is just playing it safe,” one read. “He’s not on the same level as the others.” Another claimed, “16th place holder.” The sting of the words was sharp, even if he had prepared himself for criticism. He knew it came with the territory, but seeing it laid out so plainly still managed to chip away at his confidence.

@LECL4RC

"He's too young. Another rookie who’s going to flop."

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Doubts and critiques crept in—words questioning his readiness, his age, and whether he truly deserved the seat. They weren’t unexpected, but they still stung, sharp and cutting. His chest, which had swelled with pride only moments before, tightened under the weight of the negativity.  

The high didn’t last. He told himself it was part of the territory, that every driver faced their share of criticism, but the words burrowed deep, stirring old insecurities he thought he’d left behind. The doubt whispered in his ear, quiet but insistent: *What if they’re right?* He tossed his phone onto the bed, suddenly unable to look at it any longer, the glow of the screen replaced by the heaviness settling in his chest. 

@BRINGBACKLOGAN

"Bearman’s decent, but does he really deserve the seat over someone like Franco?"

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His stomach clenched. He told himself not to take it personally, that every driver faced criticism, but the words still stung. 

He set the phone down beside him, leaning back against the wall with a heavy sigh. The announcement was supposed to be a moment of celebration, and yet he couldn’t shake the knot of anxiety in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was the pressure of living up to expectations, the sting of criticism, or the nagging feeling that he’d hoped to hear from certain people—people who mattered more than any comment or like. And as much as he tried to focus on the positives, he couldn’t help but wonder if the weight of his name on that post would ever truly feel like his own.  His head dropped into his hands. For every cheer, there was a jeer. For every fan ready to support him, there was another eager to see him fail.

Oliver Bearman was going to be a part of the Formula 1 grid. The thought alone felt foreign, it couldn't be real. He was beyond needing to be pinched awake, he needed a slap to the face to bring him back to reality.

For as long as he could remember, this had been his ultimate goal, the dream he had chased relentlessly. Now, standing on the brink of it, the reality felt almost too good to be true.  

He had worked tirelessly to reach this point. Long hours on the track, countless sacrifices, and moments of doubt had all culminated in this opportunity. 

It wasn’t just a personal victory; it was proof that all those years of effort had been worth it. This was everything he had ever wanted, the conclusion of years of sacrifice and dedication. The beginning of his legacy.

Yet, that exhilaration was swiftly eclipsed by a wave of sheer panic. The enormity of the moment loomed over him, heavy and oppressive, striking like a thunderclap. The realization that this wasn’t just another step in his career but the defining milestone shook him to his core.  

This wasn’t just about driving; it was about performing under immense pressure. The weight of expectation settled uncomfortably on his shoulders, a creeping dread beginning to take hold. Would he be able to live up to the hype? Would he prove himself worthy of the seat? The questions swirled in his mind, growing louder with every passing second.  

The thrill of accomplishment intertwined with a deep-seated fear, forming a volatile mix that churned violently in his stomach. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, amplifying every emotion. He wanted to revel in the joy of making it, but the shadow of uncertainty loomed too large to ignore.  

Instead of pure euphoria, he found himself teetering on the edge of paranoia. His dream was no longer an abstract goal but a reality with very real stakes. And while that reality should have been electrifying, it left him feeling as if he might be sick at any moment.  

                          ----------------

Oliver's phone buzzed on the nightstand for the hundredth time that evening, the constant stream of notifications demanding his attention. Messages poured in—some heartfelt, others little more than generic platitudes. Teammates from Formula 2. Old friends he hadn’t spoken to in years. Sponsors, fans, even distant relatives. Everyone seemed to have something to say.

He let out a breath and tossed the phone onto the bed, letting it vibrate itself into silence. His apartment was eerily quiet despite the chaos happening on his screen. For a moment, he wondered if he was being ungrateful. After all, wasn’t this what he’d wanted? To make it to Formula 1? To have his name finally mean something in the racing world?

But the weight of it all was settling in now, heavier than he’d anticipated. It wasn’t just the congratulations or the newfound attention. It was the unspoken expectations, the whispers of doubt that followed him even as he signed his contract with Haas.

Oliver sighed, running a hand through his hair as he reached for his phone again. His finger hovered over the contacts list. He scrolled past names that barely registered anymore, some of them relics of a time when life was simpler, racing was fun, and the stakes didn’t feel like a noose tightening around his neck.

His finger hovered over his contacts list. He scrolled past the names, many of which he barely recognized anymore, until he found the one person who could always make things feel right: Dino Beganovic. More than a friend, he was a constant—a reminder of where Ollie had come from, of the kid who’d just wanted to go fast and prove himself to the world. Dino always knew how to cut through the noise, how to make him laugh when the pressure felt unbearable.

Ollie tapped the name and brought the phone to his ear. It rang twice before Dino’s unmistakable voice boomed through the speaker.

“Look who it is!” Dino’s voice burst through the phone, his tone already teasing, and Ollie could picture the wide grin his friend was undoubtedly wearing. “My Formula 1 superstar. Should I be asking for an autograph now before you get too big to remember me?” Dino never missed an opportunity to poke fun, but underneath the playful words was always that unmistakable pride in his voice.

Ollie couldn’t help but laugh, leaning back into the comfortable bed as he let the tension in his shoulders ease for the first time all day. Talking to Dino was like flipping a switch back to normalcy. “Oh, shut up,” he said, his voice light and easy. “I’ve only signed the contract. It’s not like I’ve won a championship yet.” He shook his head, the reality of his new title—Formula 1 driver—still feeling surreal.

“Yet!” Dino exclaimed, dragging the word out with so much enthusiasm that Ollie had to pull the phone slightly away from his ear. “I love that. I love confidence. Haas, huh? Big step. Massive step.” Dino’s energy was contagious, his words tumbling out so fast it was clear he’d been dying to say them ever since he’d heard the news.

Ollie adjusted his position, propping one leg over the other as he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “They must’ve liked it when I filled in for Magnussen,” he admitted, his voice softening as he thought back to that nerve-wracking weekend. “I guess I proved I wasn’t a complete disaster.” He said it lightly, but the self-doubt that had lingered ever since wasn’t something he could entirely shake.

“A disaster? Are you joking?” Dino’s energy spiked even higher, his words tumbling out as if he couldn’t contain them. “You were brilliant. Seriously, you’re going to be racing against Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, and even Lewis Hamilton. This is colossal, mate. Like—actual history-making.”

“Alright, alright,” Ollie said, his grin widening despite himself. “Don’t hype me up too much, or I’ll never get any sleep tonight.” He laughed softly, knowing Dino had a knack for making everything feel larger than life, even when Ollie tried to stay grounded.

“No sleep, just hustle,” Dino shot back with mock seriousness, his words laced with playful exaggeration. Ollie couldn’t help but chuckle at his antics, his friend’s optimism contagious in the best way. 

“Yeah, no thanks. I need my eight hours,” Ollie replied, his tone playful but firm. “Speaking of, what are you doing tomorrow? Feel like hanging out? I could use a bit of normal after all this.” The words came out before he could second-guess them, but he knew Dino would understand what he meant. Normalcy wasn’t something Ollie expected much of anymore, but Dino always had a way of grounding him.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, brief but long enough for Ollie to wonder if Dino was about to crack some ridiculous joke.

“Normal?” Dino finally said, laughter already creeping into his voice. “Mate, you’re an F1 driver now. Normal doesn’t exist for you anymore. But sure, I’m free. We’re celebrating.”

“We’re not throwing a party,” Ollie said firmly, though he knew Dino too well to think that would actually stick. “I’m trying to be nonchalant about this.”

“Oh, sure you are,” Dino replied, clearly unconvinced. The snort Ollie got in response was enough to make him shake his head.

“We’re not throwing a party,” Ollie said quickly, a note of warning in his voice. He knew Dino too well to think that “celebrating” meant anything subtle. “I’m trying to be nonchalant about this.”

“Oh, sure you are,” Dino replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “So nonchalant that you just casually became one of the youngest F1 drivers ever. Nothing to see here, folks. Just a regular Tuesday.” The snort that followed was enough to make Ollie shake his head, even as a grin tugged at his lips.

“I mean it,” Ollie insisted, though the faint trace of laughter in his voice betrayed his amusement. “We keep it simple. Low-key. No banners, no speeches, and absolutely no champagne showers.”

“Doesn’t have to be a party,” Dino countered smoothly, the mischievous lilt in his voice immediately putting Ollie on edge. “Just you, me, some food, and maybe me screaming ‘F1 DRIVER!’ every ten minutes.”

“Please don’t,” Ollie groaned, dragging a hand down his face as if Dino could see his exasperation through the phone. “Have you seen some of the F1 fans? The last thing I need is someone filming us and turning it into a meme.”

“Fine, fine, no screaming,” Dino relented, though his mock disappointment was impossible to miss. There was a beat of silence before he added, far too casually, “But I’m bringing balloons.”

Ollie let out a deep sigh, already regretting his decision to call. And yet, despite himself, a small smile crept onto his face. “Fine,” he conceded, his voice carrying the weight of defeat. “But only if I get to inhale helium and make fun of you in a chipmunk voice.”

“Deal. I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Be ready.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ollie replied, shaking his head as he ended the call. The smile lingered on his face long after the conversation ended, a warmth spreading through his chest that hadn’t been there earlier. Dino had a way of making everything feel a little less daunting, even when Ollie’s entire world was shifting beneath his feet.

Ollie set the phone down, the faint smile lingering on his face. He exhaled slowly, letting the warmth of Dino’s infectious energy seep in. The thought of spending the day with his best friend felt like a reprieve, a chance to forget the pressure and just be Ollie for a while—even if Dino would insist on reminding him he was now “Haas Boy” every chance he got.

                                   —

The next morning, Ollie was jolted awake by the sound of his phone buzzing aggressively on the nightstand. Half-asleep, he grabbed it, squinting at the bright screen. A string of texts from Dino lit up the display.

Dino: F1 STARS DONT SLEEP IN

Dino: UNTAFÖR

Dino: UNTAFÖR

Dino: UNTAFÖR

Dino: and i have the balloons

Dragging himself out of bed, Ollie shuffled toward the mirror, his feet dragging against the floor as he tried to shake off the morning grogginess. His reflection greeted him with the kind of disheveled look that screamed, not ready for human interaction. The oversized hoodie he was wearing was a staple in his wardrobe—faded, slightly stretched at the cuffs, and worn just enough to feel like a second skin. It hung loosely over his frame, giving him the perfect excuse not to bother with anything more structured.

His joggers weren’t much better, their slightly baggy fit and wrinkled fabric suggesting they’d spent more time on the floor than folded neatly in a drawer. Practical and comfortable, they were all he needed for a casual outing, though they didn’t scream “future F1 star.” His hair, however, was the real spectacle. Sticking up in random directions, it looked like it had declared war on any attempts at control, and Ollie wasn’t in the mood to fight it. He ruffled it once, almost out of habit, but the mess remained defiantly intact.

He sighed, giving himself one last glance before deciding it was good enough. This wasn’t about impressing anyone—especially not Dino, who had seen him in far worse states. Grabbing his keys and wallet from the dresser, Ollie headed downstairs. Presentation could wait for another day, but for now, comfort and functionality were the name of the game. Besides, Dino would undoubtedly have something sarcastic to say about his appearance no matter what he wore.

Sure enough, Dino was leaning casually against his car, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, his signature smirk as wide and unapologetic as ever. Behind him, a colorful cluster of balloons bobbed in the breeze, tied haphazardly to the passenger-side mirror. The sight was so absurd that Ollie had to pause for a moment, torn between laughing and rolling his eyes. He should have expected something like this; Dino never did anything halfway, especially when it came to teasing him.  

“Are we celebrating me joining F1 or our honeymoon?” Ollie called out as he approached, his voice dripping with mock exasperation. Dino’s grin widened, his Cheshire Cat expression only growing more smug as he noticed Ollie’s eyeing the balloons. The colorful cluster swayed in the breeze, impossibly cheerful and completely unnecessary.

“Both, obviously,” Dino shot back without missing a beat, winking at Ollie. 

“You’re the star of the show now, mate, and I’m just here to make sure everyone knows it. F1 driver or not, someone’s gotta keep you grounded—or, in this case, floating.” He gestured proudly at the balloons, each adorned with phrases like “Congrats, Champ!” and “You Did It!” Ollie shook his head, biting back a laugh. Of course, Dino couldn’t just show up with a pat on the back; he had to make it a spectacle.

“Will my newlywed open the car for me, or are we just standing out here?” Ollie quipped, raising an eyebrow as he crossed his arms. His tone was light, but the sarcasm was unmistakable. Dino clutched his chest theatrically, as if wounded by the comment.

“Oh, come on, don’t act like you’re not charmed by my romantic side,” Dino shot back, stepping aside to open the passenger door with an exaggerated bow. “After all, this is the least I can do for my Formula 1 husband.”

“Lucky me,” Ollie muttered as he climbed into the car, shaking his head as Dino untied the balloons from the mirror and carefully stuffed them into the backseat. “This is ridiculous, even for you.”

“Ridiculous? It’s called support, mate,” Dino said, sliding into the driver’s seat with an unrepentant grin. “Besides, you’ll thank me when this whole thing trends on social media. #HaasBoyHoneymoon, calling it now.”

Ollie groaned, leaning his head back against the seat as Dino started the engine. “If that actually becomes a thing, I’m deleting every account I own.”

Ollie almost sat on something as he climbed into the car, feeling the hard edge press against his thigh. Grumbling, he grabbed the item and held it up to inspect it—a pair of oversized, dark sunglasses. They had various lines of color sprawled around. Ollie thought they horrible. He raised an eyebrow, turning them over in his hands. “Seriously?” he asked, unable to hide his amusement. “There’s no way in hell these belong to you, Dino. What, are you experimenting with a new look?”

Before Ollie could tease him further, Dino yanked the sunglasses out of his hands, his face suddenly tinged with red. “I had a girl in here,” he blurted out, shoving the sunglasses into the glove compartment and slamming it shut with a bit more force than necessary. The words came out rushed, like he’d rehearsed them. Ollie stared at him, the corner of his mouth twitching as he fought back a grin. It was rare to see Dino flustered—he always had something clever or confident to say—but this was different. He was defensive.

“Ew,” Ollie said, dragging out the word as he leaned back into the seat with mock horror. “Should I be worried about my seat? Did you disinfect this thing, or am I sitting in something I really don’t want to know about?” He gave the seat a deliberate once-over, wrinkling his nose for dramatic effect, and Dino groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“Oh, shut up,” Dino muttered, glaring at him out of the corner of his eye as he started the engine. “It’s not like that. They just—ugh, forget it.” His embarrassment only made Ollie’s grin widen, and Dino’s red face was proof he wasn’t going to live this one down anytime soon. Dino groaned, avoiding eye contact as he adjusted the air conditioning knobs with unnecessary focus.

“You’re making it weird. It wasn’t like that.” His tone was somewhere between embarrassed and irritated, but Ollie wasn’t about to let it go.

“Not like that?” Ollie echoed, feigning disbelief. “So what, you two just sat here and talked about world peace while sharing a milkshake?”

Ollie noticed the way Dino’s fingers fidgeted on the steering wheel. There was something in the way he avoided Ollie’s gaze, something that didn’t quite add up. 

Dino’s grip on the wheel tightened as he shot Ollie a side glance. “I’m not discussing this with you, Haas Boy. Focus on your F1 stardom and leave my personal life alone.”

“Sure, sure,” Ollie said, smirking as he looked out the window. “But for the record, the sunglasses are hideous. She either has bad taste or a questionable sense of humor.”

“Alright, if you say so. But if I find any glitter or questionable stains, you’re paying to have this thing deep-cleaned.” Dino let out a forced laugh, but the faint redness on his face lingered.

Dino groaned again, muttering something under his breath as he changed the subject. “Alright, enough about me. Let’s talk about you and how you’re gonna survive your first press conference. You ready for that circus?”

Ollie shrugged, his earlier humor fading slightly. “I’ve done press before, but I guess this is different. Bigger stage, more eyes. More people waiting to dissect every word I say.”

Dino nodded, his teasing demeanor softening. “You’ll be fine, mate. Just don’t let them get in your head. They’re not the ones behind the wheel—you are. Remember that.”

Ollie glanced at his friend, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Thanks, Dino.”

Dino smiled, “Oh yeah, I was wondering if I should invite Kimi. Since you two both made it on the grid.”

“Yeah, you should,” he said without hesitation. “He’d probably appreciate it. I think he’s been itching to celebrate, too. He’s been working just as hard for this.”

Dino cast him a sideways glance, one eyebrow raised. “Look at you, all sentimental. You two have come a long way from sniping at each other over lap times, haven’t you?”

Ollie chuckled, leaning back into the seat as the car cruised along the road. “Yeah, I guess we have. It’s weird, isn’t it? Back then, everything was about trying to beat him. Prove I was better. Now? I don’t know. We kind of just get it—what it takes to get here, what it means. He’s a good guy. Competitive as hell, but a good guy. I think we have a mutual respect.”

“That’s not what you said last year when everyone was talking about how he outplaced you,” Dino teased, glancing at him with a smirk.

“Okay, yeah, maybe I wanted to strangle him then,” Ollie admitted with a laugh. “But that’s racing, isn’t it? You push each other, and sometimes you get annoyed. Doesn’t mean you don’t respect the guy. Kimi’s solid. Plus I think the fan’s like to see us with each other.”

“Wow, I’m getting replaced,” Dino said with mock offense, clutching his chest dramatically. “What happened to me being your go-to guy?”

“You’re still my go-to idiot,” Ollie quipped, grinning. “Kimi’s just different. You wouldn’t understand—you don’t have to deal with press conferences, tire degradation, and people analyzing every corner you take.”

“True, but I do deal with you, which is basically the same thing,” Dino replied, earning a laugh from Ollie. “Alright, fine, I’ll invite him. Just don’t let this turn into a brooding drivers’ therapy session. I can only take so much seriousness.”

Ollie laughed, shaking his head. “The fans would be heartbroken to hear that. They miss Dr. Beganovic.”

“Dr. Beganovic retired ages ago,” Dino shot back, grinning. “But yeah, fine, I’ll send him a text later. Just don’t make me regret it.”

Dino nodded, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Done. I’ll text him later! let's go get us some coffee.”

Dino turned the volume knob up, “Now, Ollie,” he said with a wicked grin, “We’re celebrating. Karaoke time!”

“This is my stage, and you’re my backup singer. Don’t let me down, Haas Boy.”

“For the love of God, stop calling me that,” Ollie muttered, though he couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips.

“Fine,” Dino said, smirking, “but only if you sing the chorus with me.”

One Direction, and Dino was already fully committed before the first line even started. He placed a hand on Ollie’s knee with a mock-serious expression that was somehow both unsettling and hilarious. “You’re insecure,” Dino crooned dramatically, squeezing Ollie’s knee for emphasis. Then, without missing a beat, he switched to a theatrical flair, his voice escalating in volume. “Don’t know what for!”

Ollie swatted his hand away, rolling his eyes. “Mate, stop being weird!”

But Dino was undeterred. His face transformed into pure drama as he gestured wildly. “You’re turning heads when you walk through the do-o-or!” he sang, dragging out the words and pointing a finger gun at Ollie like he was auditioning for a boy band.

“Absolutely not,” Ollie said firmly, shaking his head. Yet the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth betrayed him.

“Come on!” Dino yelled over the music, his hands briefly leaving the steering wheel to grab Ollie’s shoulder and shake him. “You’ve got to join in. This is your time to shine!”

“I don’t even know the words,” Ollie protested, though his foot had already started tapping to the beat, it's a good song, alright?

“Lies!” Dino shot back, flipping his hand in mock offense. “Everyone knows this song. Stop being boring!”

Ollie sighed, the kind of exasperated sigh that only came with knowing you’d already lost the argument. As the chorus hit, Dino launched into it, his voice completely off-key but enthusiastic enough to make up for it.

“Baby, you light up my world like nobody else!” Dino bellowed, his head bobbing to the rhythm as he drummed on the steering wheel like it was a makeshift drum kit.

Ollie groaned but couldn’t resist any longer. “The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed,” he sang, his voice quiet at first, though it gained confidence with each word.

“See?!” Dino yelled between lines, pumping his fist in triumph while somehow still managing to drive. “I knew you had it in you!”

“Hands on the steering wheel, idiot!” Ollie barked, “You know how embarrassing it would be to die in a car accident the day after my dreams were made?”

By the time they hit the second chorus, both of them were fully committed. Dino was practically yelling the lyrics at the windshield, and Ollie leaned into the absurdity, belting out the words like it was a sold-out concert. Dino kept drumming on the wheel, his head swinging side to side with exaggerated flair.

As the bridge approached, Dino turned the volume down just a notch and shot Ollie a serious look. “Alright, mate, this is the emotional bit. Sing it like you mean it.”

Ollie rolled his eyes but played along, clutching his chest dramatically like he was serenading an invisible crowd. “You don’t know-oh-oh! You don’t know you’re beautiful!”

“Beautiful!” Dino echoed, throwing in an over-the-top falsetto that was so horrendous it made Ollie nearly choke on his laughter.

By the time the song ended, both of them were breathless, their faces red from a mix of singing and laughing too hard. Dino turned the volume down completely and leaned back in his seat, smirking triumphantly. “See? You had fun. Admit it.”

“Fun?” Ollie scoffed, wiping at his watery eyes. “That was an absolute train wreck. You should never sing again. Ever.”

“Good thing this isn’t public,” Dino quipped, gesturing around the car. “This is a judgment-free zone. Safe space for terrible singing and even worse dance moves.”

“Dance moves?” Ollie raised a skeptical eyebrow, already regretting the direction this was going.

“Oh, you wait until we park,” Dino said with a mischievous grin. “I’ve got moves that’ll blow your mind, Haas Boy.”

Dino pulled into the coffee shop parking lot and slammed the car into park with exaggerated flair. “Alright, rock star. Let’s get some coffee. My vocal cords are gonna need serious recovery after that legendary performance.”

Chapter Text

Dino leaned casually against the counter, his grin already in place. The barista, a young woman with a sharp bob and a name tag that read Emma, barely had time to greet him before he started.

“Alright, Emma,” Dino began, his tone light but conspiratorial, “I’m trusting you with my life here.”

Ollie stood a few steps behind him, arms crossed, observing the interaction with an expression that was equal parts amusement and secondhand embarrassment. He had no idea how Dino had the energy to turn every single encounter into a performance. For Ollie, ordering a drink was just… ordering a drink. But for Dino? It was an art form, apparently.

Emma raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed but slightly amused. “Okay, what’ll it be?”

Dino tapped his chin, pretending to ponder. “Hmm, let’s go with a large caramel latte. Extra caramel. Actually, let’s make it extra extra caramel—don’t be stingy now, Emma.”

Ollie rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was almost impressive how Dino could turn a simple order into something so elaborate. And yet, Ollie found himself silently pleading with Dino to hurry up. The line wasn’t long, but even a single extra minute of this was somehow too much.

“Extra extra caramel,” Emma repeated flatly, her fingers poised over the register. “Got it. Anything else?”

Dino nodded, leaning in slightly as if sharing a secret. “Yeah, throw in a shot of espresso. You know, to balance all the sugar. Gotta keep it healthy.”

“Healthy. Sure,” Emma replied, deadpan.

Ollie shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glancing at the clock on the wall. He didn’t even like tea shops like this. Too much noise, too much sugar floating in the air. He just wanted his Earl Grey so he could sit somewhere quiet and clear his head. But no, Dino had insisted. “It’s not just about the drink,” Dino had said. “It’s the vibe.” Ollie still didn’t get it.

“And don’t hold back on the foam, alright?” Dino continued, gesturing dramatically as though crafting an invisible masterpiece. “Foam is like... the cherry on top of coffee. I’m trusting you to make it perfect.”

Emma snorted, finally letting a smile slip through. “You’re really demanding for someone who’s just ordering coffee.”

“Demanding? Nah, Emma, I’m inspiring you to greatness. One caramel latte at a time.” Dino shot her a wink.

Ollie sighed quietly. Inspiring greatness? You’re holding up the entire line, he thought, though he knew better than to actually say it. This was Dino. The same Dino who could charm his way out of trouble with a steward or turn a dull press conference into something people actually wanted to watch. Ollie respected it. Mostly. But right now, he just wanted tea.

Emma rang up the order, shaking her head but laughing under her breath. “You better enjoy this latte. It’s going to have all the extra extra caramel you can handle.”

“You’re the best,” Dino said, placing his card on the counter with a flourish. “And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“Next time, you’re getting black coffee,” Emma muttered, but her smile gave her away.

As Dino stepped aside, triumphant, Ollie approached the counter, his movements deliberate and far quieter than Dino’s showmanship.

“Just an Earl Grey, please,” Ollie said, his voice polite but clipped. “Milk, no sugar.”

Emma glanced at him, clearly expecting something more, but when he said nothing else, she just nodded. “Coming right up.”

Emma acknowledged his order with a professional smile and set about preparing his tea. As she reached for a cup, she hesitated for a moment, glancing at Ollie.

With a subtle smile, she took a marker and, just below his name, wrote a small note: "Enjoy your tea!" It was a simple gesture, one she was probably using to be kind.

When the tea was ready, she handed the cup to Ollie, her eyes briefly meeting his. "Here you go. Have a great day."

Ollie accepted the cup, noting the handwritten message. A faint smile crossed his lips as he looked up at Emma. "Thank you," he said softly, appreciating the kindness.

As he walked away, he couldn't help but feel a slight uplift in his mood.

Dino's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned closer to Ollie, nudging him playfully. "Ooo, looks like someone's got an admirer," he teased, his voice dripping with amusement. The playful glint in Dino's eyes was unmistakable, and Ollie knew there was no escaping his friend's teasing.

Ollie felt a flush creep up his neck, the warmth contrasting with the coolness of the tea cup in his hands. "It's just a friendly note," he muttered, trying to downplay the situation.

"Friendly, huh?" Dino raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "I didn't get any special messages on my cup." His tone was light, but the underlying challenge was evident. Dino's knack for turning any situation into a playful interrogation was both endearing and exasperating.

"Maybe because you spent ten minutes flirting with her," Ollie shot back, a rare smirk tugging at his lips. He couldn't resist the opportunity to turn the tables, even if only slightly.

Dino feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. "Flirting? Me? I was merely being charming." His exaggerated expression elicited a chuckle from Ollie, easing the lingering tension. Dino's ability to diffuse awkward moments with humor was something Ollie had always appreciated.

"Charmingly annoying," Ollie quipped, taking a sip of his tea to hide his growing smile. The warmth of the beverage mirrored the warmth he felt from their camaraderie. In Dino's company, even the simplest interactions became memorable experiences.

"I just realized you're going to be in the next season of 'Drive to Survive,'" Dino announced, barely containing his amusement.

Ollie's expression shifted to one of mild horror. "Oh no, please tell me you're joking. I wasn't ready to acknowledge that."

Dino chuckled. "No joke, mate. You're about to become a Netflix star."

Ollie groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I can't stand that show. They always twist things around for drama."

"Come on, it's not that bad," Dino teased. "Think of all the new fans you'll gain. Maybe even a few admirers leaving notes on your coffee cups."

Ollie sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I mean, I don't plan on getting into anything complex. Just keep my head down and focus on racing."

Dino smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "I personally hope the Lando fans get set after you."

Ollie raised an eyebrow. "Lando fans? Why would they care about me?"

"Oh, you know how passionate they are," Dino replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Always looking for the next driver to obsess over."

Ollie couldn't help but chuckle. "Great, just what I need. A bunch of overzealous fans dissecting my every move."

"Hey, it's all part of the fame," Dino said, shrugging nonchalantly. "Embrace it."

"Easy for you to say," Ollie retorted. "You're not the one they're going to be scrutinizing."

Dino leaned forward, a serious expression replacing his earlier amusement. "In all honesty, Ollie, just be yourself. The fans who matter will appreciate you for who you are, not some dramatized version on a TV show."

Ollie nodded, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. It's just... unnerving, you know?"

"I get it," Dino said softly. "But remember, you've got people who support you, no matter what. Focus on that."

A small smile tugged at Ollie's lips. "Thanks, Dino. I appreciate it."

"Anytime, mate," Dino replied, raising his coffee cup in a mock toast. "To surviving 'Drive to Survive.'"

Ollie laughed, clinking his tea cup against Dino's coffee. "To surviving."

————

The next stop on their day out was the shopping center, a place bustling with energy and endless possibilities. It wasn’t a trip with any particular reason; they hadn’t set out with a list or any intent to buy much. Instead, it was more about wandering through the stores, soaking in the lively atmosphere, and seeing what caught their interest.

As they moved from store to store, their pace was unhurried. They lingered over quirky items on display, occasionally stopping to laugh at something odd or marvel at something unexpectedly cool. The day had a relaxed rhythm, a welcome break from their usually structured routines. It was the kind of day that didn’t need an agenda, just good company and a willingness to enjoy the moment. Dino, of course, kept the mood light with his constant stream of commentary, ensuring there was never a dull moment.

At one point, while they were strolling past a store with flashy sports gear, Dino casually remarked, “We should call Kimi before his trainer decides they need to train for the Olympics or whatever they spend all of their time doing.” His voice carried an unmistakable air of amusement, the kind that only comes from someone who knows exactly how to deliver a well-timed jab. Oliver chuckled, shaking his head as he pictured Kimi’s intense, almost obsessive commitment to training.

Though Dino’s comment was made in jest, there was an undeniable truth to it. Kimi was, without a doubt, unusually close to his trainer. Their relationship often bordered on bizarrely intense, almost as if they were preparing for something far greater than racing. It wasn’t just about following a strict regimen; it was as if Kimi’s trainer had taken on the role of life coach, confidant, and taskmaster all rolled into one. To everyone else, it was a little baffling, but to Kimi, it seemed perfectly natural.

This peculiar bond had become a frequent topic of conversation among their circle. They couldn’t help but poke fun at Kimi for the sheer dedication he poured into every aspect of his training. Whether it was morning sprints, grueling gym sessions, or late-night debriefs, Kimi was always all in, leaving little time for the kinds of lazy, aimless outings like the one Oliver and Dino were currently enjoying. That level of commitment was admirable, sure, but it was also hard to relate to for those who valued a bit of downtime.

Still, Kimi’s intensity was part of what made him stand out. It was impossible to argue with the results he achieved, even if his methods seemed over the top. Yet, Dino’s comment carried a sense of exasperated affection, as though he couldn’t quite believe how far Kimi would go to push himself. “I mean, who even spends that much time with their trainer?” Dino added, clearly enjoying the thought of Kimi’s unorthodox lifestyle.

Dino was the one who ended up making the call. He tapped the screen and held the phone to his ear, waiting through three rings before Kimi finally picked up. “Scusa, stavo guardando un film,” Kimi said, his voice casual yet slightly distracted. Dino and Ollie exchanged a quick look, both pausing as they mentally translated the Italian. Being part of Ferrari’s program meant they had picked up a fair amount of the language, but it took a second to switch gears.

“Quale?” Ollie chimed in, stepping closer so Kimi could hear him through the phone. He was genuinely curious. Even if he and Kimi have never agreed on a movie.

Kimi’s voice lightened at the question. “Casino Royale,” he replied, the faintest hint of enthusiasm breaking through his usual calm tone.

“Un film di James Bond!” he added with a touch of drama, as if the genre itself deserved fanfare. Ollie grinned, glancing at Dino, who—for once—was the one to roll his eyes in mock exasperation. It was rare to see Kimi animated over something unrelated to racing, and Ollie couldn’t help but enjoy the moment.

“Finally!” Oliver exclaimed. “Good taste. But, come on, Skyfall is better.” The jab was intentional, his tone deliberately smug. The silence that followed from Kimi’s end of the call spoke volumes, though it didn’t last long.

Kimi huffed audibly, the sound more telling than any argument. “No, mi dispiace, non ascolterò il tuo inglese,” he shot back, his Italian cutting and precise. Ollie didn’t need a translation to catch the sarcasm. Clearly, Kimi had strong opinions on the subject, and being challenged only made him dig his heels in deeper.

“You’re seriously going to dismiss Skyfall? Javier Bardem as Silva? That opening scene?” Ollie pressed, leaning into the debate now, his competitive streak bubbling to the surface. He wasn’t going to let Kimi win this one without a fight. Dino, listening to their back-and-forth, shook his head in amusement, muttering something about how even casual conversations between them turned into competitions.

“Casino Royale is so good,” Kimi countered, his voice steady but firm, like he was laying down a fact rather than an opinion. “It made Bond new. Action, story, depth—everything perfect. Skyfall is good, but no Casino Royale.” His tone carried the same determination he brought to the track, as if defending Daniel Craig’s debut as Bond was as important as setting a lap record.

“Anyways, aside from your incorrect opinions, you should come to the shopping market,” Ollie said, a playful grin spreading across his face. There was something oddly satisfying about teasing Kimi, especially when it brought out his stubborn streak. Dino snickered quietly beside him, clearly enjoying the exchange as much as Ollie was.

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, and Ollie could imagine Kimi considering his options. It was always hard to tell what Kimi was thinking, but Ollie knew him well enough to sense he was weighing the invitation. Finally, Kimi broke the silence with a simple, decisive reply. “Okay. *Sulla mia strada!*”

Ollie’s grin widened as he ended the call, turning to Dino. “He’s on his way,” he said triumphantly. Dino raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Wow, you actually got him to leave his training cave,” he joked. Ollie shrugged, still smiling. “Even Kimi can’t resist a shopping trip every now and then.”

—-----

It took an hour for Kimi to finally arrive, which was no surprise to Ollie and Dino. By then, Dino had grown restless and decided to entertain himself by exploring the more ridiculous sections of the shopping center. His next discovery was a loud, neon shirt that boldly declared, “Bad Day To Be British.” with a british flag under The combination was as obnoxious as it was hilarious, and Dino strutted around the store wearing it with exaggerated confidence, drawing stares from a few amused passersby.

When Ollie glanced up from his phone and noticed Dino’s new “look,” he raised a skeptical eyebrow. Dino, ever the showman, gave him a mischievous grin and proclaimed, “This is it—this is your birthday gift this year.”

Ollie groaned loudly, burying his face in his hands for dramatic effect. “You’ve outdone yourself,” he muttered dryly, though the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. Dino, encouraged by the reaction, struck a series of over-the-top poses as if he were on a runway.

“Imagine,” Dino continued, “you, the future of British motorsport, wearing this. The headlines would write themselves.” Ollie rolled his eyes but couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“Yeah, imagine me ever letting that happen,” he shot back, shaking his head. Dino, unfazed, gave a mock bow and carried on with his antics, much to Ollie’s exasperation.

By the time Kimi arrived, Dino was still parading around the store in his questionable fashion choices. Kimi walked in, his posture relaxed as always, but the moment his eyes landed on Dino, he froze. His expression flickered briefly between confusion, amusement, and resignation before settling into a smirk. “What is this?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at Dino’s ensemble.

“Art,” Dino replied confidently, pushing the oversized sunglasses further up his nose and spinning in place for effect. His grin was wide and unapologetic, and Kimi just shook his head, unimpressed but clearly entertained.

“Art?” Kimi repeated, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He glanced at Ollie for confirmation that this was a joke.

Ollie, who was barely holding back laughter, shrugged and said, “Dino’s world. We’re just living in it.” That earned him an amused snort from Kimi, who turned back to Dino with a raised eyebrow.

Kimi took a step closer, inspecting the shirt more closely. “Bad Day To Be British?” he read aloud, his accent making the phrase sound even funnier. “Is this supposed to be about Oliver?” Dino’s grin widened as he gave an enthusiastic nod.

“It’s his birthday present,” he explained proudly.

Kimi’s lips twitched as if he was trying not to laugh. “I don’t know what’s worse,” he said, “the fact that you think this is a gift or the fact that you spent money on it.” Dino gasped, feigning offense.

“I’m not wearing it,” Ollie interjected, finally breaking into a proper laugh.

Dino rolled his eyes dramatically. “Fine,” he said with mock disappointment

The trio wandered into a cozy little boutique nestled in a quieter corner of the shopping center. It was the kind of place with soft lighting, racks of neatly folded clothes, and displays that practically whispered “buy me.” Kimi was the first to show interest, his sharp eyes scanning the racks with an unusual level of focus.

He stopped in front of a section displaying sweaters in soft, pastel colors. One, in particular, caught his eye—a cream-colored sweater with tiny embroidered flowers along the cuffs. He reached out, running his fingers over the fabric, which was smooth and delicate under his touch. “This is nice,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He pulled it off the rack and held it up, studying it against himself in the nearby mirror.

The style leaned toward something daintier than the usual wardrobe of a racing driver, but Kimi didn’t seem to care. Besides, the fans loved a driver with good fashion sense, and it was labeled under men’s clothing. He tilted his head slightly, considering the sweater.

Ollie, leaning casually against the rack next to him, tilted his head slightly as he observed. A small smile curved his lips. “You’d look cute in that,” he said offhandedly, his tone teasing but sincere. Kimi’s eyes darted to Ollie in the mirror, his expression unreadable for a moment before a faint blush dusted his cheeks. He quickly focused on the sweater again, adjusting it slightly like he was inspecting the fit.

Dino, who had been half-heartedly poking through a rack of graphic tees, suddenly groaned. “I swear, I feel like such a third wheel right now,” he said dramatically, tossing a shirt back onto the rack and crossing his arms.

Kimi turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “What? Was Paul busy?” he asked, his tone light but with the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Dino muttered, clearly flustered as he turned back to the rack. Ollie glanced between the two of them, suspicion starting to form in the back of his mind, but Kimi was already heading to the cashier with the sweater, acting as if nothing had happened.

Ollie, who had only been half-listening, blinked and glanced between the two of them. “Wait—what?” he started to ask, his curiosity piqued, but Kimi had already turned away, sweater in hand, heading toward the cashier with an air of complete nonchalance.

Dino, sensing Ollie’s gaze lingering too long, quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, Ollie, when are you buying something? Or is your wallet as boring as your personality?” he quipped with a dramatic sigh. Ollie rolled his eyes, deciding it wasn’t worth biting back, though Dino’s deflection hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“I’m picky! I don’t want to buy something I’ll never wear,” Ollie countered, crossing his arms defensively. He liked his clothes—simple, practical, and versatile. He didn’t see the point in wasting money on things that would sit unworn in his closet.

Dino made a face. “You’re such a dad about shopping,” he teased, holding up a bright pink bucket hat just to see Ollie grimace.

“How about I pick you out things?” Kimi interjected, his voice calm and almost indifferent, but his eyes were sharp as he scanned the racks. Ollie admired the way Kimi took his time, meticulously examining each item, even the ones he would never be caught dead wearing. There was something methodical, almost thoughtful, about the way Kimi approached shopping, as if every piece of clothing was a potential story waiting to be told.

“Sure,” Ollie said, shrugging. He gave in so quickly that he barely registered Dino’s mock betrayal until a sharp smack landed on the back of his neck.

“You never let me buy your stuff!” Dino exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exaggerated indignation. “I’ve offered, like, a million times, and you always say no!”

Ollie rubbed the back of his neck, glaring at Dino. “That’s because your idea of ‘style’ is a shirt that says *Bad Day To Be British,*” he shot back dryly. “I don’t trust you.”

Dino clutched his chest as if mortally wounded. “Unbelievable. And yet you trust him?” He gestured dramatically toward Kimi, who was now holding up a sleek black jacket with subtle detailing along the sleeves.

“Obviously,” Ollie replied, glancing at the jacket Kimi had chosen. It was simple but striking, the kind of thing he’d actually wear. Kimi held it up toward him, tilting his head slightly as if picturing how it would look.

“Try it on,” Kimi said, his tone more of a command than a suggestion. Ollie hesitated for a moment but ultimately took the jacket, slipping it on. Dino groaned in the background, muttering something about how he was clearly the “third wheel” in this whole situation.

“It looks good,” Kimi said simply, stepping back to assess. There was no teasing or sarcasm in his voice, just an honest, straightforward opinion. Ollie caught Kimi’s gaze in the mirror, and for a brief second, the world outside the boutique seemed to fade into the background.

Dino, however, was determined to break the moment. “Oh, fantastic, now I’m invisible,” he said, throwing his hands up. “Just let me know when you two are done playing dress-up so we can go grab food or something.”

Kimi didn’t look away from the mirror but smirked faintly. “What? Was Paul busy?” he asked, his tone light but laced with just enough smugness to make Dino sputter.

“Ha ha, hilarious,” Dino muttered, turning back to the rack of shirts with a huff. Ollie, meanwhile, narrowed his eyes slightly, something about the comment niggling at the edge of his mind, though he couldn’t quite put it together.

“Does it matter?” Kimi said suddenly, snapping Ollie out of his thoughts. “The jacket. Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Ollie replied before he could even think, the certainty in his voice surprising even himself. Dino groaned again in the background, and Ollie ignored him, glancing back at Kimi with a small, awkward smile. “You’ve got good taste.”

“Always,” Kimi replied with a shrug, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. And just like that, he turned toward the next rack, leaving Ollie standing there, trying to figure out how Kimi made even shopping feel like an adventure.

The sweatshirt Kimi held up was soft and understated, made from a cozy, light beige fabric. The centerpiece of the design was a small, embroidered brown bear sitting upright, its expression calm and endearing. The stitching was fine, giving the bear a slightly cartoonish but tasteful look. The overall design was minimalistic, with no flashy text or patterns to distract from the simplicity of the bear. The cuffs and hem were ribbed, and the fabric looked thick enough to be warm without being overly bulky.

Kimi turned it over in his hands, inspecting the craftsmanship before walking over to Oliver. Holding it up against Ollie’s chest, he squinted thoughtfully, his head tilting to the side. “Your size?” he asked, his tone carrying a hint of playful skepticism as if he were daring Ollie to agree.

Oliver raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the sweatshirt Kimi held up. “Looks a bit big,” he said, though there was no real protest in his tone. He reached out to feel the fabric, his fingers brushing against Kimi’s for a brief moment. “But it’s nice.”

Kimi nodded, holding it out at arm’s length again to examine it. “Oversized is better,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Good for the fans. Makes you look approachable.”

“Try it,” Kimi said, thrusting the sweatshirt into Oliver’s hands. It wasn’t a suggestion so much as an instruction. He turned on his heel, pointing toward the fitting rooms at the back of the store. “Let’s see if it works.”

With a sigh of resignation, Ollie made his way to the fitting room, muttering something under his breath about being bossed around. Dino leaned closer to Kimi, lowering his voice just enough to be conspiratorial. “You really think he’ll wear that?”

Kimi smirked, crossing his arms. “He’ll wear it if I tell him it looks good.”

A few moments later, Ollie emerged from the fitting room, the sweatshirt draped over him.. Given how tall he was despite it being the right length it hung down showing a peak of his collarbone.The soft beige color paired well with his complexion, and the little brown bear added a touch of charm to his usually sharp appearance.

“Well?” Ollie asked, spreading his arms as if to say, *Happy now?*

Kimi nodded once, his expression cool but approving. “Cute,” he said simply, his tone betraying no teasing, just quiet honesty.

Dino groaned loudly, throwing his head back. “That’s it. I’m leaving. I can’t handle the energy in this store anymore,” he declared dramatically, though he made no move to actually leave. “Someone has to remind you two this is a shopping trip, not a date!”

Oliver’s ears turned red as he shot Dino a glare. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though he didn’t take off the sweatshirt. Instead, he turned back to the mirror, sneaking another glance at himself.

Kimi, unfazed by Dino’s theatrics, leaned against the nearest rack and watched with a faint smirk. “We’ll take it,” he called out to the cashier without hesitation, leaving Ollie flustered and Dino cackling.

“Do you think the girls will like it?” Ollie asked, his tone casual, but the slight furrow in his brow gave him away. He handed his card to the cashier, watching as the sweatshirt was folded neatly and bagged.

Dino immediately seized the opportunity. “I wouldn’t think you have to *try* to get girls interested in you,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “They’re already throwing themselves at you. The bear sweatshirt is just overkill.”

Ollie shot him a flat look. “I’m being serious.”

“And I’m being supportive,” Dino replied with mock sincerity, clapping him on the back. “Wear it during a press event. Maybe pair it with those bear-shaped slippers you got from a fan.”

Before Ollie could retort, Kimi let out a dramatic sigh, crossing his arms. “Now I’m the third wheel,” he muttered, feigning exasperation.

Dino turned to him with an amused smirk. “Oh, come on, Kimi. Don’t act like you’re left out. Besides, invite Paul to keep you company?”

Kimi raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching as though suppressing a smirk. “Jealous?” he asked, his voice cool but with a teasing edge.

Dino blinked, his smugness faltering for a split second. “What? No!” he said a little too quickly. “I’m just saying, you don’t need to play third wheel—you’ve got options.”

Ollie’s gaze flicked between them, sensing there was more to the exchange than he was picking up. “Paul, like Paul Aron?” he asked, confused.

Kimi shrugged nonchalantly, taking the bag from the cashier. “They’re friends.” he said, his tone casual but his smirk unmistakable.

Dino coughed, suddenly very interested in a nearby display of socks. “Don’t listen to him,” he mumbled, clearly flustered.

Ollie narrowed his eyes slightly, suspicion flickering in his mind, but Kimi handed him the bag and effortlessly changed the subject. “You’ll need something to match it,” he said, already scanning the racks for another item.

“You’re not dressing me like a mannequin,” Ollie protested, but he followed Kimi anyway, leaving Dino behind to recover from the teasing.

“Man, you two are impossible,” Dino muttered under his breath, trailing after them with a mix of amusement and reluctant affection.

Kimi led the way deeper into the boutique, his sharp eyes scanning the racks with a practiced air. Ollie trailed behind, passing the bags to dink. Dino lingered a few paces back, muttering something about being the bag holder.

“You don’t need to find me anything else,” Ollie protested as Kimi paused in front of a display of jackets.

“You said I could pick,” Kimi replied simply, not even glancing back at him. He plucked a dark green bomber jacket off the rack and held it up for inspection. “This one works. Neutral, not too flashy, but it stands out just enough.”

Dino groaned, leaning against a nearby rack. “You’re giving him fashion lessons now? What’s next, etiquette training?”

Kimi ignored him, stepping closer to Ollie and holding the jacket up against his frame. “Try it.”

Ollie huffed but took the jacket, slipping it on. It fit perfectly, the green complimenting his fair complexion and sharp features. Kimi tilted his head, considering, before nodding in approval. “Better,” he said simply.

“Why don’t you find something?” Kimi said, turning to Dino with a raised eyebrow. “Or are you too busy complaining?”

Dino smirked, straightening up. “Fine, but don’t expect me to model anything for you two lovebirds.” He wandered off to another section, leaving Ollie and Kimi by the jackets.

Kimi took the jacket tag from Ollie’s hand and handed it to a passing sales assistant. “We’ll take this too,” he said, smoothly avoiding the question.

Ollie opened his mouth to press further, but Dino returned, holding up a truly horrendous bucket hat with a grin. “Alright, your turn to suffer. What do you think of this?”

Kimi sighed, shaking his head. “I think you have no taste.”

“And yet, here I am, spending my day with you two,” Dino shot back with a grin, tossing the hat onto the counter.

Chapter Text

As they approached the food court, Dino immediately started listing off options, his tone as dramatic as ever. “Okay, so we’ve got burgers, sushi, pizza, or—wait—look, there’s that pasta place with the giant portions! We should definitely go there.”

Ollie wrinkled his nose. “No way. I’m not eating something that’s going to make me feel like I need a nap afterward. Sushi sounds better—light and quick.”

“Sushi? Seriously?” Dino groaned, throwing his hands in the air. “That’s not real food! I need carbs. Something hearty.”

“Not everything has to be drowned in olive oil and cheese, you know.”

Dino gasped as if Ollie had insulted his entire family lineage. “Excuse me? First of all, olive oil and cheese are gifts to humanity. Second, your bland taste buds wouldn’t know real food if it hit you in the face.”

Ollie rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Oh, come on. Sushi’s refined. Sophisticated. Not everything has to be drowning in grease and sauce.”

“Refined?” Dino echoed, mock-laughing. “It’s raw fish on rice. Congratulations, you’re eating bait.”

Eventually, Dino noticed Kimi’s silence and turned to him. “Okay, Mr. Switzerland, what do you want?”

Kimi shrugged without looking up. “Don’t care.”

Ollie raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got to care about something. You can’t just starve.”

“Not hungry,” Kimi replied flatly, his tone neutral, as if the topic didn’t concern him in the slightest.

Dino groaned, throwing his hands up. “Great. So, it’s up to the two of us to decide while His Majesty just floats along, not caring if we live or die.”

Kimi smirked faintly but didn’t respond. He stopped by a nearby bench and sat down, his attention wandering to his phone while Dino and Ollie continued their heated debate over carbs versus sushi.

Dino narrowed his eyes. “Only if it’s good pizza. None of that chain nonsense.”

“Deal,” Ollie replied with a smirk.

Kimi looked up briefly from his phone, raising an eyebrow. “Settled?”

“Finally,” Dino grumbled, as Ollie nudged him toward the nearest pizza place.

As they approached the pizza place, Ollie glanced back at Kimi, who was still trailing behind them with a disinterested expression. Dino had already darted ahead to inspect the menu, muttering something about “authentic toppings,” leaving Ollie a moment alone with Kimi.

“You’re really not eating?” Ollie asked, his tone quieter than before, almost cautious.

Kimi shrugged, his hands still tucked into his jacket pockets. “I told you. Not hungry.”

Ollie frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re always saying that. You can’t just live off air, you know.”

Kimi sighed, his gaze shifting to the menu board above the counter. For a moment, he didn’t respond, as if debating whether to brush Ollie off again. Finally, he said, “My trainer has… restrictions.”

“Restrictions?” Ollie repeated, tilting his head. “Like, what? No pizza? No fun? My trainer is an angel.”

Kimi smirked faintly but didn’t meet Ollie’s eyes. “Something like that. Too much sodium, too many carbs, too much… everything. It’s easier not to bother.”

Ollie’s frown deepened. “That’s ridiculous. You’re a driver, not a monk. One slice of pizza isn’t going to ruin your career.”

Kimi’s gaze flicked to Ollie, his expression unreadable. “You don’t get it,” he said quietly. “It’s not just about one slice. It’s about what it means. Discipline, focus, control. If I slip here, where else do I slip?”

Ollie blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the seriousness in Kimi’s tone. “I mean, yeah, discipline’s important, but… you’re human too. You’re allowed to enjoy things sometimes.”

Kimi didn’t respond, his lips pressing into a thin line as he glanced away. Dino returned at that moment, holding up a laminated menu with a triumphant grin. “Alright, I found the perfect pizza. Trust me, you’ll love it.”

Ollie hesitated, his eyes lingering on Kimi for a moment longer before nodding and turning back to Dino. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

Kimi stayed silent, following the two of them to the counter. As they ordered, he hung back slightly, his posture relaxed but his mind clearly elsewhere.

The scent of freshly baked dough and melted cheese filled the air as Ollie and Dino stood by the counter, waiting for their order. The aroma was almost irresistible, wrapping around them like a warm embrace. The restaurant had a welcoming charm, with wooden tables polished to a soft sheen and arranged neatly across the room. The lighting was soft and inviting, casting a golden glow over the cozy space.

Colorful pizza-themed decorations adorned the walls, from framed vintage posters to playful illustrations of oversized pizza slices. The quirky details added a lively touch to the atmosphere, making it feel like the kind of place you’d want to linger in. Ollie glanced around, taking in the laughter and easy chatter from other diners, the occasional clinking of plates and glasses punctuating the air.

Dino, on the other hand, couldn’t sit still. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the counter, craning his neck to peer into the open kitchen. A chef was spinning dough high into the air with practiced ease, much to Dino’s fascination. “This better be worth the hype,” Dino muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes as if critiquing the chef’s technique.

Ollie rolled his eyes. “You’re the one who insisted this place was ‘authentic.’ Relax.”

When the pizza finally arrived, Dino practically dove for the tray, his eyes lighting up at the sight. The pizza was a perfect golden brown, topped with fresh mozzarella, basil, and glistening tomato sauce. “This,” Dino declared, holding it up as if it were a trophy, “is art.”

Ollie grabbed a plate and took a slice, the cheese stretching as he pulled it away. He glanced over at Kimi, who had taken a seat at a nearby table and was scrolling through his phone, looking completely uninterested. “You sure you don’t want a piece?” Ollie asked, holding out the plate.

Kimi didn’t even glance up. “Sì.”

Dino slid into the seat across from Kimi, already munching on his slice. “Suit yourself,” he said, his voice muffled by a mouthful of pizza. “More for us.”

Ollie sat beside Dino, taking a bite of his own slice. It was delicious, the perfect balance of crispy crust and gooey cheese. Still, he couldn’t help but glance at Kimi, who remained focused on his phone.

“You’re missing out,” Ollie said after swallowing, his tone lighter, teasing.

Kimi smirked faintly but didn’t look up. “I’ll survive.”

Dino gestured dramatically with his half-eaten slice. “You’re impossible, you know that? Who comes to a pizza place and doesn’t eat pizza?”

Kimi finally set his phone down, arching an eyebrow at Dino. “Someone with better self-control than you, apparently.”

Dino gasped, clutching his chest as if he’d been mortally wounded. “Ollie, did you hear that? He’s insulting me in my own element.”

Ollie chuckled, shaking his head. “I think he’s just jealous he can’t enjoy this like we can.”

Kimi rolled his eyes but didn’t reply, leaning back in his chair. Despite his silence, there was a flicker of amusement in his gaze as he watched them.

Ollie leaned across the table toward Kimi, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. His cheeks were slightly flushed, whether from laughing at Dino’s antics or the heat of the pizza oven, Kimi couldn’t tell. "Do I have anything on my face?" Ollie asked, his tone perfectly casual despite the glint of mischief in his eyes.

Kimi raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly as he gave Ollie a quick once-over. His sharp eyes immediately landed on the absurd smear of marinara sauce streaked across Ollie’s cheek and the corner of his chin. It looked like he had been in a losing battle with his slice of pizza. Kimi’s nose scrunched up slightly, a mixture of amusement and disgust flashing across his face. “Yeah,” he said flatly, pointing toward Ollie’s face.

Ollie’s grin widened as he leaned closer, clearly reveling in the moment. “Oh no, really? Can you show me where?” he asked, his voice dripping with fake innocence. His tone was so overly earnest that it immediately set off warning bells in Kimi’s head, but Kimi, ever the composed one, just sighed and nodded.

“Fine,” Kimi muttered, leaning forward slightly. He opened his mouth to speak, ready to point out the sauce streaks more specifically, but before a single word could leave his lips—

Ollie struck.

In one swift motion, he grabbed a breadstick from the basket on the table and shoved it straight into Kimi’s open mouth. The look of shock on Kimi’s face was priceless—his wide eyes and the slight twitch of his brow told Ollie he hadn’t seen it coming.

Dino, who had been chewing his own slice of pizza, nearly choked from laughter as he witnessed the scene unfold. “Oh my God!” he managed to wheeze, slapping the table for emphasis.

Kimi, still holding the breadstick in his mouth like some unwilling participant in a ridiculous prank, slowly pulled it out with an exasperated glare. “Are you five?” he deadpanned, his tone dripping with disdain, though the faintest twitch of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Ollie leaned back in his chair, laughing so hard he had to wipe a tear from his eye. “I couldn’t help it!” he gasped between laughs. “You walked right into it!”

Kimi shook his head, brushing nonexistent crumbs off his lap with exaggerated patience. “You’re both idiots,” he muttered, though the slight redness in his ears betrayed his amusement. He carefully placed the breadstick back on the table, ignoring Dino’s loud protest of “You’re wasting it!”

“Guess you have to eat it than.”

As Ollie continued to laugh, Kimi crossed his arms, fixing him with a mock-serious look. “You know,” he said, his voice calm but with a hint of menace, “revenge is a dish best served cold. Or maybe… with marinara.”

Dino burst out laughing again, and Ollie immediately stopped mid-laugh, his grin faltering. “Wait, Kimi. Let’s not escalate this—”

But Kimi just smirked, leaning back in his chair as if already plotting. Ollie’s grin returned, though this time it was more nervous than triumphant. “I’m serious, mate. Truce?” he asked, holding up his hands in surrender.

“Maybe,” Kimi replied cryptically, his faint smirk making it clear he wasn’t letting Ollie off the hook just yet.

Dino leaned back in his chair, shaking his head as he polished off his slice of pizza. “I should start charging admission for this.”

Kimi finally reached for a napkin, wiping his hands clean as he glanced back at Ollie, who was still watching him warily. “non prendermi in giro, orso” he said coolly, his tone sharp but light.

Ollie grinned, unrepentant. “I don’t regret it.”

Kimi sighed but didn’t argue, the corners of his mouth twitching in what might have been the beginnings of a smile.

“Sorridi, Kimi! Carino, Kimi!” Dino teased, his voice loud enough to turn a few heads in the restaurant. He leaned across the table, grabbing Kimi’s cheeks and squishing them together, forcing his mouth into an exaggerated, cartoonish smile.

Kimi immediately swatted Dino’s hands away, his expression darkening into a sharp glare, though the faintest twitch of amusement played at the corners of his lips. “Oh ho, so funny, I’ll make sure your next meal is through a straw,” he said flatly, but Dino only cackled, clearly unbothered by the threat.

Ollie, still recovering from his earlier breadstick stunt, chuckled as he leaned back in his chair, watching the two of them bicker. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Dino,” he said, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “One day, Kimi’s actually going to follow through.”

Dino shrugged, biting into another slice of pizza with a grin. “Worth it,” he said through a mouthful of cheese and crust. “Kimi’s got the best reactions.”

Kimi rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair with an air of exhaustion, though the faint blush on his cheeks didn’t go unnoticed by Ollie. “I hate you.”

Dino gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “I’m wounded! Ollie, back me up—tell Kimi I’m an asset to this group.”

Ollie snorted. “An asset? Sure, if we’re talking about comedic relief.”

The trio dissolved into laughter, the tension replaced by the warmth of shared jokes and easy camaraderie. As the chatter in the restaurant continued to buzz around them, they finished their meal, their teasing and banter lingering like the perfect end to an unpredictable yet fun day. For a moment, everything felt simple, like the rest of the world didn’t matter.

“Next time,” Ollie said, standing up and grabbing his jacket, “I’m picking the place, and Kimi’s eating whether he likes it or not.”

Kimi smirked as he stood, hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Eh you can try.”

Dino threw an arm around both their shoulders as they walked toward the exit. “You two bicker like a married couple. It’s honestly adorable.”

Ollie groaned, Kimi sighed, and Dino grinned like he had just won something. Together, they stepped into the crisp evening air, their laughter echoing as they disappeared into the crowd.

As they left the restaurant, the crisp evening air greeted them, cutting through the lingering warmth of the pizza-filled space behind them. Dino stretched his arms out dramatically, sighing as if the meal had given him new life. “Perfect ending to a perfect meal,” he declared, his voice carrying a satisfied lilt.

Ollie rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his smirk. “You say that every time we eat pizza.”

“Because it’s always true,” Dino shot back, slinging an arm around Ollie’s shoulder and pulling him close. “Tell me you don’t feel like a better man after that.”

“Better? No. Slightly bloated? Yes,” Ollie replied, shrugging Dino’s arm off as he adjusted his jacket. He glanced over at Kimi, who was trailing a step behind them, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. His pace was leisurely, his expression unreadable, but there was a faint, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth—like he was enjoying himself despite the effort he made to seem indifferent.

“You know,” Dino continued, turning his attention to Kimi, “if you’d just had one slice, you’d be glowing right now, Kimi. Pizza has magical powers. It’s science.”

Kimi raised an eyebrow, his face betraying nothing but mild amusement. “Science?” he repeated, the word laced with skepticism. “Pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“It is! Ollie, back me up.”

Ollie shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets as they walked. “I don’t know, mate. Kimi looks pretty healthy for someone who allegedly survives on air and self-control.”

Dino turned to Kimi, narrowing his eyes in mock suspicion. “So what’s the secret, then? A special Kimi Antonelli diet? Lettuce leaves and vibes?”

Kimi’s lips twitched, but he didn’t reply, his eyes fixed on the pavement ahead. Dino wasn’t about to let it go. “Come on, share your wisdom. You can’t leave us peasants in the dark.”

“Fine,” Kimi finally said, his tone dry as he glanced at Dino. “Discipline. Something you wouldn’t understand.”

Dino let out an exaggerated gasp, clutching his chest as if he’d been mortally wounded. “Ollie, did you hear that? He thinks I’m undisciplined. After all the effort I put into choosing the best pizza toppings, this is the thanks I get?”

“Yeah, real sacrifice there,” Ollie said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He gave Dino a light shove, causing him to stumble a step forward.

Kimi’s smirk deepened, and he glanced briefly at Ollie before returning his gaze to the street. He said nothing, but his expression spoke volumes—quiet amusement mixed with a hint of exasperation.

As they turned a corner, Dino’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out absentmindedly, still chuckling at Ollie’s jab, but the moment he saw the name on the screen, his entire demeanor shifted. His laughter cut off abruptly, replaced by a faint flush creeping up his neck and spreading to his cheeks.

“Uh… one second,” Dino muttered, turning slightly away from the group as he answered the call. “Hello?”

Ollie noticed the sudden change and frowned, his curiosity piqued. Dino’s voice dropped into a hushed tone as he spoke into the phone, his free hand fidgeting with the hem of his jacket. “Oh, uh, yeah. Do you need me there? Now?”

Kimi, who had been observing Dino quietly, didn’t say a word but shot him a sharp, knowing look. His expression was calm, almost indifferent, but the slight arch of his brow and the faint curve of his lips suggested he knew exactly what—or who—had Dino so flustered.

Ollie glanced between them, his confusion growing. He wasn’t sure what had just passed between Dino and Kimi, but there was definitely something he wasn’t catching onto. “What’s going on?” he asked, his gaze flicking to Dino.

Dino ended the call abruptly, shoving his phone back into his pocket as if it might betray him further. “Uh, nothing. Just… something came up,” he said, his voice higher than usual. He avoided eye contact, tugging at the collar of his shirt as though it had suddenly grown too tight.

Kimi raised an eyebrow but remained silent, his expression steady. Ollie, on the other hand, wasn’t convinced. “Something? What kind of something?”

“Nothing big!” Dino insisted, holding up his hands defensively. “Just—look, I’ve gotta go. Like, right now.”

“Seriously?” Ollie pressed, his tone skeptical. “You were fine two minutes ago, and now you’re running off?”

Dino gave a nervous laugh, taking a step backward. “Yeah, well, things change. You know how it is. I’ll catch you guys later, okay?” He turned to leave but stopped when he caught Kimi’s steady gaze. The faint flush on his cheeks deepened, and he stammered, “What? Don’t look at me like that.”

Kimi didn’t reply, but the knowing look in his eyes didn’t waver. Dino groaned, running a hand through his hair before spinning on his heel and walking away at a brisk pace.

Ollie watched him go, still thoroughly confused. He turned to Kimi, hoping for some clarity. “What was that about?”

Kimi shrugged, his hands sliding back into his pockets. “Don’t know.”

Ollie narrowed his eyes, studying Kimi’s face for any hint of deception. “You’re lying.”

Kimi’s expression remained neutral. “Think what you want.”

Ollie let out a frustrated sigh, throwing his hands up. “Am I the only one here who doesn’t know what’s going on?”

Kimi didn’t respond, his gaze drifting to the spot where Dino had disappeared into the crowd. Whatever he was thinking, he wasn’t about to share it. Ollie shook his head, muttering under his breath as he started walking again. Kimi followed silently, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The air between them was quieter now, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. As they walked, Ollie couldn’t help but glance over at Kimi, who seemed as calm and collected as ever. He didn’t push for answers this time, knowing that whatever Kimi knew, he wasn’t about to spill it easily.

For now, Ollie decided to let it go. But the mystery lingered in the back of his mind, a puzzle he couldn’t quite piece together. As the two of them continued down the bustling street, the faint sound of laughter and distant chatter filled the air, mingling with the soft glow of the city lights.

Chapter Text

“Want to go to the park?” Ollie offered as they adjusted to the lack of Dino.

Kimi arched an eyebrow, his expression caught somewhere between mild incredulity and faint amusement. His hands were buried in the pockets of his coat, and he tilted his head slightly as if scrutinizing Ollie’s motives. “Are we five?” he asked, his tone laced with mock disdain. Then, after a moment’s pause, he added, “Of course.”

Ollie blinked, momentarily thrown off by how easily Kimi agreed. “Didn’t think you’d say yes so fast,” he admitted with a chuckle, pulling his own jacket tighter around him as the cool evening breeze nipped at his cheeks. “Guess I underestimated your love for swings and slides.”

Kimi shot him a sideways glance, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smirk. “Swings are underrated,” he said with a casual shrug. “No slides, though.”

Ollie threw his head back in laughter, his breath visible in the chill. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” he said, shaking his head. “Fine—no slides. Just the swings. And maybe a casual race on the running path. You know, if you think you can keep up.”

Kimi snorted softly, the sound barely audible, but his eyes gleamed with a competitive edge. “I’d leave you behind in five seconds.”

“Big talk,” Ollie replied, his grin widening. “But you’re all discipline and no fun, so I’d probably win by default when you stop to do warm-up stretches.”

“Or,” Kimi countered, his voice smooth and calm, “you’d trip over your shoelaces because you never bother tying them properly.”

Ollie glanced down at his feet and, sure enough, one of his laces was half-undone. “Okay, point taken,” he muttered, crouching to fix it.

Kimi rocked back on his heels, the faintest trace of amusement softening his usually stoic demeanor as he waited. His movements were deliberate and unhurried, giving him an air of quiet confidence that Ollie couldn’t help but notice. For once, Kimi seemed at ease—less guarded, less tightly wound.

They started walking, their steps crunching softly against the pavement as the sound of distant traffic faded into the background. Kimi didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “Not if I can help it,” he said eventually, his tone practical, as though the idea of losing on purpose was completely foreign to him. “Why would I?”

Kimi didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed ahead. “Not if I can help it,” he said finally, his tone matter-of-fact. “Why would I?”

Ollie shrugged. “I dunno. For fun? To let someone else win once in a while?”

Kimi’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe—in his eyes as he glanced at Ollie. “That’s not how you get better.”

“Sure,” Ollie agreed, “but it’s also not how you make friends. No one likes a sore winner.”

Kimi gave a soft huff of laughter, his breath visible in the cool air. “You think I’m a sore winner?”

“No,” Ollie admitted, grinning. “But I think you’d be terrible at pretending to lose. Your face would give you away.”

“Good thing I don’t pretend,” Kimi replied simply, his smirk reappearing.

By the time they reached the park, the sun had disappeared completely, leaving the faint glow of streetlamps to illuminate the empty pathways. The swings creaked softly in the breeze, their chains swaying lazily, almost as though they were beckoning. Without hesitation, Ollie headed straight for them, his footsteps quickening as a childish grin spread across his face.

“Come on,” he called over his shoulder, plopping down onto one of the swings and immediately pushing off with his feet to build momentum. “Live a little.”

Kimi exhaled, shaking his head slightly as though laughing at himself, and made his way over to the swing next to Ollie. His movements were smooth and deliberate as he sat down, nudging off with his feet so the swing swayed gently.

“You’re surprisingly comfortable in this,” Kimi remarked as he pushed off lightly with his feet, the swing swaying lazily.

“It’s nostalgic,” Ollie replied, pumping his legs to go higher.

Kimi smirked but didn’t respond, letting the quiet stretch between them. The soft creak of the swings and the distant sound of rustling leaves filled the silence. For a moment, the rest of the world had faded away, leaving just the two of them suspended in their own little bubble.
“You know,” Ollie said after a while, his voice softer now, “You can splurge on yourself sometimes.”

Kimi glanced at him, his expression unreadable. “And end up like Dino? No thanks.”

“Hey, Dino’s fun,” Ollie countered, though his grin betrayed him. “Chaotic, sure, but fun.”

“Chaos isn’t my style,” Kimi replied, his tone even. But there was a faint warmth in his voice, as if the sharp edges of his words had softened just a little.

“Yeah, I noticed,” Ollie said, leaning back in the swing and tilting his head toward the sky. “But you could use a little chaos once in a while. Keeps life interesting.”

Kimi didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed ahead. “I think you bring enough chaos for both of us.”

Ollie laughed, the sound echoing through the empty park. “Fair enough.”

The two of them swung in comfortable silence after that, the cold night air biting at their cheeks but neither of them caring. For Ollie, it was one of those rare, unspoken moments of connection.

Eventually, Ollie slowed his swing to a stop, his feet dragging lazily against the ground. He glanced over at Kimi, who was still swaying gently, his posture relaxed but his eyes far away.

“Thanks for coming,” Ollie said, his voice genuine.

Kimi looked at him, his expression softening just slightly. “Thanks for asking.”

“Are you excited? You know, to be on the grid?” Ollie asked, it felt like an idiotic question.

Kimi turned his head slightly, one eyebrow arching as he regarded Ollie with mild curiosity. For a moment, he didn’t answer, letting the question hang in the air between them. Ollie resisted the urge to fidget under the weight of Kimi’s silence.

He cringed at the weakness he showed. He’d been wanting to ask it all day. He needed to ask about it. He wanted to know that he wasn’t the only one feeling… whatever this was.

“Excited?” Kimi repeated eventually, his voice calm, almost contemplative. He leaned back slightly, resting his hands on the edge of the wall as he looked up at the sky. “In a way.”

Ollie frowned, his brow furrowing. “In a way? That’s not exactly convincing.”

Kimi’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, though his gaze remained distant. “It’s complicated,” he said simply.

“My whole life has built up to this. I’ve trained to the extremes for it. I am a racer first, a human second.” Kimi’s voice was sharp and deliberate, every word carrying a bitter weight that Ollie couldn’t quite grasp. His expression didn’t flinch, but there was a haunting edge to his tone, like he’d been holding onto this truth for far too long. “I’m seventeen,” he added, almost like an afterthought, “and I can’t escape that.”

Ollie’s instinctive reaction was a quiet, stunned, “Fuck.” The single word slipped out before he could stop it. He blinked, trying to process what Kimi had just said. It wasn’t just the statement itself—it was the way it hit him, raw and unfiltered, like a punch to the gut. For a moment, he fumbled for words, unsure of how to respond to something so unguarded and stark.

“I think I’ve got the opposite problem,” Ollie finally admitted, his voice softer now, tinged with hesitation. He dropped his gaze briefly, staring at the floor as if it might offer him answers, before glancing back at Kimi. “Everyone just wants to see me fall flat on my face.” His words came with a faint layer of self-mockery, but the truth beneath them was undeniable. The thought hung between them, unspoken yet palpable, as if waiting for the weight of its meaning to settle.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, but it was heavy, laden with an unspoken understanding neither of them had the courage to fully acknowledge. They were two people carrying wildly different burdens—Kimi under the crushing weight of expectation, and Ollie wrestling with the constant pull of doubt. Yet, in some strange, unspoken way, their struggles mirrored one another.

“You know what the worst part is?” Ollie broke the quiet, his lips twisting into a faint, bitter smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “They’re not even waiting for me to screw up anymore. They just assume it’s going to happen, like it’s a foregone conclusion.” He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “It’s exhausting, trying to prove them wrong all the time.”

Kimi’s gaze, steady and inscrutable, finally shifted to meet Ollie’s. “It’s exhausting proving them right too,” he said softly, his voice low but firm. There was no hint of sarcasm or scorn in his tone—only honesty, sharp and unrelenting. For a moment, they just looked at each other, their worlds colliding in that shared understanding.

Ollie hesitated, then asked, “Why didn’t you congratulate me? You’ve got your seat. I thought you’d be glad I got mine.” His voice was tinged with something raw, like the question had been gnawing at him for days.

Kimi’s jaw tightened for a fraction of a second, his composure slipping just enough for Ollie to notice. “I was,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost tentative. “But Sergi—I was busy.”

Ollie frowned, his brows knitting together. “Busy?” he repeated, skepticism creeping into his tone. “Too busy to say, ‘Congrats, mate’? Not even a text?”

Kimi’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes darting away for the briefest moment before settling back on Ollie. “It wasn’t personal,” he said, his voice measured but not exactly apologetic. “I had things to deal with.”

Ollie tilted his head, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. “What kind of things? You’re not exactly drowning in distractions, Kimi. What could possibly be more important than saying something to your ex teammate?”

There was a flicker of something in Kimi’s expression—annoyance, maybe, or guilt. “I don’t owe you an explanation, Ollie,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

“That’s not the point,” Ollie shot back, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “You of all people should get how big this is for me. I thought you’d actually—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I thought you’d care.”

Kimi’s posture stiffened slightly, his jaw tightening again. “I do care,” he said quietly, the words carrying more weight than Ollie expected. “But I’m not the guy who claps and cheers for everyone. That’s not me.”

“Well, maybe it should be,” Ollie said, his tone softening just a fraction. “Because whether you like it or not, I admire you.”

That seemed to catch Kimi off guard. His gaze flickered, his stoic facade cracking for just a moment. “You shouldn’t,” he muttered, almost to himself.

“Why not?” Ollie pressed, his voice steady. “You’re one of the best. You push harder than anyone else I’ve ever met. And yeah, you’re kind of a pain in the ass sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you don’t inspire people.”

Kimi’s eyes softened, and for a moment, he seemed unsure of what to say. Finally, he exhaled, his shoulders dropping slightly. “I’m not used to… this,” he admitted, gesturing vaguely between them. “The whole ‘teammate’ thing. It’s complicated.”

“It’s not that complicated,” Ollie replied with a faint smile. “You just say, ‘Congrats, Ollie,’ and maybe, I don’t know, act like you give a damn once in a while.”

Kimi’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. “Congrats, Ollie,” he said, the words dry but not insincere.

“There it is,” Ollie said, grinning now. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Kimi rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. “Don’t expect a parade.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Ollie replied, laughing. The tension between them eased, the air lighter now.

Ollie dropped into a crouch in front of Kimi, his movements deliberate but casual. Resting his forearms on Kimi’s legs, he leaned forward just enough to cause the swing to sway gently beneath Kimi. The motion was like a silent heartbeat between them. Kimi tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly as he looked down at Ollie. There was a flicker of confusion in his sharp brown eyes, but no trace of irritation. If anything, there was a quiet curiosity in the way he studied Ollie, as though he was trying to piece together the intent behind the gesture.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world around them seemed to fade into the background, the quiet hum of the night interrupted only by the occasional creak of the swing’s chains. Ollie’s gaze was steady, his brown eyes warm with a mixture of amusement and something softer, harder to name. Kimi’s usual demeanor seemed to waver slightly, his expression caught between intrigue and something that might have been vulnerability.

“Comfortable?” Kimi asked. There was an undertone of dry humor in his words, though his expression betrayed none of it.

Ollie grinned, his lips curving into a lopsided smile. “Surprisingly, yeah,” he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching. “All of your training really works.”

Kimi let out a soft huff of laughter, the sound quiet but genuine. His gaze remained steady, though there was a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth that hinted at a smirk trying to break through. “That’s not exactly the kind of feedback I’m used to,” he muttered.

“I’m nothing if not original,” Ollie said, leaning his chin on his crossed arms and looking up at Kimi with an almost boyish ease. His hair was slightly tousled, the cold night air adding a rosy tint to his cheeks. “Besides, I figured someone should remind you you’re human, you know? With everyone acting like your gold.”

He didn’t say anything immediately, but his posture seemed to relax a fraction. The tension in his shoulders eased as he leaned back slightly, his hands still loosely gripping the swing’s chains. “Maybe I like being titanium,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. “Everyone wants gold.”

Ollie tilted his head, his grin widening as he leaned in closer, closing the gap between them just slightly. “Yeah?” he purred, his tone teasing, his eyes alight with mischief. He liked attempting to coax Kimi out of his shell. Kimi’s breath hitched. Ollie laughed a bit as Kimis gaze flickered briefly to Ollie’s lips before darting back to his eyes.

Kimi’s gaze lingered on Ollie as he straightened, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. There was a thoughtful silence, broken only by the gentle creak of the swing chains as Kimi leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows in front of Ollie's arms. His expression softened—not the usual guarded calm, but something quieter, more open.

Kimi tilted his head, his eyes sharp but not unkind. “You’ve been listening to me go on about everything tonight,” he said evenly. “You let me vent. Now it’s your turn.”

Ollie opened his mouth to respond, but the sincerity in Kimi’s voice made him hesitate. He felt a lump form in his throat as Kimi’s words sank in. It wasn’t often people asked him how he felt—not the real him, not the version underneath the jokes and confidence.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be good enough.” He risked a glance at Kimi, whose expression didn’t change, but his attention didn’t waver either. “Not good enough for F1, not good enough for the people watching me, not even good enough for myself.”

Kimi didn’t say anything, and the silence made Ollie’s words spill out faster. “It’s like… everyone else—guys like you, like Dino, even—have something I don’t. I see it when I’m racing against you. That natural talent, that confidence, that... I don’t know, spark. And I just don’t have it.”

His throat tightened as he spoke, but he forced himself to keep going. “And then there’s this,” he said, gesturing vaguely to himself. “The pain. My back, my knees, my shoulders—something’s always wrong. It’s like my body’s already breaking down, and I’m only eighteen. What the hell am I supposed to do when it gets worse? When I can’t hide it anymore?”

Ollie paused, his voice catching. He didn’t want to look at Kimi, afraid of seeing pity or, worse, agreement. Instead, he stared into his eyes. His fingers rubbing the skin of Ollie's4 arms. “It’s like... I’m doomed, you know? I can feel it. Even if I get there—if I make it to F1—it’s going to be a disaster. I’m going to be a disaster. And everyone who doubted me will be right.”

Kimi studied Ollie with an intensity that made him squirm. But there was no pity in his expression, no judgment. If anything, his gaze was steady, unwavering, like he was seeing straight through Ollie’s defenses to something even Ollie himself didn’t fully understand.

“You know what’s worse than failing?” Kimi said finally, his voice calm but firm. “Giving up.”

Ollie blinked, thrown by the bluntness of Kimi’s words. “I’m not—” he started, but Kimi cut him off with a slight shake of his head.

“Chiusa, you are,” Kimi said, his tone softening but still direct. “You’ve already written yourself off, Ollie. You think you’re broken, that you’re not good enough. But you’re here. That’s not something you just stumble into. That’s not luck. That’s you.”

Ollie frowned, shaking his head as he dropped his gaze again. “You don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like to constantly feel like you’re falling behind, like no matter how hard you work, it’ll never be enough.”

“I do,” Kimi said quietly, and the simplicity of his tone made Ollie look up again. “Maybe not the way you feel it, but I know what it’s like to carry a weight you can’t seem to drop. To think that if you stop for even a second, it’ll crush you.” He leaned back slightly, his hands gripping the chains of the swing loosely. “But that weight isn’t proof you’re failing. It’s proof you care. And that’s what will make you better, not worse.”

Ollie hesitated, his brow furrowing as he processed Kimi’s words. Part of him wanted to reject them outright, to push back against the hope they carried, but another part—a smaller, quieter part—wanted to believe them.

“Your pain, your doubts—they don’t define you,” Kimi added, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “You’re not doomed, Ollie. You’re just... human. And that’s not a weakness. It’s what makes you stronger.”

Kimi’s gaze lingered on Ollie, his expression softening in a way that Ollie couldn’t quite read. There was something unspoken hanging in the air between them, heavy and electric, the kind of moment where time seemed to slow down. Ollie, oblivious to the shift, let out a shaky laugh, trying to lighten the tension.

“Guess I’m getting a free therapy session now, huh?” he joked, though his voice still carried an edge of vulnerability.

Kimi didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on Ollie’s face. Ollie felt like he was being studied under a microscope. He rubbed his cheek in embarrassment, hoping Kimi would say something, anything.

Kimi leaned forward, the swing creaking softly as he shifted his weight. His eyes flicked down to Ollie’s mouth for the briefest of moments before darting back up to meet his gaze. Ollie widened his eyes. He must’ve never got all of that mariana off, that had to be the reason he was leaning in.

Just as it seemed as Kimi was about to close the distance, a distant, yelp. Ollie instinctively straightened, his head snapping toward the source of the commotion, while Kimi leaned back against the swing chains, his usual composure returning almost instantly.

“Probably a dog,” Ollie said awkwardly, his voice higher-pitched than usual as he scratched the back of his neck. He glanced over his shoulder, trying to spot the source of the interruption, but the path behind them was empty. “Or a ghost dog?”

When the park was quiet again, Ollie shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and exhaled, his breath visible in the chilly air. “Guess that’s the universe telling us we’ve been here too long,” he said, his tone light but his eyes darting to Kimi’s face, searching for any hint of what had almost just happened.

Kimi didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stood and brushed off his coat, his movements deliberate and composed. “Maybe,” he said, his voice as measured as ever. But there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something Ollie couldn’t quite place.

The walk back was quieter, the playful banter from earlier replaced by a companionable, if slightly charged, silence. The sound of their footsteps against the pavement filled the gaps, neither of them seeming eager to break the quiet.

As they reached the spot where they’d first met up, Ollie stopped and turned to Kimi. “Hey,” he said, his voice softer now, hesitant. “Thanks for tonight. For, you know… listening. And talking. Even if you don’t do the whole ‘clapping and cheering’ thing.”

Kimi’s lips twitched into what could almost be considered a smile. “Don’t get used to it,” he said, but there was no bite in his words.
Ollie grinned, his hands slipping out of his pockets to rub at the back of his neck. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
They lingered for a moment, neither of them quite ready to leave.

“I’ll take you home,” Kimi muttered, his voice flat and quiet, eyes fixed on the pavement. He wouldn’t look at Ollie, wouldn’t even glance in his direction. His usual sharp confidence seemed dulled, replaced by a tension Ollie couldn’t quite place. It was strange, seeing Kimi like this—rattled, almost fragile, like a taut wire ready to snap.

Ollie sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s not a big deal, you know. Everything’s fine.” He tried to keep his tone casual, light, like he always did when Kimi got too serious about things. But his words hung in the air, unanswered. Kimi’s silence felt heavier than it should, each second stretching uncomfortably between them.

Ollie thought he might snap back with something sharp and biting, the way he always did when cornered. But instead, Kimi just shook his head, his jaw tightening as he turned away. "You wouldn’t get it," he said quietly, and with that, he walked off, leaving Ollie to follow.
—

Ollie stepped out of the car, his legs unsteady beneath him. The drive home had been quiet, painfully so. The physical pain froom the chronic aches in his body gnawed at him, but it was the emotional exhaustion that made every step feel like a marathon. It was as if the day had drained every last ounce of energy he had, leaving him a shell of himself. His thoughts circled around everything from the conversation with Kimi to the crushing pressure he felt about his future.

He fumbled with his keys at the front door, his hands feeling sluggish and uncoordinated. When he finally managed to unlock it, he stepped inside the house, the stillness inside swallowing him whole. The quiet was almost suffocating after the weight of everything that had happened. He kicked off his shoes with minimal effort, not bothering to make much noise. His jacket stayed on as he staggered toward the living room. The couch loomed ahead, a sanctuary of comfort he’d been longing for all evening.

With a soft groan, Ollie collapsed onto the couch, the cushions swallowing him whole as he sank into them. His body felt like it had been put through a wrecking ball, every inch aching from the weight of his chronic pain. But it wasn’t just that; it was the mental exhaustion, too. The racing thoughts that never seemed to stop, the feelings of being stuck in a cycle of failure. His mind felt fractured, overwhelmed by everything that had been weighing on him, from Kimi’s presence to his constant battle with self-doubt.

His eyes closed involuntarily, his lids heavy from sheer exhaustion. The usual racing thoughts tried to creep in, but he pushed them aside, not having the energy to entertain them. The couch seemed to pull him deeper with each breath, the weight of his body finally finding some relief in the stillness. For a moment, there was peace—a brief, fleeting escape from the noise of the world. The world felt like it was moving on without him, and in that moment, he didn’t mind.

His phone buzzed softly in his pocket, a faint vibration that barely reached his tired brain. He didn’t have the energy to look at it, didn’t care who was trying to reach him. Messages, notifications, expectations—it all felt too much. He didn’t want to deal with any of it, not now, not in this state. His body and mind were begging him to just stop, to let go of the constant pressure, even if it was just for tonight. He let the phone buzz a few more times before it fell silent again.

Chapter Text

Ollie groaned as his phone buzzed for what felt like the hundredth time, the sound grating against the silence of his bedroom. He buried his head under his pillow, willing the noise to stop. Just a few more hours, he thought. A few blissful hours of peace. But his phone seemed to have other plans. When it buzzed again, louder this time thanks to the vibration echoing against the wooden nightstand, he finally gave in. Groggily, he reached for it, his hand fumbling blindly until his fingers closed around the device.

Squinting against the blinding light of the screen, Ollie unlocked his phone to find a flood of notifications. His lock screen was plastered with texts, missed calls, and more notifications than he could process in his sleep-addled state. Messages from Dino, his manager, littered the top of the list, each more frantic than the last. There was a missed call from his mum—actually, two. A couple of texts from friends.

But as his bleary eyes scanned the wall of messages, one thing stood out. Among the chaos, there was no notification from Kimi. He blinked at the screen, almost certain he had missed something. Dino had called six times. His mum was clearly worried. Even Logan, who barely texted unless it was memes or race talk, had chimed in with a cryptic “Mate… you good?” But Kimi? Radio silence. That small detail poked at him, irritating and ominous all at once.

The phone buzzed again, cutting through his thoughts. Another call, this time from a number he didn’t immediately recognize. He frowned, debating whether to answer. Normally, he’d let it go to voicemail, especially at this hour, but something about the persistence of the calls made his stomach twist uneasily. Against his better judgment, he swiped to answer.

“Bearman, enfin!” A voice exploded into his ear, loud and rapid-fire. Ollie pulled the phone away slightly, wincing. It took him a moment to place the voice. Esteban Ocon? His future teammate? What the hell was he calling for, and why did he sound so agitated?

“Uh, hi?” Ollie managed, his voice scratchy from sleep.

“Yes, it’s me! Listen, have you seen it?” Esteban’s French accent was thick, and his words came out in a frantic torrent that Ollie struggled to follow. “This is insane! C’est incroyable, vraiment! What were you thinking? Mon dieu, our reputation—do you know what this means for our team?”

“What?” Ollie croaked, completely lost. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to wake himself up. “Mate, slow down. What are you talking about?”

Esteban let out a frustrated huff, muttering something in French that Ollie didn’t catch. Then, mercifully, he switched to English. “I’m saying that I support you—don’t get me wrong, I really do. But this situation? It’s a crisis. For both of us!”

“Situation?” Ollie repeated, still trying to piece together the fragments of Esteban’s rambling. His brain was barely functioning, the fog of sleep still clinging to him. “What situation?”

“You haven’t seen? You don’t know?” Esteban sounded incredulous, as if Ollie had committed some grave sin by not being up-to-date with whatever had set the F1 world ablaze. “Check your social media! It’s everywhere. This is going to affect the team, the sponsors—everything!”

Ollie sat up, his heart beginning to pound. The urgency in Esteban’s voice was infectious, even if Ollie still didn’t have a clue what was going on. “Hang on,” he said, scrambling to turn on the bedside lamp. The sudden light made him squint, but he ignored it. “Just… tell me what happened.”

But Esteban wasn’t listening. He was still ranting, his voice climbing with every word. “I warned them this kind of thing could happen! So many rookies! It’s completely unprofessional. This isn’t how we handle things in Formula 1!”

“What isn’t?” Ollie tried again, his voice sharper this time. “Esteban, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, as if Esteban was trying to decide whether Ollie was genuinely clueless or just playing dumb. Finally, he sighed. “Check your Twitter, Bearman. You’ll see.”

And with that, he hung up, leaving Ollie staring at the phone in disbelief. For a moment, he just sat there, the silence of the room pressing in around him. Then his phone buzzed again, the screen lighting up with yet another message from Dino: “ANSWER ME NOW!!!”

“Bloody hell,” Ollie muttered, tossing the blanket off and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. His heart was pounding now, a steady thrum of anxiety building in his chest. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good. Dino’s texts alone told him that much. And Esteban? Ollie wasn’t sure what to make of his teammate’s hysterics, but it was enough to make him feel sick.

Grabbing his laptop from the floor, he opened it and went straight to Twitter. The page loaded slowly, the spinning wheel of death only adding to his frustration. When it finally refreshed, his stomach dropped. His name was trending. Actually, no—his name and Kimi’s were both trending, side by side, accompanied by a hashtag that made his blood run cold.

#Bearnelli was trending worldwide. The tag was accompanied by memes, screenshots, and a blurry video clip that had been shared thousands of times.

With a sense of dread, Ollie clicked on the video. It was from last night, his head on Kimi’s lap, as they shared sweet nothing together. Whenever Kimi leaned in close, too close.

Ollie’s breath caught as he watched the moment unfold. He and Kimi leaned toward each other, their faces just inches apart. The frame froze at the exact moment when it seemed like their lips might meet, cutting off before anything else happened. It wasn’t a kiss. It wasn’t anything. But it was more than enough to send the internet into a frenzy.

They weren't like that. They were friends.

He scrolled down, his pulse racing as he read the comments.

Some were supportive: “Finally, a gay couple in F1? Iconic.”

Others were confused: “Is this real? Are they actually together?”

And then there were the ones that made his stomach churn: “Disgusting. Keep that s** out of our sport.”*

It didn’t stop there. Journalists were already running with the story, speculating about their relationship and what it meant for Formula 1. Some questioned whether it was a publicity stunt, while others applauded the idea of representation in a sport so big.

Ollie’s head spun as he tried to process it all. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but that didn’t seem to matter. His reputation—and Kimi’s—was being picked apart in real-time by millions of strangers. They weren't even gay.

And still, no word from Kimi.
The silence was deafening. Ollie couldn’t help but wonder what his teammate—well, ex teammate—was thinking right now. Was he ignoring the chaos, or was he just as overwhelmed? The last thing Ollie wanted was to call him and make things worse, but the longer he stared at his phone, the more the urge grew.

Before he could decide, his phone buzzed again. This time, it was his Manager, or well his father. Ollie hesitated before answering, bracing himself for whatever the man was about to say.

“What the hell is going on, Ollie?” his voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife. “Do you have any idea how big this has gotten?”

“Yeah,” Ollie muttered. “I’m looking at it now.”

“Well, stop looking and start thinking about how we’re going to fix this,” His father snapped. “Sponsors are already calling me, asking questions. The team is freaking out. And don’t even get me started on the fans. Half of them think you’re a hero, and the other half want you out of the sport.”

“I didn’t even do anything!” Ollie protested, his frustration boiling over.

“I know that, but perception is everything,” Dad said, his tone softening slightly. “Look, we’ll figure this out baby boy, but you need to be careful. One wrong move, and this could spiral out of control.”

Still, one question lingered in his mind, refusing to be ignored: where was Kimi in all of this?

Kimi had sent a message. He didn’t open it. Not yet. The last thing Ollie wanted to deal with was another long, drawn-out conversation about the mess they were in. Not after everything that had happened. The kiss. The video. The media circus that was spiraling out of control. His stomach churned just thinking about it.

Instead, Ollie reached for his phone, swiping through his messages to Dino’s long string of texts, each more frantic than the last.

Dino: Your phone’s blowing up. Don’t make me call your mom again.

The last message made Ollie chuckle, a dry, humorless laugh that barely reached his chest. Dino always knew how to cut through the tension.

With a sigh, Ollie dialed Dino’s number, his thumb hovering over the screen. He knew his best friend would have a thousand questions, but Ollie wasn’t sure he was ready to answer any of them yet. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about the kiss—the kiss that never happened, the kiss jo that caught on camera. But Dino would push for it. He always did.

The phone rang twice before Dino picked up, his voice coming through with the familiar, impatient tone.

“Ollie!” Dino’s voice was a mixture of relief and panic. “Thank God! Where the hell have you been? You’re blowing up. I’ve been texting you for hours.”

“Sorry,” Ollie muttered, slumping back against his bed. “Just… needed a minute.”

Dino’s voice softened immediately. “I get it. But seriously, man. You need to see what’s going on. The internet is going crazy right now. The video’s all over the place, and people are losing their minds.”

Ollie winced at the mention of the video. He hadn’t dared to watch it yet. The thought of seeing the moment of his life being turned into something else made his stomach twist. “I know. I’ve seen some of it. It’s everywhere.”

Dino groaned loudly. “Everywhere is an understatement. You’ve got some people saying you’re heroes, others calling it a ‘PR stunt.’ And don’t even get me started on the homophobic comments. The press is just circling, waiting for you to say something. They want you to ‘confirm’ what they think is happening.”

Ollie clenched his jaw, biting back the frustration rising in his chest. "I'm not confirming anything. It's... it's just a misunderstanding."

“I know that, you know that, but everyone else is seeing something different,” Dino said. “Look, it’s not the end of the world. But if you and Kimi don’t get ahead of this, it’s going to spiral. Kimi has an interview later today, tell him to disprove the comments.”

Ollie’s fingers tightened around the phone, his mind racing as he processed Dino’s words. The pressure of the situation was starting to sink in, and he hated it. There was no way to hide from the public now, not when everything was unfolding so publicly, so fast. A simple mistake—or even a split-second moment—could turn everything upside down. And this moment, the kiss, had already done that.

He could feel the weight of it all pressing down on him. The fans, the media, the sponsors—none of them cared about the truth. They wanted answers, and they wanted them now. And the one person he was desperately trying to avoid was Kimi, who had suddenly become a part of this chaos, whether he liked it or not.

“Kimi’s interview…” Ollie muttered, glancing at the screen of his phone, the message from Kimi still unread. “What’s he supposed to say?”

“Stuff about his team, I'm sure the topic changed now ,” Dino replied, frustration creeping into his voice. “But if he doesn’t set the record straight, it’s going to get worse. The last thing you need is for this to drag out for days or weeks.”

Ollie closed his eyes, picturing Kimi in his mind. He had always been a mystery, a private person who rarely shared anything unless he had to. They hadn't kissed, they weren't going too. The media had stolen that moment from them, turned it into something sensational, and now they were both left to deal with the aftermath. They were just trying to be together, alone.

“I’ll talk to him,” Ollie said, his voice low. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Good,” Dino replied. “And Ollie?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t let this define you. You’re better than this. You know that, right?”

Ollie didn’t respond right away. The words felt like a lifeline thrown into a stormy sea, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready to grab onto it yet. Instead, he ended the call and sat in silence for a few moments, letting the reality of the situation wash over him. The last thing he wanted to do was deal with the fallout of a kiss that never happened. It was everywhere, and everyone had an opinion.

His thoughts turned back to Kimi. Where was he in all of this? Ollie knew Kimi wasn’t one to run from his problems, but he also wasn’t the type to let himself be dragged into the media circus, not unless he had no other choice. Maybe that was the only thing Ollie was sure of right now: Kimi wouldn’t want to turn this into something it wasn’t.

With a deep breath, Ollie unlocked the screen of his phone again, navigating to the message from Kimi that he had been avoiding. He hesitated for a moment before tapping it open.

Kimi: Don't text me.

That was it. No explanation, no extra words. It was simple, direct, and to the point. Ollie stared at it for a long time, his thumb hovering over the reply button. Did he listen?

He had no answers, and the idea of facing Kimi in this mess made his stomach churn. But he couldn’t avoid him forever. They had to prove there was nothing more,

Ollie: whast the hell??
Ollie: we dnot have anytinh to hide??
Ollie: dude andwer

He waited for a response. The minutes dragged by, and with each passing second, the knot in Ollie’s stomach tightened further. Kimi wasn’t answering, and that only made the unease inside Ollie grow. Why wasn’t Kimi responding? Was he shutting him out because of some press?

Just as he was about to throw his phone across the room in frustration, it buzzed. His heart skipped as he glanced down at the screen, but the name that flashed wasn’t Kimi’s. It was Dino.

Dino: You good?

Ollie didn’t have the energy to answer Dino’s usual barrage of questions, but he quickly typed a response anyway.

Ollie: i shold be?? its alsl an misunderstandding??? he wont answer

Dino: I know. But you’ve got to talk to him.

Ollie: I will

Ollie didn't hear from Kimi until his interviewed.

-----

Chapter Text

Kimi Antonelli had a secret. A secret that banged itself against his chest. It was a secret he brought to confessionals, whispered into the darkness as though the weight of it might shatter the fragile veil between him and the divine.

Ollie Bearman was his secret. His most intimate and unspoken truth. The temptation he prayed over, the sin he could not name. Yet, in the quiet of his heart, Kimi knew there was no shame in it—only a righteousness that defied reason, an echo of something holy.

The night before, he had come so close to biting the apple, to sinking his teeth into the forbidden fruit until it turned to ash in his mouth. He had almost kissed Ollie. The memory of it now sent a rush of heat to his cheeks, a burn that felt full of shame and yearning.

Kimi’s fingers brushed his lips, as if the touch could erase the near-sin or perhaps bring it back to life. His breath hitched at the thought of how close he had been—so close to crossing a line he wasn’t sure he wanted to stay behind. The taste of that almost lingered, sweet and sharp.

Kimi could pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love. It wasn't during a dramatic event or a grand gesture; it was after a particularly grueling race that had left him physically drained and mentally exhausted. As he sat alone, grappling with his frustration, Ollie entered the room, his presence a quiet balm to Kimi's turbulent thoughts. Without prompting, Ollie settled into the chair opposite him and began to speak.

It wasn’t even about the race—nothing about lap times or strategy or mistakes. He spoke of a new café he'd discovered, the peculiar behavior of his neighbor's cat, and a documentary he'd watched about deep-sea creatures. His words flowed effortlessly, a soothing cadence that required no response. Kimi remained silent, absorbing the sound of Ollie's voice, feeling the tension in his muscles ease with each passing moment.

What struck him most was how effortless it seemed for Ollie to care, to simply be there in a way that mattered. There was no expectation, no demand for reciprocation—just a genuine desire to be present. In a world where Kimi was often surrounded by people seeking something from him, Ollie's selflessness was a revelation. He had an innate ability to sense when someone was struggling and would go to great lengths to lift them from their darkness, often without them realizing it.

Kimi admired Ollie's capacity for empathy, his unwavering support, and the subtle ways he showed he cared. It was in that unguarded moment, as he listened to Ollie recount the trivialities of his day, that Kimi felt a shift within himself. He realized that Ollie was not just a friend he cherished, but someone he deeply loved and wanted to keep close.

In the high-octane world of racing, where emotions were often masked by the pursuit of victory, this realization was both profound and daunting. Kimi knew that acknowledging his feelings for Ollie would change everything, introducing complexities into their relationship that he wasn't sure he was prepared to navigate. Yet, the clarity of his love was undeniable, leaving him to ponder the path forward in the quiet aftermath of that fateful conversation.

Ollie had to know. Right? The way he rested his head in Kimi’s lap like it was the most natural thing in the world, the casual brushes of fingers, the fleeting touches that lingered just a moment too long—surely he had to feel it too.

It made Kimi sick, the way his body betrayed him, leaning into every point of contact like a moth drawn to flame. Each touch sent a shiver down his spine, a mixture of guilt and euphoria, as though he were teetering on the edge of something sacred and profane all at once.

But it felt so good. Too good. So good that Kimi couldn’t bring himself to pull away, even as his chest tightened with the weight of what he couldn’t say. Each touch was a confession without words, and Kimi could only hope Ollie was listening.

But hope was dangerous.

Kimi pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, as if the pressure might push the thoughts away. The memories, the feelings—they clung to him like a second skin, impossible to shed no matter how hard he tried. He needed to stop. Needed to stop thinking about it. About him.

Ollie is straight, he told himself for what felt like the hundredth time that week. The words repeated in his mind, a desperate mantra he clung to like a lifeline. It didn’t matter how many times he said it; the weight in his chest never lifted. But still, he forced the thought to carve itself deeper into his mind. It was the only way to stay grounded.

He tried to rationalize it, to strip the memories of their meaning. The way Ollie laughed—bright and unfiltered—was just how Ollie was. The way he touched, so casual and easy, didn’t mean anything. And the way his head would find Kimi’s shoulder after a long day, the warmth of it settling against him—it was nothing more than Ollie being Ollie.

Kind, open, oblivious. That’s all it was. That’s all it could ever be.

Kimi let out a shaky breath, his hands falling to his lap as he stared blankly ahead. He wanted to believe it, to bury everything under a mountain of logic and denial. But no matter how hard he tried, the truth always found its way through the cracks.

He was reading too much into it, projecting feelings that had no basis in reality. Ollie wasn’t like him—Kimi knew that. He’d seen it too many times to deny. The way Ollie’s eyes lingered on girls, soft and curious, or the effortless flirtation in his voice whenever he spoke to them. It was second nature to him, as easy as breathing.

And then there was that damn smile, the one that could light up a room and disarm anyone in its path. It wasn’t for Kimi, no matter how much he might have wanted it to be. Ollie’s charm wasn’t selective; it was universal, leaving Kimi to wrestle with the bitter truth that he was just another person caught in its glow.

The thought brought a bitter taste to his mouth, but he swallowed it down. He’s straight. He has to be. And even if he weren’t… it wouldn’t matter. Not with me.

Kimi leaned back, staring at the ceiling. He needed to protect Ollie—his reputation, his future—even if it meant tearing himself apart in the process. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t texted Ollie back, why he hadn’t reached out to fix the distance between them.

The distance was a self-imposed barrier, a means to shield Ollie from any potential fallout. Kimi feared that his own feelings, if discovered, could tarnish Ollie's image or complicate his life. By staying away, he believed he was safeguarding his friend, even as it tore at his own heart.

Each unanswered message, each avoided encounter, was a silent sacrifice. Kimi convinced himself that this was the right path, that enduring his own pain was preferable to risking Ollie's well-being. Yet, the more he distanced himself, the more the ache within him grew, a constant reminder of the bond he was choosing to sever.

In the quiet moments, when the weight of his decisions pressed hardest, Kimi wondered if he was truly protecting Ollie, or if he was merely running from his own fears. The line between selflessness and self-preservation blurred, leaving him questioning the true cost of his actions.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t cancel the interview.

The words echoed in Kimi’s mind, haunting him like a ghost that refused to be laid to rest. He remembered the moment with painful clarity—when doubts about Ollie’s potential had spilled from his lips, spoken with a calm detachment that had betrayed the tempest raging within. It wasn’t true, not really, but it didn’t matter. Truth had little power compared to perception, and Kimi had handed the world a narrative that would do the job for him.

The story he’d spun had been deliberate, a shield to protect himself from feelings he wasn’t ready to confront. If the world believed Ollie wasn’t destined for greatness, it would create distance, push Ollie away, and give Kimi a reason to do the same. Anything to silence the dangerous truths that clawed at the edges of his mind.

Ollie wasn’t his. That truth had been clear from the start, and Kimi had repeated it like a mantra, willing it to sink in. Ollie wasn’t his to protect, his to want, or his to love. And if that wasn’t enough, Ollie wasn’t even gay. The sharp edges of that reality cut deeper than Kimi cared to admit, and each repetition of the thought was like twisting the knife.

It wasn’t that Kimi didn’t care about Ollie. He did, more than he could ever admit aloud. But caring about Ollie meant staying away. It meant ensuring the world—and Ollie himself—never questioned where his loyalties or feelings lay. So, he’d sacrificed what little connection they had on the altar of self-preservation, even as it shattered him.

The world needed to know that Ollie wasn’t his, and Kimi needed to believe it too. If he didn’t, the longing that had taken root in his chest would only grow, suffocating him in its relentless grip. He had to kill it before it consumed him, even if doing so meant destroying himself in the process.

But no matter how many times Kimi repeated the lie, it never seemed to stick. His mind betrayed him in quiet moments, painting scenes of what could never be. He hated himself for it, for wanting what he could never have, and for sabotaging Ollie in the name of saving himself.

And yet, despite his best efforts, Ollie lingered. His laugh, his smile, the fire in his eyes when he fought for something he believed in—they were etched into Kimi’s memory, permanent and unshakable. It was a cruel irony. The very things that drew him to Ollie were the things that made him believe he could never deserve him.

Kimi didn’t know when it had started. The feelings, the longing, the ache. It had crept up on him slowly, like a shadow stretching across the ground as the sun set. By the time he realized what it was, it was too late to turn back. The damage was done, and now he was left to deal with the fallout.

He thought about Ollie often, more than he wanted to admit. He thought about what it would have been like to say something different that day, to choose words that didn’t cut and wound. But regret was a useless thing, a futile exercise in what-ifs that only deepened the ache in his chest.

Kimi clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. He had made his choice, and he would have to live with it. Ollie wasn’t his, and he never would be. The world needed to see that, and so did Kimi. Even if it broke him.

The truth.

The word lingered in Kimi’s mind like a weight he couldn’t shake, even as his lips moved with ease, spilling lies disguised as indifference. His voice was calm, sharp, cold—everything it needed to be. But his chest burned with the effort of holding himself together, of playing the role he had decided he must.

"Speculation? What speculation?" he said, scoffing into the microphone, his tone dripping with disdain. "You’ve all seen the video. There’s nothing more to it. It’s just a moment. Nothing special."

The words tasted bitter. They weren’t meant for the reporters or the cameras. They were meant for himself. A desperate chant to drown out the way his skin still buzzed at the memory of that kiss, the way Ollie had looked at him like the world had stopped spinning for just a second.

The reporter pressed on, her words clawing at the cracks he was so determined to keep hidden. "But Kimi, the moment seemed... intimate. The way you both looked at each other—it seemed like something more than just a casual gesture. Are you denying that there’s anything between you two?"

Deny it. Crush it. The mantra played in his mind like a racing heartbeat, faster, louder.

"Intimate?" he repeated with a scoff, the sarcasm in his voice razor-sharp. "You all want to make something out of nothing. There’s no 'more' here. I’ve known Oliver for a while now—we’re teammates, that’s it. That’s all it ever was. Nothing more."

It wasn’t enough. He knew it wouldn’t be. They’d keep pushing, just like he knew they would, and he had no choice but to give them more. To go further.

"Friendship?" he said, almost laughing, the bitterness slipping through. "No. We were never friends. We were colleagues. And that’s it. We were never close. We worked together, and that’s all it ever was." He paused, his lips curling into a sneer, and added, "I have standards anyway."

The lie hit harder than he expected, twisting something deep inside him. It was the only way to bury the truth—to make sure the world didn’t see what he’d been trying so hard to ignore.

But it wasn’t enough.

The questions turned to Ollie’s health, and Kimi could feel the blood rushing in his ears. He could have stopped. He could have deflected. But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned in, each word cutting like a blade.

"Look, everyone’s got their struggles. But Oliver is using his pain as an excuse. It’s weak. The guy can’t handle the pressure. He’s too soft for this sport. You want to know what it takes to race at this level? It’s not just about skill or talent—it’s about mental strength. Oliver’s got neither."

The words tumbled out, cruel and precise. Each one felt like a stone dropped into a bottomless pit, the weight pulling him deeper and deeper. Kimi didn’t flinch, didn’t pause. He couldn’t. Not now. Not after everything.

The image of Ollie’s face flashed in his mind, unbidden. The way he’d smiled at him after a good race. The way he’d let his guard down, just once, and trusted Kimi with his pain. That trust was gone now, obliterated by Kimi’s own words.

"His problem isn’t physical—it’s mental. He’s just not built for this."

The reporter hesitated now, her tone shifting to something more cautious. Kimi barely registered it. The damage was already done.

"Do you regret your partnership with Oliver on the track?" she asked.

Regret?

The question clawed at him, but Kimi didn’t let it show. He couldn’t.
"No," he said, his voice flat, detached. "I don’t regret working with him. But I regret giving him the benefit of the doubt. I regret thinking he was tough enough for this sport."

The lies spilled from Kimi’s mouth, each one heavier than the last. Every word cut deeper, but he couldn’t stop. He had to bury the truth, had to silence the thought that had been tormenting him since the kiss. He couldn’t let himself dwell on it—the memory of Ollie’s lips so close, the way the world had tilted for just a moment.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about it, no matter how hard he tried. Every time he closed his eyes, the image came back, and with it, the crushing reminder that he could never have what he wanted. It wasn’t just Ollie’s sexuality that made it impossible. It was everything—Ollie’s career, the media, the fragile balance of their lives.

So he did the only thing he could. He made himself the villain. He told the lies and twisted the knife, hoping it would be enough to make Ollie hate him. Maybe if Ollie despised him, Kimi could finally let go. Maybe then he could stop wanting the one thing he could never have.

The words echoed in his head long after they left his mouth, louder than the hum of the cameras or the murmurs in the room. He told himself it was necessary, that it was for the best—for Ollie, for himself.

But as the interview ended and he walked out of the room, the weight in his chest refused to lift.

The image of Ollie’s face haunted Kimi. The way he had looked at Kimi after the kiss lingered in his mind like a ghost, soft and unrelenting. Ollie’s eyes had been wide but not scared, his expression open, vulnerable—like he thought Kimi was someone he could trust. Someone he could lean on. That look should have brought Kimi peace, but instead, it set his entire world on fire.

He had replayed the moment over and over in his head, his thoughts a storm of contradictions. How could something so fleeting feel so permanent? How could something so small—a touch, a glance, a breath shared between them—shatter everything he thought he knew about himself? Kimi didn’t have answers, only questions that weighed heavier each time he tried to silence them.

He told himself their tailk didn’t mean anything, that it couldn’t mean anything. He reminded himself of all the reasons why it wasn’t possible, why it wasn’t right. Ollie wasn’t like him. Ollie didn’t see him that way. Whatever Kimi thought he felt, it was one-sided, a fleeting weakness he needed to crush before it ruined them both. But those arguments were hollow, crumbling under the weight of his guilt and longing.

The lies Kimi told weren’t just for the media or the fans—they were for himself. If he said it enough, maybe it would become true. If he insisted that Ollie meant nothing to him, maybe he could make it real. But every time he spoke, it felt like another piece of him was breaking. Each lie brought him further from the truth he was too afraid to face: that he wanted Ollie. That he wanted him in a way that terrified him, in a way that could destroy everything they had.

He thought that if he made Ollie hate him, it would be easier. If Ollie looked at him with anger instead of trust, if he turned his back and walked away, then Kimi would have a reason to let go. He could blame it on Ollie’s hatred, on their shattered friendship, on anything but his own cowardice. But even as he tried to push Ollie away, the memory of that look—the way Ollie had seen him, really seen him—clung to Kimi like a second skin.

Kimi wanted to be the person Ollie thought he was, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t brave enough, wasn’t strong enough to face what that meant. So he let the lies build around him like armor, cold and suffocating, hoping they would protect him from the truth. But as the days passed and the image of Ollie’s face refused to fade, Kimi realized the armor wasn’t keeping him safe—it was slowly crushing him.

Kimi shoved the thought aside, clenched his jaw, and told himself he was doing the right thing. But the truth, no matter how hard he tried to deny it, was that he wasn’t protecting Ollie.

He was running from him.

Kimi had read Ollie’s text—not once, not twice, but ten times over, each word sinking deeper into his chest like shards of glass. He’d even translated it for himself, as if reading it in another language might soften the edges. But nothing could change the truth glaring back at him: Ollie was never going to forgive him. And Kimi was never going to stop loving him.

It was a cruel kind of devotion, the kind that festered and burned, that left him questioning if he cared more about Ollie or about the pain. Maybe, deep down, he cared most about inflicting it—on Ollie, on himself. It was like he couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

He didn’t even know why he’d responded the way he did. Perhaps he wanted it to hurt. Perhaps he needed it too. One final blow, one last selfish act to make sure he never had to see that boy’s devastatingly beautiful smile again—the smile that haunted him, that reminded him of everything he could never have and everything he’d already ruined.

When his phone buzzed, his breath hitched, a thread of reckless hope pulling tight in his chest. But it wasn’t Ollie. It was Dino. Kimi stared at the screen, his heart twisting painfully. He ached for it to be Ollie, to hear his voice, to let the flood of unspoken words spill out. But what was the point in confessing everything, in baring his soul, if it was only for the selfish satisfaction of saying it?

Kimi pressed his back against the bed frame, His thumb hovered over the green call button, but he couldn’t bring himself to press it just yet. Dino’s name on the screen felt heavier than it should, like a weight pushing down on his chest. Kimi knew Dino well enough to know that once this conversation started, it wasn’t going to be easy. Dino never let things slide, never let Kimi get away with avoiding the truth.

With a sigh, Kimi finally pressed the button, his finger moving slowly, as if he were stalling for time. As soon as the call connected, he muttered into the phone, trying to sound less tense than he felt. “What is it?” His voice came out sharper than he meant it to, the words brittle from the exhaustion that had been eating away at him for days.

“Kimi.” Dino’s voice came through clear and calm, but there was an underlying sharpness to it, like a knife hidden under a soft blanket. “I saw the interview.” The words were simple, but they hit Kimi harder than he expected. Dino wasn’t asking for details—he already knew what had happened.

He was just waiting for Kimi’s reaction, expecting him to explain or, at the very least, confront the reality of it.

He didn’t want to get into it, didn’t want to explain the mess he’d made of everything. “And?” Kimi forced the word out, trying to keep his voice steady, but the tremor underneath betrayed him. He wasn’t ready for this conversation. He wasn’t ready for Dino to push him to face what he’d been avoiding.

“And what the hell is wrong with you?” Dino snapped, his words cutting through the static in Kimi’s mind. “Why would you say those things about Ollie? I thought you two were hitting it off.”

Kimi clenched his jaw, the faint tremor in his hand betraying the façade he was trying to maintain. “I said what needed to be said,” he replied flatly, though even to his ears, the words sounded hollow.

“Kimi.” Dino let out a long, frustrated sigh, the kind that made Kimi want to hang up. “I know you. You don’t just hurt people for no reason—especially not him. So what the hell are you doing?”

A bitter laugh escaped Kimi, the sound devoid of humor. “Maybe I do now,” he said, his voice dripping with self-loathing. “Maybe that’s who I am. Maybe I’ve changed.”

“Changed?” Dino’s tone sharpened. “Changed in the span of what? A single weekend? Don’t give me that crap, Kimi. I saw the way you were looking at him.”

Kimi flinched, his grip tightening on the phone. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know enough.” Dino’s voice softened, but it carried an unyielding weight. “I saw how he looked at you, Kimi. And I saw how you looked at him. Don’t lie to me.”

Kimi muttered under his breath, the words slipping out in Italian, his voice laced with a quiet desperation. "Forse sono crudele," he said, the phrase carrying a weight he couldn't fully express. He had never been one to reveal his inner turmoil, but the emotional fatigue of everything—his fears, his self-doubt, the pain of what he was holding back—had reached its limit. He was trying, and failing, to convince himself that he wasn’t as cruel as he feared.

Dino's response came quickly, sharp and filled with frustration. "No," he said, his voice rising. "You're not cruel. You're scared. There's a difference." The words cut through the tension, offering clarity in a way that Kimi wasn’t ready for. Dino was always good at seeing through the layers, always able to pierce through Kimi’s carefully guarded exterior. But this time, it felt different. Kimi didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to face that fear, but deep down, he knew Dino was right. His cruelty, the distance he had put between himself and Ollie—it wasn’t out of malice, but out of fear of what might happen if he let his guard down. Fear of the consequences that could come from caring too much.

Kimi’s attempt to deflect came in the form of a sharp rebuke. "Don't psychoanalyze me, Dino," he snapped, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. The anger he tried to project did little to hide the vulnerability behind it. The truth was too raw, too painful for him to confront. His heart raced in his chest, but he didn’t let it show. The anger was his shield, even if it barely held up against the crushing weight of everything he was feeling.

Kimi fell into silence, his fingers tightening around the phone in his hand, as if the physical pressure could somehow stop the emotions swirling inside him. Dino always had this uncanny ability to see right through him, to understand the things Kimi wasn’t ready to admit, not even to himself. It frustrated him, how much Dino knew. How much he could read in Kimi’s silence, in the way he held himself. It was as if Kimi’s thoughts and fears were written all over him, and no matter how hard he tried to hide them, Dino would always find a way in.

The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive, as Dino continued, undeterred. "You're using Ollie to punish yourself," he said, the accusation hanging in the air like a weight Kimi couldn’t escape. "Admit it." The words struck with a force that took Kimi’s breath away. They were true, painful, and undeniable. Kimi wanted to argue, wanted to deny it, but the truth was already out there, too clear to ignore.

He was punishing himself, keeping Ollie at a distance, pushing him away, all because he was too scared to face his feelings. Too scared of what it might mean. Too scared of the pain that could come from loving someone he couldn’t have. The realization settled over him like a heavy blanket, suffocating and undeniable. The truth was there, and for the first time in a long while, Kimi couldn’t hide from it.

“Kimi.” Dino’s voice softened, shedding its usual sharp edge. It was rare for Dino to sound like this—gentle, almost imploring. His gaze bore into Kimi, unwavering, as if he could pull the truth from him with sheer determination. “If you care about him—and don’t even try to deny that you do—then stop this. Fix it. Or at the very least, stop making it worse.”

Kimi flinched, his jaw tightening as he looked away. The words hit too close, stripping away the armor he so carefully maintained. “I can’t,” he admitted, his voice cracking under the weight of his own guilt. The vulnerability of the confession threatened to unravel him entirely. “I don’t know how.”

“You’re afraid,” Dino said simply, his voice calm but unwavering. It was a statement, not a question. It wsd as if he had pinpointed the exact flaw in Kimi’s carefully constructed defenses. Dino’s words struck like an arrow, aimed directly at the heart of Kimi’s reluctance to face his own vulnerability. The truth of it stung, even if Kimi wasn’t ready to admit it.

“I’m not afraid,” Kimi snapped, his response immediate and sharp. The words were out of his mouth before he could even think about them, driven by a need to deny what Dino had said. But even as the words left him, Kimi knew it wasn’t entirely true. The conviction in his tone was more a reflex than a real belief. He could feel it—Dino had seen through him, and the denial only made him feel smaller, more exposed. He wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all himself.

“Yes, you are,” Dino pressed, his voice unwavering in its certainty. He didn’t give Kimi a moment to hide behind his defensiveness. “You’re afraid of him forgiving you,” Dino continued, his voice dropping slightly as he cut to the core of Kimi’s turmoil. “Afraid of what happens if he doesn’t. And maybe—just maybe—you’re afraid of being happy, because you don’t think you deserve it.”

Dino had peeled back the layers Kimi had carefully built around his emotions, exposing the raw, painful truth beneath. Kimi had always carried that fear, deep down—of being loved, of allowing himself to be vulnerable, of embracing happiness. Because every time he thought about allowing himself to have it, a voice inside him whispered that he didn’t deserve it. That somehow, he would ruin it, just as he had ruined so many things before.

Kimi fell silent, the weight of Dino’s words settling over him like a suffocating blanket. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, a mixture of anger, shame, and an uncomfortable truth he didn’t know how to confront. His fingers tightened around the phone in his hand, but it did nothing to steady the storm inside him. Dino was right. He was afraid. And maybe, just maybe, the fear wasn’t about Ollie at all—it was about Kimi himself.

Dino leaned forward, his voice dropping to a quieter but no less urgent tone. “Listen to me. Whatever happened between you two, it’s not beyond fixing. But you’ve got to stop running—from him, from yourself, from all of it.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning. Kimi’s breath hitched as the weight of Dino’s plea settled over him. Somewhere deep down, he knew Dino was right. But the path forward felt impossibly steep, and the walls Kimi had built around himself weren’t so easily dismantled.

Kimi squeezed his eyes shut, his head tipping back against the wall as if the weight of his thoughts could be pressed out of existence. His voice cracked with frustration as he finally spoke. “Why do you even care?” The words were sharp, almost accusatory, as if caring itself was a crime. “This isn’t your problem.” He hated the vulnerability in his voice, the way it revealed just how lost he felt. Anger had always been easier to carry than the ache that followed him now.

“Because you’re my friend,” Dino replied without hesitation, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. It wasn’t loud, but the firmness in his tone left no room for argument. “And so is he.” There was no judgment, no pity—just a simple truth that made Kimi’s chest tighten. Dino always had a way of stripping things down to their core, of forcing Kimi to confront what he tried to avoid.

Kimi exhaled deeply, his eyes closing once more as he leaned his head back against the wall. The cool surface grounded him, but it didn’t stop the turmoil inside. “It’s not that simple,” he murmured, his voice quieter this time. He wanted to believe Dino, to believe that things could be mended, but every step forward felt like dragging himself through quicksand. How could something so broken ever be fixed?

“It never is,” Dino said, his tone soft but unyielding. “But you owe it to yourself—and to Ollie—to at least try.” There was no sermon, no overcomplicated reasoning, just an insistence that felt impossibly steady. It wasn’t about perfection or guarantees; it was about taking the first step, even if it terrified him. Dino wasn’t asking him to fix everything overnight—he was asking him to stop running.

For a long moment, the line went quiet, the weight of Dino’s words settling over Kimi like a storm cloud, heavy and suffocating. It wasn’t just guilt that gnawed at him anymore; it was the realization that he was standing at a crossroads. The silence felt almost sacred, an unspoken demand that he decide which way to go. But as the moments stretched on, Kimi’s grip tightened, and his heart ached with the smallest flicker of hope, fragile but stubbornly alive.

“I don’t know if I can fix it,” Kimi admitted, his voice was raw, it barely reached above a whisper. It was the first time he’d allowed the thought to slip past the barriers he had built, the first time he’d said it out loud. The weight of his failures pressed down on him, his chest aching as if every word cost him a piece of himself. How could he fix something so fractured, so deeply tangled in lies and pain? how could he even begin when the damage was his own doing?

“Start by not making it worse,” dino replied gently, his tone firm but without judgment. Kimi could hear the unspoken plea beneath the words, the hope that maybe there was still something left to salvage. “Just stop adding fuel to the fire.” his voice softened, almost tentative. “It doesn't have to be perfect, Kimi. it doesn’t have to be all at once. but you can’t keep running from it. you have to start somewhere.”

Kimi stared at the ground, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. starting somewhere sounded so simple, so obvious, but it felt impossibly far away. How could he even take the first step when every instinct screamed at him to retreat, to protect himself, to push ollie further away? The thought of Ollie’s face—hurt, betrayed, yet still so painfully beautiful—haunted him. It was easier to do nothing, to stay in the silence and let the distance grow until there was nothing left to save.

“You just have to build something with him.” Dino continued. Kimi could hear the faith in his voice, there was the belief that it wasn't too late. Kimi always loved how Dino was an optimist. But the truth was, Kimi if he could take that first step, let alone anything beyond it. All he knew was the ache in his chest, the weight of his regret, and the way Dino’s words lingered like barbed wire around his arm.

"Thanks," Kimi muttered eventually, the word barely audible. His voice felt foreign, distant, like it belonged to someone else. It was a single syllable, heavy with exhaustion and a bitterness he couldn’t untangle. He didn’t know why he said it—whether he meant it, whether he even could. He wasn’t sure if he was thanking Dino for his patience, his honesty, or just for not hanging up. Maybe it was gratitude wrapped in guilt, or maybe it was nothing at all.

"Where would you be without me?" Dino replied simply, his voice soft, though a chuckle slipped out. The words were light, almost teasing, but beneath them lay a quiet depth, a truth that lingered longer than Kimi wanted to admit. Dino wasn’t asking for recognition or gratitude; he was grounding Kimi. He didn’t press for answers or explanations, didn’t demand anything more than what Kimi could give. Instead, Dino’s words settled in the quiet between them, filling the space like a balm over an open wound.

The silence stretched, not uncomfortable but weighted, the kind that allowed thoughts to breathe and wounds to ache in their own time. Kimi leaned into it, letting the stillness wrap around him like a fragile shield. The tension between them remained, an unspoken question neither was ready to answer. Dino didn’t push—he never did—but his presence alone was a reminder that someone cared, that someone was watching, waiting, hoping Kimi might find his way back to himself. And for a moment, just a moment, Kimi let himself believe it might be possible.

“But seriously, Kimi—don’t wait too long," Dino added after a pause. It wasn’t a threat, but it was a warning, and Kimi could feel its truth pressing against him. He knew Dino was right. He always was. But knowing and acting were two entirely different things, and Kimi wasn’t sure if he could bridge the gap between them.

Before Kimi could respond, Paul’s voice cut through in the background, sharp and unapologetic. "He wants your head on a stick," Paul finished for Dino, his tone dripping with exasperation. "Now leave Dino alone. Now." The bluntness was startling, a reminder that while Dino might have infinite patience, Paul had clearly reached his limit. It wasn’t harsh, but it carried the unmistakable weight of someone who heard enough.

Kimi blinked, caught off guard by Paul’s sudden interjection. The words stung in a way he hadn’t anticipated, leaving him momentarily speechless. He could almost picture Paul in the background, arms crossed, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. The image was strangely grounding, pulling Kimi out of his spiraling thoughts and back into the moment. For all Paul’s sharpness, there was something almost protective in his tone—like he was shielding Dino from the mess Kimi couldn’t seem to untangle himself from.

He exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the conversation settle over him. Paul’s bluntness wasn’t unwarranted; Kimi knew that much. Dino had given him time, patience, and understanding—things Kimi wasn’t sure he deserved. And yet, despite Paul’s words, Dino had stayed on the line, his presence steady, unwavering. For a moment, Kimi let himself feel the quiet comfort of that steadiness, even as he wrestled with the growing awareness of how much he was asking of those around him.

He couldn’t burden Ollie. The thought came as quickly as it disappeared, but it left a bitter aftertaste, like guilt clawing at his throat. Ollie deserved someone who wasn’t tangled in their own mess, someone who wasn’t constantly second-guessing themselves or teetering on the edge of self-destruction. Kimi had spent so long convincing himself that he could handle everything on his own, but now it felt like all he was doing was leaving wreckage behind for others to clean up. Ollie didn’t need that—not from him, not from anyone.

Dino was going to kill him, though. Kimi could practically hear his best friend’s voice in his head, laced with that rare mix of disappointment and frustration that hit deeper than any insult ever could. How fast had he changed his mind? How fast had he thrown his carefully laid plans out the window? Building bridges was supposed to mean moving forward, not dragging someone else into the chaos with him. The sheer irony of it was almost laughable if it didn’t make his chest ache.

There was something horrible driving him, and it wasn’t anger or frustration. It was quieter, deeper—an unnamed desperation that gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. He didn’t want to admit how much he needed to make things right, not just for Ollie, but for himself. The idea of losing whatever tentative connection they had was unbearable, even if he couldn’t quite understand why.

It wasn’t just about guilt or redemption anymore. It was about proving to himself that he could be more than this—more than the chaos, the self-doubt, and the wreckage he left behind. He wanted to believe he could be someone worth knowing, someone worth trusting, even if the path to get there felt impossible to see.

The thought lingered as he sat there, staring blankly at the wall. He could feel the weight of his own indecision pressing down on him, but beneath it all, there was a flicker of something else—resolve, maybe. It wasn’t much, just the faintest spark, but it was enough to keep him moving. Enough to remind him that he couldn’t afford to give up, not now. Ollie might not need him, but maybe, just maybe, Kimi needed Ollie more than he cared to admit.

Chapter Text

Ollie stared at his reflection in the darkened window, his thoughts swirling like a storm he couldn’t escape. He looked hollow—pale, exhausted, a ghost of the person he used to be. His chest felt heavy, like every breath was a struggle, every thought dragging him deeper into the pit of doubt and self-loathing. His reflection almost seemed to mock him, a distorted image of someone he no longer recognized.

"Weak." The word echoed in his mind, sharp and unrelenting, like a taunt he couldn’t shake. Kimi’s voice had been calm when he said it, detached, as if it were an undeniable fact rather than a cruel jab. Ollie could still hear the exact inflection, the way it rolled off Kimi's tongue with certainty.

The worst part wasn’t that Kimi had said it. The worst part was that Ollie couldn’t stop believing it might be true. The weight of those words pressed on his chest, suffocating him, pulling him deeper into a place he didn’t want to be. Kimi hadn’t just hurt him; he had planted a seed of doubt that was now taking root, spreading like poison through every corner of Ollie’s mind. Haas was going to be more disappointed in him than imaginable.

He clenched his fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as if the pain could ground him, could snap him out of the spiral. But it didn’t work. Nothing worked. Every time he tried to push the thoughts away, they came back stronger, louder. “Maybe I’m not strong enough. Maybe I never was.”

Ollie had spent years fighting for his place in this world, clawing his way up through talent, grit, and sheer determination. He’d faced setbacks before—injuries, criticism, the constant pressure to perform—but this felt different. This felt personal. Kimi wasn’t just a rival; he was someone Ollie had trusted. Someone who had worked beside.

And yet, Kimi had torn him apart on live television without a second thought. The interview played on a loop in his mind, each sentence cutting deeper than the last. "We were never friends." The words stung more than they should have. His mother had always told him he didn’t need anyone’s approval, but she also was never a racer like he was. She didn't know how much he craved it.

Ollie let out a shaky breath, his fingers gripping the windowsill as if it could anchor him. He didn’t know how to move forward from this. The thought of facing Kimi again, of seeing him on the track or in the paddock, made his stomach churn. How was he supposed to look him in the eye after everything that had been said?

More than that, how was he supposed to face the world? The media frenzy was relentless, fans and reporters alike dissecting every detail of the video and Kimi’s subsequent interview. Ollie felt like he was under a microscope, every flaw magnified, every misstep broadcast for the world to see. Was it too much to just say what happened? Say the two were having a deep conversation. Rumours will be rumours. Ollie wants to be worth more than that.

And then there was the doubt. The relentless, gnawing doubt that told him maybe Kimi was right. Maybe he was weak. Maybe he didn’t have what it took to make it in this sport. The pressure, the pain, it was all becoming too much.

He sank onto the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. He wanted to scream, to cry, to lash out at the unfairness of it all. But instead, he just sat there, silent and still, the weight of his thoughts pressing him down like an anchor.

His eyes flicked to his phone on the nightstand, the screen dark and accusing. He had sent that angry text to Kimi hours ago, every word a raw expression of his hurt and betrayal. But there had been no genuine reply. Of course there wasn't. Kimi had made it clear he didn’t care.

For a fleeting moment, Ollie considered deleting the text, unsending his emotions in an attempt to salvage some dignity. But what was the point? Kimi had already said everything he needed to. There was no coming back from this, no fixing what had been broken.

Ollie leaned back, staring up at the ceiling as the silence of the room closed in around him. He felt trapped—by his thoughts, by the expectations of the world, by his own inability to shake the doubt that was consuming him. He didn’t know how to move forward, didn’t know if he could.

All he knew was that he couldn’t keep going like this. Something had to change. But for the first time in his life, Ollie wasn’t sure if he had the strength to make it happen.

"We were never friends."

How could he say that? After everything they’d been through, after every late-night strategy meeting, every inside joke, every moment Ollie had thought they were on the same wavelength, even if they didn’t always say it out loud. He never realised how much Kimi left an impact until that impact was a punch.

And the way Kimi had talked about his pain—Ollie clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. It was more than just the words, it was the tone, the cold indifference, the suggestion that Ollie was somehow lesser because he had the audacity to struggle. It stung like salt in a wound.

“He’s too fragile for this world.”

The words had been spoken with such casual certainty, as though Kimi were stating a fact. Did everyone agree? With how simple he stated it, it had to be a commonly agreed upon fact. His words were sharp edges cutting deeper with every repetition. Kimi hadn’t said it directly to him, but it didn’t matter. It still felt personal, deliberate, as if Kimi had meant for Ollie to hear them, to feel their weight.

He sank into his bed, his body folding in on itself as he buried his face in his hands. The mattress didn’t offer the comfort he craved; it felt as unyielding as the doubts pressing down on him. He’d always known this world was brutal, unforgiving, but hearing those words from Kimi, someone he had once respected, made it feel unbearable. Kimi was even respected by other drivers. He didn't want every driver to underestimate him.

Maybe Ollie wasn’t cut out for this life, this brutal, relentless world that demanded perfection and punished even the smallest crack in his armor. The thought wrapped around him like a vice, suffocating and inescapable. What if all his work, his sacrifice, had been for nothing? What if he’d been deluding himself all along, thinking he could stand shoulder to shoulder with drivers like Kimi—the untouchable, unwavering talents—or the legends he’d idolized as a boy?

The roar of engines filled his mind, not as a source of excitement but as a cruel reminder of what he might lose. He could still feel the sharp scent of gasoline, the weight of the helmet pressing against his cheeks, the vibration of the wheel beneath his hands. These sensations, once so thrilling, now felt distant, almost mocking. They were remnants of a dream that suddenly felt unattainable.

A bitter laugh escaped him, muffled by his hands. He’d always prided himself on his flexibility, his ability to bounce back no matter what was thrown at him. But now? Now he felt like he was breaking apart, piece by piece, with nothing to hold onto.

Every mistake he’d made on the track, every faltering lap, seemed to resurface all at once. They gathered like a storm cloud, each failure another drop in a deluge he couldn’t outrun. He tried to fight it, to push those memories aside, but they clung to him like oil on water, refusing to be shaken off.

Kimi’s words weren’t just haunting him—they were feeding something darker, something that had been quietly growing inside him for months. What if those doubts Kimi had planted weren’t new? What if they’d always been there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting to bubble over? What if Kimi had only said out loud what Ollie had been too scared to admit to himself?

The thought terrified him. It wasn’t the fear of failure itself; it was the idea that Kimi might be right, that Ollie wasn’t enough, that his best would never be good enough. He stared at the floor, his breaths coming shallow and fast, as if the air in the room had turned toxic.

Yet, in the suffocating silence, a quieter voice began to whisper, faint but persistent. It wasn’t a voice of defiance or anger—it was a reminder. A reminder of why he had started in the first place. The love for the sport, the thrill of pushing boundaries, the moments when he felt alive in a way nothing else could replicate.

Fragile. Maybe he was fragile. Maybe he wasn’t like Kimi, who seemed untouchable, unshakable. But maybe that wasn’t the point. Maybe fragility wasn’t a weakness. Maybe it was proof that he cared, that he felt, that he was human. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to keep going.

He glanced at the clock. 10:42 p.m. Too late to call anyone, but too early to sleep—assuming he could sleep at all. His mind was a mess of what-ifs and could-haves, looping endlessly.

A knock at the door jolted Ollie from his spiraling thoughts. For a moment, the room felt still, save for the heavy pounding of his heart. The sound had been so sudden, so sharp, it cut through the haze of doubt and exhaustion that had wrapped around him.

He froze, staring at the door. His mind raced, was Kimi here to apologize?

The thought struck him like a spark, quick and fleeting, but its glow lingered. What if it was Kimi? What if, despite everything he’d said, Kimi was standing on the other side of the door? What if he had come to apologize, to explain, to make this right?

But no. That was impossible. Kimi wouldn’t come. Not after the way he’d dismissed Ollie, not after the cold finality in his words. The hope fizzled out, leaving behind a dull ache in its place.

Still, the knock hung in the air, pressing on him. Whoever it was hadn’t left, and the silence that followed felt almost accusatory, as if urging him to move. With a deep breath, Ollie forced himself to his feet, dragging his exhaustion with him as he crossed the room. He slapped his face to return the color.

His hand hesitated on the door handle for a second too long. He shook his head, muttering to himself, “Get a grip, Ollie,” and pulled the door open.

It wasn’t Kimi.

Standing there, his expression a mix of concern and exasperation, was Dino. His presence was both grounding and jarring, a sharp contrast to the storm of emotions Ollie had been trapped in.

Dino didn’t wait for an invitation. “Mate,” he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him, “you look like hell.”

“Thanks. Nice to see you too.”

“You’re welcome,” Dino shot back, plopping down on the edge of the bed. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the disheveled sheets, the empty water bottles on the nightstand, the general sense of chaos. “What’s going on? And don’t tell me ‘nothing,’ because I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re lying.”

Ollie hesitated, the words caught in his throat. How could he explain the weight pressing on his chest, the way Kimi’s words had torn him apart? He leaned back against the closed door, staring at the floor as he fought for something to say.

Dino didn’t press him, but the silence was heavy, and Ollie could feel his friend waiting, expectant but patient. Finally, Ollie sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Did you see the interview?”

Dino’s expression shifted, his jaw tightening slightly. “Of course I saw the interview.” He leaned back against the desk, arms crossed. “Kimi practically broadcasted your funeral.”

Ollie winced at the bluntness, though he couldn’t deny it. That was exactly what it had felt like—a public execution. He had replayed the words over and over, each time feeling the same sting, the same betrayal.

“It was brutal,” Dino continued, his voice softer now, though the edge of frustration lingered. “He shouldn’t have said those things, not like that. Not about you.”

“What do you want me to say, Dino?” Ollie asked, his voice hollow. “That it didn’t hurt? That I’m fine? Because I’m not. I’m not fine.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and exposed. For a moment, Dino didn’t say anything, and Ollie braced himself for the kind of awkward reassurance he hated—something meaningless like It’ll be okay or You’ll get over it. But that wasn't Dino.

He studied Ollie with an expression Ollie didn’t see often: serious, almost solemn. The usual humor that defined Dino’s presence was absent, replaced by something steadier. “You’re allowed to not be fine, mate. But what you’re not allowed to do is let him win. You hear me? Don’t let him break you.”

Ollie felt the words hit him, harder than he expected. For a moment, he couldn’t speak. His throat tightened, and he let out a shaky breath, nodding even though he wasn’t sure he believed it.

Dino seemed to sense the hesitation but didn’t push. Instead, he stood and clapped a hand on Ollie’s shoulder, his grip firm, grounding. “Come on,” Dino said, his voice lighter now, though still kind. “Let’s go get some air. You’ve been cooped up in here for too long.”

Ollie hesitated, glancing at his phone again. It sat on the desk, its screen blank and lifeless, no new notifications. Part of him hated himself for hoping—for waiting for something from Kimi that was never going to come. He sighed, shaking his head.

Then he looked back at Dino, his oldest friend, the one person who always seemed to know when to show up, when to pull him out of the darkness even if Ollie wasn’t ready to leave it yet.

“Yeah,” Ollie said finally, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. “Let’s go.”

The hallway outside his room was quiet, the soft hum of fluorescent lights filling the space. Ollie shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, walking beside Dino without saying much. He didn’t have the energy for small talk, and Dino, thankfully, didn’t push for it.

They stepped outside into the cool night air. The chill bit at Ollie’s skin, sharp and refreshing, and he breathed it in deeply. It was a stark contrast to the suffocating heaviness that had filled his room moments earlier.
“Better?” Dino asked, glancing at him.
Ollie shrugged, staring out into the empty parking lot. “A little.”
Dino leaned against the railing of the stairs leading down to the lot, crossing his arms. “Look, I’m not gonna pretend I haven't talked to Kimi about this, but it’s not my place to tell you, it’s his problem. Please if he reaches out, let him.”

“There’s nothing he could say,” Ollie muttered. “He said what everyone’s been thinking, Dino. Hell, what I’ve been thinking.”

“Bullshit,” Dino said bluntly, his voice cutting through Ollie’s self-doubt like a knife."You’re not some charity case, Ollie. You earned your spot here—the blood, sweat, and endless hours weren’t handed to you. They were yours, fought for and deserved. Don’t let anyone, not even yourself, take that away. If you give it all away, as your friend, as your brother, I’ll personally kill you."

The conviction in Dino’s voice was enough to make Ollie pause. He wanted to believe it, wanted to hold onto the words like a lifeline. But the doubt was still there, lurking, whispering that Dino didn’t see the whole picture.

“It’s not just him, Dino,” Ollie said quietly. “It’s everything. Every time I screw up, every time I finish behind him, it’s like… maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m not good enough.”

Dino sighed, his frustration evident, though it wasn’t directed at Ollie. “You’re human, mate. You’re gonna mess up sometimes.”

Ollie looked away, his jaw tight. “Doesn’t feel like enough.”

“If it's not,” Dino said firmly. “You’re going to let everyone count the days till you fail? You're going to let them control every little thing? What if I told you I think you're going to fail, you'll take that?”

The determination in Dino’s voice was almost contagious. Ollie felt a small flicker of something—maybe hope, maybe defiance—starting to stir inside him.

Ollie leaned against the railing beside Dino, the night air cooling his skin. For the first time in hours, he felt a small sense of relief, like the weight on his chest had shifted just enough for him to breathe.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the faint rustle of the wind.

Dino smirked, clapping him on the back. “Anytime. Now, come on. Let me take you somewhere.”

Ollie managed a faint smile, the first one in what felt like forever. “Yeah, maybe I could use that.”

Ollie followed Dino down the dimly lit path toward the parking lot, the cool night air nipping at his face. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, his steps slow and heavy, but something about Dino’s presence lightened the weight pressing on his chest.

As they approached Dino’s car, Ollie’s gaze landed on the figure in the front driver's seat, and he stopped in his tracks. Ollie isn't even allowed to drive Dino’s car. Paul Aron. Of all people, Paul Aron. Ollie was starting to wonder if he was missing something,

Paul was sprawled across the front seat with a kind of effortless ease that made Ollie stop for a second. His legs were casually propped up on the dash, as if he had all the time in the world and no rules to follow.

Ollie couldn’t help but watch him for a moment, appreciating how naturally cool Paul made it all look. It wasn’t just the way Paul carried himself—it was the way he seemed to exist in his own orbit, always unfazed, always smooth. Ollie had to admit, Paul had a confidence that Ollie had always admired, even if it irked him sometimes.

Something else caught Ollies attention too, It was the sunglasses perched on his face—oversized, bold, and completely out of place in that moment, but somehow, they looked like they belonged on Paul. Ollie’s eyes widened as he realized. Those were the same sunglasses he had found in Dino’s car just yesterday.

For a moment, Ollie stood frozen, his mind trying to piece it all together. Paul, those sunglasses… His brain was running circles, but before he could connect the dots, Paul’s grin caught his eye. Kimi even making odd comments-

“What’s up, Bearman?” Paul called out, noticing Ollie standing there in the parking lot, his gaze locked on him.

Ollie blinked, shaking off his thoughts. “Where did you get those?” he asked, pointing at the sunglasses.

Paul pushed them down slightly, giving Ollie a knowing look that made his heart skip a beat. “These?” he said with a slow grin, his accent making the word “these” sound even more playful. “I’ve had them forever. Absolute classics, da?” He leaned back, stretching his arms out as if the sunglasses were the least interesting thing about him.

Ollie couldn’t stop himself from smiling, even though he was still trying to figure it out. He had always thought Paul was cool in a way that seemed effortless, like everything he did was just right. And now, even with those oversized shades, Paul still managed to pull it off. Ollie’s smile widened despite himself.

“Right…” Ollie muttered, the suspicion he’d felt earlier dissipating, replaced by that familiar admiration. “I mean, you dolook pretty cool in them.”

Paul let out a light laugh, the sound rolling off his tongue smoothly. “Of course I do,” he replied, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re just jealous, huh?”

Ollie rolled his eyes, but there was no malice in it. Paul was impossible to take seriously when he was like this, and yet, Ollie couldn’t help but be charmed by it. Paul wasn’t just cool in a typical way—he was cool in that effortless, everything-just-falls-into-place way that made Ollie wish he could be a little more like that.

As Ollie slid into the back seat of Dino’s car, he barely noticed Paul still sitting in the front, adjusting his sunglasses as he gave a glance at Dino. The atmosphere was light, the easy banter from earlier still hanging in the air, but then something shifted. Paul tilted his head, his gaze softening just a little, and he gave Dino a slow, deliberate smile.

“You know,” Paul said, his voice low and teasing, “I’ve been thinking... this car really suits you, Dino. It’s almost like it was made for someone as... stylish as you.” His eyes lingered a little longer than usual, and Ollie couldn’t help but notice the way Paul’s lips curled into a knowing grin.

Dino, who had been about to start the car, suddenly froze, his hands gripping the steering wheel just a little too tightly. His face flushed, and he let out a small, nervous laugh. “Uh, yeah, I—thanks, mate,” he muttered, clearly flustered. He quickly glanced at Ollie through the rearview mirror, his eyes wide, looking for any escape from Paul’s unexpected attention. “I mean, it’s just a car, right?”

But Paul wasn’t letting up. He leaned forward slightly, propping an elbow on the armrest, and gave Dino a wink. “No, no, Dino. I think it’s more than just a car. It's a look, and it’s definitely... working for you.” He emphasized the word “working” in a way that made Ollie blink, completely caught off guard.

Dino squirmed in his seat, his cheeks turning an almost alarming shade of red. “Stop it,” he muttered, glancing at the road ahead like he was desperate for something to distract him from Paul’s playful teasing. “You’re messing with me now.”

Ollie shifted uncomfortably in the backseat, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. What the hell is happening right now? he thought, his mind racing to process the situation. He’d known Paul was always a bit... forward, but this? This was something else entirely. Paul’s flirtation was so casual, so effortless, like he did it all the time, and yet Dino was clearly flustered, his usual cocky demeanor replaced by awkwardness. It was an odd mix of tension and amusement that Ollie didn’t quite know how to interpret.

Paul chuckled at Dino’s discomfort, clearly enjoying the reaction. “Oh, come on, Dino,” he teased, sitting back in his seat with a dramatic sigh. “You’re just too easy to mess with. I swear, I’ve never met anyone so cute when they’re embarrassed.”

Ollie, still trying to piece together the strange dynamic between them, glanced between Paul and Dino. He wasn’t sure if he should be amused or just plain confused by what was happening. He’d always thought of Paul as the smooth, unflappable one, but here he was, pushing Dino into the kind of embarrassing situation that Ollie wasn’t sure even he could escape from.

Finally, Dino started the car, trying to brush it off with a tight-lipped smile, though his cheeks were still pink. “Whatever, let’s just go before you make me regret this entire car purchase.”

Paul only smirked. “Too late for that, my friend. I’ll make sure to remind you of your ‘charm’ every chance I get.”

Ollie sat back in his seat, still processing the scene. What was that? His mind raced, but the only thing he was sure of was that he was going to have to figure out just what kind of weird dynamic this was between Paul and Dino. And honestly? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Paul glanced at Ollie through the side mirror before casually tilting it, his fingers adjusting it with the kind of nonchalance that made Ollie squint in disbelief. Wasn’t that, like, an unspoken rule? You didn’t mess with someone else’s mirrors—it was just basic car etiquette. Yet Paul, as always, operated as though rules didn’t apply to him. And the worst part? Dino didn’t seem to care.

Dino, in fact, looked completely unbothered. He was slouched back in his seat, phone in hand, scrolling aimlessly like he had all the time in the world. Ollie had never seen anyone embody the term passenger princess quite so perfectly.

Dino was supposed to be his best friend, but here he was, completely indifferent while Paul acted like he ran the show.

“Seriously?” Ollie muttered, crossing his arms. “You’d let him mess with your mirrors, but you nearly bit my head off for adjusting the air conditioning last week.”

Dino finally glanced up, looking at Ollie through the rearview mirror with a half-smile. “Yeah, but you’re annoying when you do it,” he said simply, before going back to his phone. Paul laughed, the sound light and amused, while Ollie stared at them both, caught in disbelief. This car ride’s going to be a long one, he thought, sinking further into his seat.

Paul tapped his fingers lightly on the steering wheel, still grinning as if he’d just won some unspoken game. “Don’t take it personally, Bearman,” he said, glancing at Oliver again through the mirror. “Dino just has good taste. He knows who to trust with his car.”

Ollie rolled his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat. “Right. Because the guy who drives like he’s auditioning for an action movie is clearly the responsible choice.” Ollie held his head dramatically, calling a giggle from Dino. Who Paul shot a glance at.

Paul let out a mock gasp, clutching his chest dramatically. “That hurts, Ollie. Truly.” He turned to Dino, as if looking for backup. “You’re not going to let him slander me like that, are you?”

After that they drove in silence, the tension in the car was palpable, but not the bad kind. It was something else, something Ollie couldn’t quite put his finger on. Paul was humming softly, his hand casually draped over the steering wheel, and Dino was back on his phone, but every so often, Paul’s eyes flicked toward him. At first, Ollie thought nothing of it. But then Dino, without looking up, muttered something under his breath in Estonian—a language Ollie didn’t know Dino had any knowledge of—and Paul let out a low, genuine laugh in response.

Ollie blinked. “Wait, what did you say?”

“Nothing,” Dino said, his voice quick and dismissive, but the faint smile on his face said otherwise.

Paul glanced at Ollie in the rearview mirror, that ever-present smirk softening just a little. “It wasn’t for you, Bearman.”

Oh?

Ollie sat up a bit straighter, watching the way Paul’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the wheel, the way Dino leaned slightly toward him, almost unconsciously. It wasn’t just the banter. It wasn’t just Paul’s teasing or Dino’s flustered reactions. It was the way they were tuned into each other—little looks, private words, an unspoken ease that felt... different.

It felt like he was caught inside their orbit, but the orbit wasn’t built for him. It revolved around them, perfectly balanced, leaving Ollie on the outside, aware now of a quiet connection he wasn’t meant to touch. Even though there was a literal gap between them—the seat, the space—Ollie had the oddest feeling that if he reached out to close it, his hand would meet resistance, like two magnets pushing him back.

Then Paul casually placed his hand on the middle console, resting it there as if he weren’t doing anything at all. Dino didn’t even look up from his phone, but for just a moment—a heartbeat, maybe less—he hooked his pinky around Paul’s, barely touching before letting go again, the gesture so fleeting that Ollie almost convinced himself he’d imagined it.

Oh.

Ollie’s mouth hung open slightly as the realization struck him like a lightning bolt. He slouched back in his seat, staring at the back of their heads, his thoughts racing. This wasn’t just banter. It wasn’t just Paul being his usual, annoyingly smooth self. There was something there, something quietly profound that had been hiding in plain sight, and now that he’d seen it, he couldn’t unsee it. His lips curled into a wide grin despite himself, the pieces finally clicking together. The teasing, the sunglasses, the way Paul seemed effortlessly at home in Dino’s car—it all made sense now. Paul wasn’t just anyone. Paul was Dino’s everything.

Why hadn't Dino said anything?

Ollie sat there, the smile fading slightly as the question lingered in his mind. Dino told him everything—or at least, he thought he did. They’d been through so much together, the highs and the lows, the moments that tested them both. And yet, here he was, blindsided by something that now seemed so obvious. Was Dino afraid of how he’d react? Or maybe it wasn’t fear. Maybe it was something else, something quieter, something Dino wasn’t ready to share yet.

Ollie’s eyes flicked to the middle console again, to where Paul’s hand still rested, fingers relaxed and unbothered. He thought of the way Dino had linked their pinkies for just a second—a small, fleeting motion that spoke volumes. It wasn’t grand, it wasn’t loud, but it was real, and it said more than words ever could. Ollie couldn’t help but feel a pang of warmth, even pride, for his best friend. Dino deserved this. He deserves someone who sees him, who teased him but also steadied him, who made him blush and laugh in equal measure.

As they drove on, Ollie sat back with a sigh, deciding to keep the revelation to himself for now. Whatever this was between Paul and Dino, it was theirs. And maybe Dino hadn’t told him yet, but Ollie would be ready whenever he did. For now, he could live with being the third wheel—because for the first time, he was happy to see Dino in a world that wasn’t just fast cars and relentless competition. It was something softer, something warmer, something that made all of this make sense.

Chapter Text

Ollie sat at the edge of his hotel bed, his foot tapping anxiously against the carpeted floor. A week. Seven days. That was all the time left before he made his debut as a Formula 1 driver for Haas, and the weight of it all felt like it was pressing on his chest. The preseason had flown by in a blur of media days, training sessions, and endless team meetings, but now the real thing was staring him in the face, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready.

The preseason had flown by in a blur of media days, training sessions, and endless team meetings. Each day felt like a race of its own, the constant demands pushing him to his limits. He’d poured everything into preparing for this moment—into proving he deserved his place on the grid. Yet now, sitting alone in the dimly lit room, doubts began to creep in. Had he done enough? Was he truly ready for the biggest challenge of his career?

Ollie ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening as his mind replayed every mistake he’d made during testing. The data sheets, the feedback, the comparisons to his teammates—it all spun in his head, a chaotic symphony of second-guessing. He had spent countless hours with Enzo Mucci, his trainer, who constantly reminded him to focus on progress, not perfection. But under the weight of the expectations—the team’s, the fans’, and his own—progress sometimes felt like it wasn’t enough.

Taking a deep breath, Ollie looked out the window, the city lights flickering against the night sky. He reminded himself why he had fought so hard to get here—why he loved this sport. Racing was in his blood, his passion, his identity. The path ahead would be grueling, but if there was one thing Ollie knew how to do, it was to keep pushing forward.

And then there was the drama with Kimi. The media frenzy had mostly died down, but its remnants lingered like a shadow, haunting him every time he opened TikTok or Twitter. His name and Kimi’s were still linked in petty comments and snarky captions under countless fan edits. Some painted Kimi as the villain, some painted Ollie as the failure, and all of it made him feel like he was drowning in a narrative he couldn’t control. Every swipe on his phone was a reminder of the rivalry that had been dragged into the public eye, dissected and reassembled by strangers.

The memes, the fake quotes, the threads comparing every stat and misstep he’d ever made. And the “he’s too fragile for this” comment that Kimi had thrown out so carelessly in an interview? That had practically been turned into a slogan. Ollie clenched his jaw and tossed his phone onto the bed, as if physically distancing himself from the noise could silence it in his head.

He wasn’t fragile. He’d worked too damn hard to get here to be reduced to a single throwaway comment. But no matter how much he tried to brush it off, the words still stung, settling deep in his chest like a splinter he couldn’t dig out.

The days leading up to the start of an F1 season were nothing short of chaos. Mornings started early with fitness training—hours of cardio, strength work, and reaction drills to ensure his body could handle the brutal demands of a race. His trainer, Enzo, didn’t go easy on him either, barking instructions while Ollie pushed through circuits designed to mimic the physical strain of a race weekend. The afternoons were a mix of technical briefings and simulator sessions at the Haas facility, where Ollie worked alongside the engineers to perfect setups, analyze data, and try to anticipate every possible scenario they might face in the coming weeks.

Afternoons were packed with simulator work and meetings with the Haas engineers. They went over every detail of the car, tweaking setups, analyzing data, and running endless scenarios. The sim was supposed to prepare him, but even there, he found himself overthinking every corner, every braking zone. What if he made a mistake on race day? What if he couldn’t live up to the team’s expectations?

Evenings weren’t any less hectic. PR commitments filled his schedule—photoshoots in his new team gear, interviews with journalists hungry for soundbites, and glossy promo videos where he was supposed to look confident and relaxed. It was all part of the job, but every time someone shoved a microphone in his face and asked, “How does it feel to be the second youngest driver on the grid this year?” Ollie felt the same knot tighten in his stomach.

Evenings weren’t any easier. Media commitments filled his schedule—interviews, photoshoots, promotional videos. The Haas PR team coached him through every soundbite, every smile, but the pressure to appear calm and confident in front of the cameras was exhausting. Everyone wanted to know how it felt to be the 2nd youngest driver on the grid, and every time they asked, it felt like another weight added to the pile. 

Then there were the small details, the things that shouldn’t have mattered but somehow did. His race suits were being double-checked for fit. His nutritionist was constantly reminding him to eat and drink enough, even though his nerves made it hard to stomach anything. His team briefings had turned into lectures about consistency and strategy. Even the flight to Bahrain had been scrutinized to ensure he arrived rested and ready.

But the nights were the worst. The whirlwind of the day left Ollie alone in the quiet, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. He would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every mistake he’d made during the preseason. Was he overthinking the car setup? Did he fumble that interview question? Did his performance in the sim sessions inspire confidence or doubt?

One week. Seven days. By this time next week, he’d either prove to everyone, including himself, that he deserved this seat—or he’d find out just how cruel the sport he loved could be.

He kept his announcement post pinned to his Instagram, but even looking at it made him feel conflicted. The comments were a mix of support and doubt, fans rooting for him alongside skeptics who questioned whether he was ready for F1. Ollie scrolled through them sometimes, searching for validation but finding only noise. He wondered if Kimi had been right. Was he too fragile for this?

The thought crept in like an unwelcome guest, feeding on his insecurities. Ollie gritted his teeth and sat up in bed, running a hand through his hair. He couldn’t afford to think like that. He had worked for this his entire life. Every karting championship, every junior series race, every sleepless night had led him here. He wasn’t going to let a single week—or a single rivalry—ruin it for him.

Still, the nerves wouldn’t leave. The idea of walking into the paddock as a full-fledged F1 driver felt both thrilling and terrifying. He pictured the Haas garage, the car waiting for him, his name printed on the side. His logo on a custom towel. He imagined the cameras flashing, the crowd watching, the sound of engines roaring to life. The mental image both invigorated and overwhelmed him.

He stood and paced the room, hoping the movement would help burn off the nervous energy building inside him. His mind kept flashing to the inevitable comparisons—the media wouldn’t hesitate to measure him against other rookies or seasoned drivers. Then there was Kimi Antonelli. Their friendship had frayed over time, devolving into something far more complicated, something almost venomous. He knew people would be watching, waiting for him to stumble.

But Ollie refused to give Kimi that satisfaction that he was right about him. He stopped by the desk in the corner of the room, staring at the notepad resting on top of it. His trainer, Enzo Mucci, had given him a strategy for nights like this: write it down. “Turn the noise into clarity,” Enzo had said, the advice now etched in Ollie’s mind like a mantra. He grabbed the pen, hesitated, and then began jotting down the thoughts swirling in his head.

The words spilled out—frustrations, fears, and a flicker of hope. It wasn’t poetic or polished, but it was honest. When he finally dropped the pen, a strange sense of relief washed over him. He glanced at the scribbled lines and reminded himself that doubt was natural. He wasn’t alone in this; every driver had their moment of uncertainty. Even the greats had faltered before they triumphed.

He sank back onto the bed, exhaling deeply, and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. Flipping through old photos, he found one from his karting days—a candid shot of him standing beside a trophy, grinning ear to ear. Back then, the pressure hadn’t seemed so crushing. He had raced because he loved it, because the thrill outweighed everything else. He tried to hold onto that feeling, letting it spark a tiny flame in his chest.

As the minutes passed, the city outside his window began to quiet. The lights still glittered, but the urgency in his chest started to fade. He wouldn’t let the pressure drown him. He wasn’t here to prove Kimi wrong or to silence the critics—he was here for himself, for the boy in the photo who never gave up.

Ollie set the phone aside and lay back, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow would bring another round of preparation, but tonight, he allowed himself a small, determined smile. A week was all he had, but a week was enough.

Sleep hadn’t come easily, but the restless night had given way to a quiet resolve. He dressed quickly, pulling on a plain T-shirt and track pants before heading to the hotel gym. Training had always been his anchor, the one thing that could center him when everything else felt like it was spinning out of control.

The rhythmic clank of weights and the hum of treadmills greeted Ollie as he stepped into the gym. It was quiet, save for a couple of early risers scattered across the machines. He slipped on his headphones, letting the music drown out the noise as he started his warm-up. Each stretch and motion brought a sense of focus, the familiarity of the routine calming the storm of thoughts in his head. This was his space—no cameras, no questions, just him and the grind.

By the time he moved to the weights, sweat was already trickling down his face, his muscles warm and awake. He replayed Enzo’s advice in his mind: “Trust the process. Control what you can.” It wasn’t just about preparing his body—it was about preparing his mind for the chaos that came with life in Formula 1. Today was media day, a barrage of interviews, press conferences, and staged smiles, but for now, Ollie focused on the simplicity of lifting, pulling, and pushing his limits.

An hour later, Ollie dropped the dumbbells onto the rack with a satisfying thud and grabbed his towel. His body ached in the best way, a dull soreness that reminded him of the work he had put in. He wiped the sweat from his face, then took a long drink from his water bottle, the cold liquid refreshing against the heat that radiated from his skin. For the first time since waking, his mind felt clear.

As he walked back to his hotel room, the calm began to erode, replaced by the gnawing reality of the day ahead. Media day. No matter how much he trained or how well-prepared he thought he was, the spotlight always managed to unnerve him. It wasn’t the questions themselves—most of them were predictable—but the relentless scrutiny, the constant need to say the “right” thing. One misstep, one stray comment, and the headlines would write themselves.

Inside his room, he laid out the crisp Haas team polo and black trousers he was expected to wear. The sight of the uniform stirred a mix of pride and apprehension in him. This was what he had worked for, the pinnacle of motorsport. Yet, with the achievement came the pressure to prove he deserved it. He dressed slowly, his movements methodical, as if dragging out the moments before he stepped into the day’s chaos.

His phone buzzed on the desk, and he glanced over to see a message from his PR handler: “Lobby in 10. Don’t forget your key points.” Ollie scoffed quietly. He had memorized the talking points a dozen times—what to say about the team, the car, his goals for the season. But he knew the reporters wouldn’t stop there. They’d dig into the rivalry with Kimi Antonelli, the whispers of doubt surrounding his readiness for Formula 1, and the inevitable comparisons to every rookie before him.

Ollie shoved the phone into his pocket and turned to the notebook resting on the desk. It was worn at the edges, a companion throughout his career, filled with everything from training schedules to personal reflections. Flipping to a fresh page, he pressed the pen to the paper, letting the noise in his head spill out in short, deliberate notes. “Stay calm. Speak clearly. Don’t let them push you into saying something you’ll regret.” Each word felt like a tether, pulling him out of his anxiety and back into control.

He paused, tapping the pen against the page, then added a few more lines. “Be honest, but keep it professional. Don’t rise to questions about Kimi. Talk about the team, the car, and your progress—not the pressure.” The act of writing forced him to focus, turning abstract fears into manageable thoughts. This wasn’t just about surviving the interviews—it was about showing the world who he was, on his terms. He underlined “focus on what matters” twice before setting the pen down.

Taking a deep breath, Ollie folded the notebook shut and slid it into his bag, its weight comforting against his shoulder. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to ground him. As he grabbed his team jacket from the chair, he glanced around the room one last time. This quiet moment wouldn’t last; soon, he’d be in front of the cameras, answering questions designed to poke and prod at his confidence. But for now, he held onto the clarity he’d found, his resolve growing with each step toward the door.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Ollie replied with a sing-songy tone, forcing a small smile. She gave him a quick once-over and nodded approvingly. “Good. Let’s get you mic’d up. We’re starting with one-on-one interviews, then moving into the press conference.” He followed her through the lobby, her rapid-fire instructions barely registering as his nerves simmered beneath the surface.

The interviewer leaned forward with a warm smile, her tone light to ease the tension. “Oliver, thank you for taking the time to chat with us today. First of all, congratulations on your debut season in Formula 1. How does it feel to be here, sitting in this chair, representing Haas as one of their drivers?”

Ollie adjusted his posture, offering a polite smile in return. “Thank you. It feels incredible, honestly. This is something I’ve dreamed about for as long as I can remember, so to finally be here, preparing for my first season, it’s... surreal. I’ve worked so hard to get to this point, and I’m just trying to take it all in,” he replied, his voice steady but carrying a hint of awe.

“You’ve had a stellar junior career, no doubt about that,” she continued, her gaze sharp yet encouraging. “But Formula 1 is a whole different beast. How has the transition been for you so far? Has anything surprised you?”

Ollie nodded thoughtfully, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. “The biggest adjustment has been the sheer complexity of it all. The cars, the data, the team dynamics—it’s on another level compared to F2. I knew it would be intense, but experiencing it firsthand has been eye-opening. At the same time, I’ve loved every second of it. The learning curve is steep, but I’m ready to climb it. In Formula 1 I’m less dependent on the car. If i’m good i’m going to shine.” he explained, his voice gaining confidence as he spoke.

The interviewer smiled, jotting something down on her notepad before glancing back up. “It’s clear you’ve been putting in the work during the preseason. Tell me, what has the atmosphere been like within the Haas team? They’ve had their ups and downs over the years, but what’s the energy like heading into this season?”  

Ollie relaxed slightly at the question, a small smile breaking through. “Honestly, the team has been great. Everyone’s incredibly supportive, and you can feel the hunger to push forward this year. There’s a real sense of unity—everyone knows their role, and they’re determined to get the most out of the car. It’s inspiring to be part of a team that’s so driven. For me, it’s about building those relationships, learning from them, and finding my place within the bigger picture.”  

She nodded. “And speaking of the car, how has it felt so far? Testing can only reveal so much, but what’s your impression of the machinery you’ll be driving this season? Are there areas where you feel confident? Or maybe some areas you’re still trying to figure out?”  

Ollie tilted his head, considering his response carefully. “The car feels solid—it’s definitely a step up from what I’m used to in Formula 2, both in terms of power and complexity. I think my confidence is growing with each lap I do, especially as I get more comfortable working with the engineers to fine-tune everything. But there’s always room for improvement. Formula 1 cars are so intricate, and I’m still adapting to things like tire management and energy deployment. It’s all about finding that balance and getting into a rhythm, which will come with time and experience.”  

The interviewer leaned forward again, her pen poised. “That makes sense. You’ve mentioned working with the team and engineers—how have you handled the mental side of things? Formula 1 is as much about focus and resilience as it is about speed. What’s been your approach to staying mentally sharp during such a high-pressure transition?”  

Ollie let out a short breath, a flicker of introspection crossing his face. “It’s definitely been a challenge. There’s so much to process—expectations from the team, the media, and even myself. I’ve been working with my trainer, Enzo, not just on the physical side but on the mental side too. Things like mindfulness and keeping my thoughts in check when things feel overwhelming. It’s been about finding ways to stay in the moment and not let the noise get to me. At the end of the day, it’s all about focusing on what I can control and trusting in the work I’ve put in.”  

The interviewer smiled, clearly impressed by his thoughtful responses. “That’s a mature approach, especially for someone so early in their career. Now, shifting gears a little—fans are obviously thrilled to see you step into F1, and social media has been buzzing about your debut. How do you balance staying connected with fans while avoiding some of the negativity or pressure that can come with it?”  

Ollie’s smile turned faintly wry. “It’s a balancing act, for sure. I try to focus on the positives—connecting with fans who are genuinely excited to see what I can do, sharing my journey with them. But at the same time, I’ve learned to block out the negativity. You can’t control what people say or think, so I try not to waste energy on it. I’ll scroll through comments every now and then, but mostly, I keep my focus on the track. That’s where I want to let my actions speak for themselves.” 

The interviewer leaned back slightly, her expression shifting to something more probing. “You seem confident, which is great to see. Now, I have to ask—there’s been a lot of buzz about your rivalry with Kimi Antonelli. You two have quite the history, don’t you?” Ollie’s smile faltered ever so slightly before settling into a practiced neutrality. 

As soon as the interviewer mentioned Kimi’s name, Ollie felt a flicker of tension ripple through his chest, subtle but undeniable. It was the question he’d been waiting for, bracing for, even though he’d hoped it wouldn’t come so soon. His mind immediately raced through the possible ways to respond. He had rehearsed this moment countless times, drilled by his PR team to deliver a polished answer that wouldn’t fuel headlines or fan the flames of their rivalry. But despite the preparation, he couldn’t help the knot that tightened in his stomach.

Deep down, Ollie hated how much space Kimi took up in his mind. Every mention of his name was a reminder of the doubts people had about him, the insinuations that Kimi was more talented, more deserving. Still, sitting under the bright lights with the camera pointed at him, Ollie knew he couldn’t let any of that show. He couldn’t let the frustration or the history bleed into his answer. Instead, he forced himself to breathe, to steady his voice, and to deliver the composed response he’d practiced, even as his emotions churned beneath the surface.

“Kimi’s a great driver, and we’ve both taken different paths to get here,” he began, his tone measured. “I respect what he’s achieved, and I’m focused on my own journey, not on anyone else’s.” He shifted in his seat, his eyes briefly flickering to the camera before returning to the interviewer. It was the kind of polished response his PR team would applaud, but underneath, Ollie could feel the weight of the rivalry looming over him, even here.

Ollie’s fingers drummed nervously against the armrest as the interviewer glanced down at her notes, seemingly satisfied with his answer but still looking for more. Silence made Ollie uncomfortable. He thrived on the sounds of engines, chatter, and more. He was trying so hard to prove something to the world, to Kimi, to himself. But what was he really proving? That he could beat Kimi? Or that he could be more than just the guy who almost beat him?

His thoughts were interrupted as the interviewer asked another question, her voice snapping Ollie back to the present. “So, Ollie, you’ve talked about your journey and your growth as a driver. But what about your personal life? How do you manage the pressures of being in the spotlight while still trying to maintain some normalcy?”

Ollie took a deep breath, forcing his mind to focus on something other than Kimi for the moment. It was a good question, one that he hadn’t been asked often. He thought for a second, trying to gather his thoughts. “It’s not easy,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “The pressure is constant, and there’s always this sense of being watched—whether it’s by the media or fans or even other drivers. But I’ve got a solid support system. My trainer helps me with the mental side of things, and I’ve got a few close friends who keep me grounded. They remind me that I’m more than just a driver—that there’s more to life than racing. I also have a channel, to remind the fans I'm human too.”

“Do you think that’s important? Having that balance, separating yourself from the track when you can?” the interviewer asked, her gaze softening.

Ollie nodded. “Absolutely. I think it’s essential. If all I did was focus on racing, I’d burn out quickly. I mean, racing is my life, but it’s not all there is to me. I think if you let it consume you entirely, you lose sight of what’s important.” He chose not to mention the breaks needed because his body wouldn't stop aching.

The interviewer smiled, impressed by his self-awareness. “It’s refreshing to hear you say that. So, when you’re not on the track, what does Ollie Bearman do? What helps you unwind?” She seemed completely enraptured with the conversation, if Ollie was as confident as Franco he would have flirted with her a bit. He was not that confident at all.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’m pretty low-key. I like to read, watch movies, that kind of thing. I’m also really into cooking, I probably indulge more than I should given my career. It keeps me connected to who I am outside of the driver suit.”

“That sounds like a nice escape,” the interviewer said, leaning back slightly. “It’s good to have something to fall back on when the pressure gets too much. Now, we’re almost out of time, but I have to ask—what are your goals for this season? With all the hype around your debut, what do you want to prove to yourself and the world?”

Ollie’s expression shifted, his eyes narrowing as he thought about his answer. This question was more direct, and for a moment, he hesitated, not wanting to come across as too cocky or too sappy. But after everything he’d been through, after all the work he’d put in, he deserved the chance to be sappy.

“I’m here to prove that I belong,” he said firmly, his voice gaining strength with each word. “I know people are looking at me and waiting for me to make mistakes, to fall short of expectations. But I’m not going to let that define me. I’m here to race, to push myself and the team to be the best we can be. This isn’t about beating anyone else—it’s about being the best version of myself. And if that means taking risks, making bold moves, then so be it. I’m ready.”

The interviewer smiled, clearly impressed by his answer. “Well, Ollie, we’re all excited to see what you can do this season. We wish you the best of luck, and we’ll be watching closely.”

As the interview wrapped up, Ollie’s thoughts began to drift, slipping away from the conversation and into a place he didn’t want them to go. The sound of the interviewer’s voice faded into the background as the mental image of Kimi appeared, uninvited, in his mind. It wasn’t the usual frustration or competitive fire that Kimi sparked—this time, something else was simmering beneath the surface, something far more complicated.

The night at the park. The last time they were friends. Ollie could still remember the way Kimi had looked at him, those dark eyes boring into him with a mixture of challenge and something else—something softer, almost... intimate. The moment had felt charged, the air thick with anticipation, and for a brief, heart-stopping second, Ollie had thought Kimi was about to lean in.

Kimi had been so close, so unpredictable, that Ollie had frozen, not sure what to do. He hadn’t been prepared for it. It had caught him off guard, the way Kimi’s gaze softened, the way their faces had come so close, the way his breath had mingled with Ollie’s. But then the moment had shattered, as Kimi had backed away, his usual cool demeanor slipping back into place, leaving Ollie sitting there, feeling like a fool.

Flustered, Ollie shook his head slightly, trying to push the thought away. He couldn’t afford to be thinking about Kimi like this, especially not now, sitting in front of a camera with reporters watching. His cheeks were hot, and for a moment, he felt the telltale flush creep up his neck. His palms suddenly felt clammy, and he couldn’t quite shake the sensation of Kimi’s presence lingering in his mind, despite how much he tried to focus. The memory of that night, secrets shared between them, was like a virus in his brain—persistent and distracting.

Why was he thinking about this now? Ollie mentally scolded himself, his thoughts racing in a way he couldn't control. It was just a moment. Just a stupid, fleeting thing that didn’t even really happen. He hated the press for filling his mind with the thought that was about to happen. Ollie isn't even gay!

And just like that, the awkward, warm feeling in his chest shifted into something else—a mix of confusion and curiosity. He wasn’t sure what Kimi had meant by that moment. It wasn't a kiss, did he just get wrapped in the moment? 

The interviewer, seemingly unaware of his internal turmoil, continued with her next question, but Ollie could barely concentrate on the words. His mind kept flashing back to that night, to that moment where they were almost, so almost, something else. He had a job to do, a debut season to focus on, and yet, the pull of that moment remained strong, unsettling him in ways he couldn’t quite explain. Would they ever talk about it? Or was it just one of those things, a brief flicker that had faded into the past? Would Kimi ever apologize?

For now, Ollie forced himself to focus, trying to push the image of Kimi from his mind, but he could feel the weight of it lingering like an unresolved question he didn’t know how to answer.

"Well, Ollie, I think that’s all we have time for today," she said, glancing down at her notes and then back at him. "It’s been great hearing your insights and learning more about your journey. We’re all excited to see what you bring to Formula 1 this season. Best of luck out there."

Ollie stood up from the chair, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension that had settled there during the interview. He grabbed his bag from the side of the room, its familiar weight grounding him. The lingering unease from thoughts of Kimi was still there, but Ollie pushed it aside, forcing himself to refocus. "Focus," he muttered under his breath, the word steadying him like a lifeline. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to block out the noise—internal or external—and it wouldn’t be the last.

The rivalry with Kimi, the history they shared, and the confusion it brought—it couldn’t consume him right now. He was on the brink of something bigger, something that went beyond petty grudges or unresolved moments. He’d fought too hard and come too far to let his mind wander down paths that led nowhere. This was his first full season, his chance to prove he belonged among the best in the world. The rest, whatever it was, would have to wait.

He exhaled deeply as if he could breathe out the tension. The air outside the interview room was cool compared to the lights and cameras, and it was completely welcome. He adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder and squared his stance. There was still a full schedule ahead—meetings, more media obligations, maybe a debrief with his dad—but at least the hardest part of the day was over.

Walking down the corridor, Ollie replayed the interviewer’s final words in his mind. We’re excited to see what you bring to Formula 1. There was a weight to those words, but also a sense of possibility. It wasn’t just about living up to expectations; it was about defining them on his own terms.

The sharp snap of a lighter broke the silence in the dimly lit lounge as Kimi leaned back against the plush leather couch. A flicker of orange flame illuminated his face for a brief moment before he lit the edge of a candle resting on the table in front of him. The hotel suite was quiet, the faint hum of city traffic outside the window barely audible. It was rare for him to have a moment like this—alone, without the noise of the paddock or the persistent buzz of reporters. Yet, as he stared at the flickering candle, his thoughts betraying the quiet he desired.

Kimi hadn’t expected the interview to dredge up so much. The questions weren’t aimed at him, but he knew his name had come up. It always did when Ollie was involved. The media loved the narrative of their rivalry—the fiery young stars locked in a battle of pride and ego. But that wasn’t the part that unsettled Kimi. It was Ollie himself, the way his name seemed to linger in the air, the way Kimi could practically hear his voice as if he’d been in the room.

He reached for his phone on the side table, unlocking it instinctively. His thumb hovered over his messages, and for a moment, he scrolled past the last conversation he’d had with Ollie months ago—a curt exchange, if it could even be called that. Kimi stared at the screen, the memory of their last face-to-face interaction creeping back into his mind.

His thoughts were drawn to that afternoon at the park. It wasn’t supposed to happen—any of it. They’d spent the day at the mall, a rare, normal moment away from the chaos of racing. It had been easy, natural, like they weren’t rivals at all, just two people who understood each other in a way few others could. He could still picture Ollie’s smile that day, the way it softened when he wasn’t trying to prove anything. They’d walked to the park afterward, the evening light casting long shadows. His face flushed when he remembered Ollie’s chin pressing into his lap. 

They’d confided in each other about things they never talked about with anyone else—the pressure, the fear of failure, the parts of themselves they hid from the world. Kimi had surprised himself with how much he’d shared, but Ollie had listened, really listened, in a way that made Kimi feel seen. And then, there was that moment—when Kimi had looked at him, really looked at him, and the world had seemed to narrow for the two of them. 

He hadn’t meant to lean in, but he’d wanted to, so badly it scared him. The memory of it still made his chest tighten, the weight of what could’ve happened pressing down on him. He’d pulled back at the last second, brushing it off as if nothing had shifted between them. But it had, and Kimi knew it. He wondered if Ollie had felt it too or if he’d chosen to ignore it, just like Kimi had.

He turned away from the window, reaching for the duffel bag resting on the floor. If he couldn’t quiet his mind, then he’d run himself into exhaustion instead. Pulling out his trainers, Kimi laced them up with quick, precise movements. The gym would be empty this late, and that was exactly what he needed. A distraction. A way to channel the energy that had been bubbling under his skin since the mention of Ollie’s name.

Without another glance at the phone or the flickering candle still burning on the table, Kimi grabbed his room key and headed out the door. The elevator dinged, and Kimi stepped out, heading toward the hotel gym. He tightened his grip on his room key, his jaw set. Whatever had happened at the park, whatever he’d felt—it couldn’t matter now. It was just another distraction, another thing to compartmentalize and bury. But as much as he tried, the memory clung to him, a reminder of the line he’d almost crossed and the feelings he wasn’t sure he could ignore.

Kimi stepped into the gym, the hum of treadmills and the rhythmic clank of weights breaking the stillness he had hoped for. He wanted solitude, a place to drown out the lingering thoughts of Ollie with the comforting repetition of movement. But the gym wasn’t empty. At the far end, George Russell was finishing a set on the leg press, his sharp grin all too visible even from across the room.  

Kimi scrunched his nose, muttering a string of curses in Italian under his breath. He had been sold on this gym by Sergi who had insisted it was the best one nearby. Now he was regretting it. It wasn’t that Kimi didn’t like people, he usually loved them! But tonight he didn’t want to put on a good face. He wanted silence, not small talk. Small talk in english was going to kill him.

George noticed him almost instantly and waved, his usual cheerful energy cutting through the tension in Kimi’s shoulders. Kimi gave a nod with a smile, already heading toward the free weights in the hope that George might not follow. But knowing George, he wouldn’t stay at the other end of the gym for long.

George called out, his voice bright as he crossed the room with his towel slung over one shoulder. He was shirtless, his Adidas sweatpants hanging a touch lower than seemed practical, as if he’d walked straight out of a modeling shoot. Kimi briefly rolled his eyes, Alex will most definitely be making fun of george the next day for a shirtless picture.

“Yes, mate!” Kimi responded with a tight nod, reaching the weight rack. He selected a pair of dumbbells, trying to focus on his form as he readied himself for the lift. It wasn’t that he didn’t like George. He found it was hard not to find the guy charming. But George’s endless energy could feel overwhelming, especially on a night when Kimi wanted nothing more than silence.

George stopped beside him, casually leaning against the rack. “Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked, dabbing at his forehead with the towel.

Kimi hummed, keeping his gaze fixed on the weights in his hands. “Eh something like that,” he muttered, hoping the short response would be enough to keep the conversation light.

“First race nerves?” George pressed, his tone gentle but curious. Kimi hesitated, his grip tightening on the dumbbells. He didn’t want to talk about nerves or anything else, but he knew George wasn’t the type to back off easily. 

“No,” Kimi said eventually, his voice flat. “Just… needed to clear my head.”

George nodded knowingly, folding the towel over his arm. “I get it. Sometimes you just need to move, yeah? It’s the best way to work through the noise.” He tilted his head slightly, studying Kimi for a moment before continuing. “Don’t let it eat at you too much, though. Toto thinks you’re a natural. Whatever’s in your head, you’ve got this.”

Kimi set the dumbbells down and finally turned to face George, a small smile spreading onto his face. “Thanks,” There was something about the sincerity in George’s tone that made Kimi relax, if only a little.

George crossed his arms, leaning against the weight rack as he watched Kimi pick up a new set of dumbbells. “You know,” he started, a playful grin forming on his face, “I can tell you’re overthinking something. Spill it. I’m basically an unpaid therapist mate.”

Kimi exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he started his next set. “Not everything needs to be talked about, George,” he said, his tone clipped but not unkind. He appreciated George’s energy in small doses, but tonight it was like trying to put a lid on an overflowing bottle of soda.

“Ah, so it’s that kind of problem,” George said, clearly unfazed. “Let me guess. Not about racing. Girl problems?”

Kimi paused mid-lift, his jaw tightening. “I said it’s nothing,” he muttered, setting the weights down with a bit more force than necessary.

George raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin unfaltering. “Sure, suureee, I’ll leave it alone. For now.” He paused, letting the silence stretch for a moment before adding, “But if you ever need to talk—or yell, or punch a wall—I’m your guy.”

Kimi gave him a sidelong glance, half-annoyed, half-amused. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” George said cheerfully. “But don’t worry, I know when to back off. Kind of.” He pushed off the rack, grabbing his water bottle.

Kimi glanced at him briefly, trying to keep his expression neutral. “I didn’t realize I was so transparent,” he said, his tone quieter, almost self-deprecating. He didn’t want George to think he was brushing him off, but the last thing Kimi needed was for someone like George to dig too deep.

“Not transparent,” George said with a grin, “just… distracted. It’s like you’re here, but your mind’s off somewhere else.” He paused, as if testing Kimi’s reaction, before leaning back against the weight rack. “Does this have anything to do with what people are saying about you and Ollie?”

Kimi froze, his grip tightening on the dumbbell mid-lift. He set it down carefully, keeping his head low to hide the flush creeping up his neck.

George studied him for a moment, his expression more serious now. “You know, that whole thing about the two of you at the park. People are buzzing about some kisses or whatever. It’s all over the internet. Thought maybe it’s gotten in your head.”

Idea of it being dissected by strangers—or even someone like George—made his skin crawl. “I… I don’t really know what people are saying,” he mumbled, grabbing his towel and avoiding George’s gaze. “I should go. I just remembered I’ve got something early tomorrow.”

Before George could respond, Kimi was already heading for the door, his steps quick and deliberate. The gym suddenly felt suffocating, and all he wanted was to escape—to get away from George’s kind eyes and the swirling thoughts of Ollie. 

Chapter Text

Ollie felt like a life-sized Barbie. He would’ve said Ken, but with the outfit Vogue had picked for him, he was definitely Barbie. The black leather jacket fit perfectly, its sharp silhouette giving him an edge that was immediately softened by the pink satin lining visible whenever the lapels shifted. The sheen of the satin caught the light, making it impossible to ignore the unexpected pop of color against the otherwise bold black exterior.

Beneath the jacket, the sheer, embroidered floral-patterned shirt clung lightly to his torso. The transparent, beige-toned mesh left little to the imagination, revealing the defined lines of his chest and shoulders. He wanted to zip the jacket up right there. Black floral embroidery crawled delicately across the fabric like vines, artfully placed to provide a modest touch that Ollie was thankful for.

The light pink wide-leg trousers contrasted sharply with the jacket, their soft, flowing material a statement in and of itself. They draped comfortably over his frame, the wide legs adding an unexpected sense of ease to the bold outfit. Combined with the sheen of the jacket and the sheer top, the trousers created a dynamic mix of edgy, elegant, and avant-garde. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to convince himself he didn’t look as out of place as he felt.

The outfit was undeniably striking, the kind of thing he could see on a runway or in a glossy spread—but wearing it himself? That was another story. Did they really have to dress the rookies up so funny for some fanservice?

The woman who had meticulously pieced together his outfit beamed at him with the kind of enthusiasm Ollie could only wish he felt. She clasped her hands together like she’d just painted the Mona Lisa. “They are going to love this!” she declared, her tone brimming with confidence.

He had no idea who “they” were supposed to be—his fans? The public? Some hypothetical crowd of high-fashion enthusiasts? Whoever she meant, he seriously doubted this look was for them. The jacket was manageable, sure, but the sheer shirt and pink trousers felt like something ripped from a fever dream rather than an actual wardrobe.

“Yeah, let’s hope so,” he replied, his voice strained as he adjusted the collar of the leather jacket for the fifth time. He wasn’t about to crush her enthusiasm—it was clear she was proud of her work, Ollie wasn't one to complain in front of others.

“Edgy but approachable. Bold yet charming. Exactly what we need for the rookie spotlight.”

Ollie shifted awkwardly, tugging at the hem of his jacket again. “Approachable, huh?” he echoed, his tone bordering on skeptical. “Because nothing says approachable like sheer mesh and embroidered flowers.” Ollie bit his cheek at his own tone. 

She laughed lightly, clearly mistaking his sarcasm for humor. “Exactly! We're showing the world you’re confident but not afraid to take risks. That’s what the Fans want to see, and honestly, it’s what your fans want too.”

“Right. Fans.” Ollie swallowed hard, trying not to imagine the reactions this outfit would get once the photos hit the internet. He could already see the memes: Ollie Bearman, Barbie edition. Or worse, comparisons to fashionistas who actually knew how to pull off something like this.

“Listen,” she said, her tone softening. “I know this probably isn’t what you’re used to. But trust me—when you see the final shots, you’ll get it. You’ve got that kind of face that the camera loves. Just relax and have fun with it.”

Relax and have fun with it. Easier said than done. Ollie glanced at his reflection again, trying to see what she saw. He supposed the outfit did stand out in a good way—maybe. The pink satin lining of the jacket popped just enough to make a statement, and the floral embroidery on the mesh shirt did add a certain elegance. But it still didn’t feel like him.

“I guess it’s not… awful,” he said finally, earning a triumphant grin from the stylist.

“Not awful?” she repeated, laughing. “I’ll take it! Now, let’s talk accessories.”

“Oh.”

The next twenty minutes were a whirlwind of watches, rings, and necklaces—each one more extravagant than the last. Ollie found himself trying on everything from a sleek black chain to a chunky silver bracelet that weighed his hand down,

“This one,” the stylist declared at last, fastening a delicate, rose-gold chain around his neck. The pendant was a simple geometric design, but the way it caught the light was anything but subtle. “It ties everything together. See?”

Ollie peered into the mirror again. The necklace was fine, he supposed. It didn’t clash with the outfit, and it wasn’t too over-the-top. It was possibly even pretty. “Looks great,” he said automatically, hoping it was enough to move things along.

The stylist beamed. “I knew you’d come around! All right, you’re ready. Time to head to the set You’re all set. Head down to the second floor—Studio B is where they’re starting the solo shots before the group setup. Just take the elevator at the end of the hall, turn left, and it’s right there. Can’t miss it.”

Ollie nodded, relieved to finally have an escape route, even if it was straight into the spotlight. “Got it. Thanks!” he said, offering her another polite smile before grabbing his phone off the counter.

“Oh, and don’t slouch!” she called after him as he stepped out of the dressing room. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead straightened his shoulders.

The hallway was quieter than he expected, the soft hum of air conditioning filling the space as he walked toward the elevator. He could still hear faint echoes of activity from other rooms—stylists barking orders, the click of cameras, the shuffle of people moving around—but here, it was just him and the sound of his own footsteps. For a moment, he let himself relax, enjoying the brief reprieve.

That reprieve lasted all of two seconds. As he rounded the corner, his eyes locked on someone else standing in front of the elevator, their back turned to him. The black suit, impeccably tailored, was unmistakable, but it wasn’t until the person shifted slightly that Ollie felt his chest tighten. Kimi.

Of course. Of all the people he could run into, it had to be him. He would've taken anyone else. 

Kimi turned at the sound of approaching footsteps, his expression carefully neutral—though Ollie thought he caught a flicker of surprise in his dark eyes. “Ollie,” he said, his voice even, betraying nothing.

Ollie’s eyes flickered over Kimi’s outfit before he could stop himself, taking in every detail with an odd mix of admiration and disbelief. Kimi was wearing a light off-white blazer with a marbled, wavy pattern. It fit him perfectly, tailored to hug his frame without being too tight, the button-down closure left undone to reveal the crisp cream crew-neck shirt beneath.

The bright pink velvet pants were the boldest piece of the ensemble, their rich ochre tone catching the light with every subtle movement. The vertical ribbed texture added depth, giving the pants a luxurious, almost regal quality that only someone like Kimi could pull off without hesitation. Ollie much preferred his light pink the more he looked at it.

Ollie wondered if everyone would be put in pink. Tough guys wear pink, of course, but he can't imagine Issack Hadjar in a pink suit.

Kimi raised an eyebrow, clearly catching Ollie’s lingering gaze. “What?” he asked, his tone light but laced with curiosity. His lips curved into a faint smile, before moving back to blank faced.

Ollie blinked, his brain scrambling for a response. “Nothing,” he said quickly, averting his eyes and pretending to find something fascinating about the elevator panel. “Bold choice.”

“Bold?” Kimi repeated, tilting his head slightly as if assessing Ollie’s tone. “Coming from the guy dressed like that?” He gestured toward Ollie’s outfit, specifically his chest. Ollie wanted to burn alive.

Ollie’s face warmed immediately, and he crossed his arms in mock offense. “At least I’m not wearing velvet pants,” he shot back, though the crack in his voice betrayed how flustered he felt.

“Touché,” Kimi replied, unfazed, his smirk softening into something almost friendly. “But you’ve got to admit, they pull focus.” He shifted his weight, smoothing the front of his blazer with one hand as if to emphasize the point.

The conversation fizzled out, leaving an awkward silence between them. Kimi adjusted the cuff of his marbled blazer, his gaze shifting to the illuminated floor numbers above the elevator doors. Ollie rocked back on his heels, staring at the same display, his arms loosely crossed over his chest.

The quiet hum of the elevator filled the space as they descended, but the tension between them was impossible to ignore. Ollie caught himself glancing at Kimi again, his mind replaying their last interaction—the park, the mall, the interview. His stomach twisted, and he quickly refocused on the polished metallic doors, willing the memories to stay buried.

Just as the tension seemed unbearable, a sudden jolt sent both of them stumbling slightly. The elevator shuddered to a halt, and the overhead lights flickered ominously before settling into a dim, emergency glow. Ollie’s breath caught, and he instinctively reached for the railing, his heart skipping a beat.

Ollie felt his fingers twitch like they were seconds away from yanking out his hair. He glanced at Kimi, who seemed to share the sentiment, though in a quieter, more subdued way. Kimi’s hands rose to his head, pushing his palms into his eyes as if he could physically block out the situation. He muttered something under his breath in Italian, the words soft and unintelligible to Ollie’s ears.

It was ridiculous, Ollie thought, how Kimi could act like this was some massive inconvenience for him. Sure, being stuck in an elevator wasn’t exactly ideal, but he wasn’t the one who’d been dragged through the mud in front of the world. Ollie wasn’t even sure if Kimi fully understood the weight of his words from that interview or the fallout that followed. Ollie had been laid bare, every insecurity and vulnerability exposed for public consumption. He’d been humiliated.

Kimi, on the other hand, had thrown the punches and walked away. Sure, he’d gotten some backlash—Ollie wasn’t blind to that—but it wasn’t the same. The world wasn’t dissecting Kimi’s every move, doubting his every step, calling into question his worth.

Ollie bit down on his cheek, hard enough to sting, as he tried to push the bitterness back down where it belonged. He wanted to call Kimi out, to let the words spill out of him like a dam breaking. He wanted to say, You’re not the one who had to smile through every humiliating question. You’re not the one who had to prove themselves all over again. But the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, Ollie forced his gaze away, fixing it on the dim glow of the elevator panel. He let the silence linger, his jaw clenched tight enough to ache. Ollie could hear Kimi’s quiet, measured breathing, and it only made his own feel louder and more erratic in comparison. He focused on the panel, watching the floor numbers stubbornly stay frozen.

Kimi let out a slow, frustrated exhale, finally dropping his hands from his face. He leaned back against the wall, tilting his head to stare at the ceiling. “questo è incredibile,” he muttered, his voice carrying the faintest hint of a tremor. “Of course, it will stop now.”

“Yeah, because this is clearly the worst thing that’s happened recently,” he said, his voice sharper than he intended.

Kimi’s head snapped toward him, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Ollie hadn’t meant to say it like that, but now the words were out, and Kimi was looking at him with that infuriating mix of curiosity and challenge. Ollie shook his head and leaned back against the opposite wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nothing,” he muttered, though the bitterness in his tone betrayed him.

“Sure,” Kimi pressed, his gaze steady, scrutinizing. He shifted his weight, his arms loosely folded now, but there was a defensive edge to his posture, like he was bracing himself. “Something to say? Say it.”

Ollie felt his chest tighten. Kimi’s calm, measured tone only fueled the frustration simmering under his skin. He clenched his jaw, his gaze fixed on the floor as his fingers tapped against his arm. “You don’t get it,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

Ollie felt his chest tighten. Kimi’s calm, measured tone only fueled the frustration simmering under his skin. He clenched his jaw, his gaze fixed on the floor as his fingers tapped against his arm. “You don’t get it,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

Kimi tilted his head, his expression softening just slightly. “Don’t get what?” he asked, his voice losing its edge, dipping into something closer to genuine concern.

Ollie let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Any of this,” he said, finally meeting Kimi’s eyes. “What it’s like to be on the other side of it. To have everything you’ve worked for torn apart because of someone else’s words. To be humiliated in front of everyone.”

Kimi flinched at that, the faintest crack in his composure showing for a moment before he masked it again. His lips parted as though he wanted to say something, but he hesitated, his brows furrowing. “Ollie…” he began, his voice quiet, almost apologetic.

A sudden jolt ran through the elevator, making both Ollie and Kimi straighten instinctively. The lights flickered again, and then, with a loud metallic groan, the doors shot open as if the elevator had finally decided it had enough of their tension.

Ollie stepped forward automatically, blinking at the bright lights of the hallway. Relief surged through him, but it was quickly followed by a wave of awkwardness. He hesitated just past the threshold, glancing back at Kimi, who was still leaning against the wall.

Jack Doohan’s voice rang out the second Ollie and Kimi stepped into the hallway. "There you are!" he called, bounding toward them like an overexcited puppy. Before either could react, Jack lunged forward, throwing an arm around each of their waists and pulling them to his sides with a surprising amount of strength.

“I thought you two weren’t going to come out of there alive!” Jack exclaimed, his grin impossibly wide. The statement hung in the air, and Ollie wasn’t sure if Jack meant it literally or if he was implying they’d tear each other apart before the elevator could spit them out. Considering Jack’s track record of witnessing Esteban Ocon and Pierre Gasly’s infamous squabbles firsthand, Ollie guessed it was the latter.

Kimi stiffened slightly under Jack’s arm but managed to muster a half-hearted smirk. “No need for concern, Jack!” he said dryly, shaking his head. “But we weren’t exactly planning a cage match there.”

“Speak for yourself,” Ollie muttered under his breath, earning a sharp look from Kimi and a loud laugh from Jack.

“See? This is why I was worried!” Jack chimed, his Australian accent adding an extra level of theatricality to his words. “The last thing we need is a reenactment of French Civil War 2.0, but starring you two. I’m sure there’s an English-Italian war somewhere.” He patted both of their shoulders enthusiastically before letting them go.

Ollie stepped away, brushing Jack’s hand off his shoulder. “No no, we're fine,” he said, his face turning a shade of pink.

Jack raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Right, sure. Fine,” he said, dragging out the word for effect. “You’ve got that I-just-escaped-a-bomb-shelter-with-my-worst-enemy energy, but whatever you say, mate.”

Kimi sighed, straightening his blazer again. “Are you planning to write a novel about this? I might steal your idea.”

Jack grinned. “Oh, I’d love to. But first, Vogue’s waiting. You two can air out whatever this is after we’re done playing dress-up for the cameras.”

“Come on,” Jack said, herding them both down the hallway with a hand on each of their backs. “You’re going to look stunning. And if we’re lucky, maybe the elevator gave you both time to work out your drama.”

As Jack steered Ollie and Kimi down the hallway, the sound of chatter and laughter grew louder, signaling the rest of the group was already gathered. The makeshift dressing area had been transformed into a vibrant hub of activity—stylists flitted between racks of clothes, makeup artists dabbed brushes against palettes, and the photographer’s assistant directed people like a general preparing for battle.

The first person Ollie spotted was Liam Lawson, who was leaning against a mirrored wall with his arms crossed. He looked both bored and annoyed, tapping his foot impatiently. “Just to clarify,” Liam said as they approached, his tone dripping with sarcasm, “I’m not technically a rookie. I’ve already raced in Formula 1, you know.” Ollie wanted to comment how he had too, but he decided to bite his tongue.

Gabriel Bortoleto, perched lazily on a nearby chair as a stylist fussed with the cuffs of his own shirt, rolled his eyes dramatically. “We know, Liam. You’ve only mentioned it like ten times today.”

Liam pushed off the wall, his fingers brushing the surface of the room like he was about to make an announcement. He gestured toward the space around them, his eyes glinting with mock sincerity. “Well, someone has to say it. I’m just here to boost your rookie credibility,” he said, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His outfit—a striking clash of flashy red and metallic accents—seemed almost a statement in itself. Of course he was dressed after Lightning McQueen. He even had a lightning bolt on his chest.

He wore a cropped, shiny red jacket, the material sleek and almost too perfect, like a second skin. The high collar stood stiff, framing his face, while zippers crisscrossed the jacket, a clear attempt to make liam sound like a bad boy. The thought made Ollie exhale. Beneath the jacket, a red, mesh-like top clung to his frame, its sheer texture catching the light, adding a layer of daring to the look. His matching shiny red pants, equally leather-like, hugged his legs, each cargo pocket hinting at a utilitarian side—though their sheen under the lights suggested they were more for show than practicality.

A clear plastic belt cinched his waist, the transparency offering a stark contrast to the richness of the rest of the outfit, while a small, round black fur-trimmed bag, slung casually over his shoulder, added a touch of softness. The silver chains hanging from it clinked softly as he moved, a final detail that completed the look—a little whimsical, but undeniably cool.

“I don’t think Vogue cares about your technicalities,” Jack shot back, steering Ollie and Kimi into the room. “Just smile, look pretty, and let the rest of us enjoy our moment.”

“You think I'm pretty?” Liam winked.

Isack Hadjar, sprawled casually on a sofa while scrolling through his phone, glanced up with a smirk that bordered on mischievous. “Liam’s just mad he has to share the spotlight with actual rookies,” he quipped, his voice dripping with playful mockery, earning a chuckle from Gabriel.

Ollie, taking in the look with a sharp eye, could only describe it as geometric—an intriguing mix of structure and movement. Isack wore a long-sleeved top/jacket that was almost translucent. The jacket's design was draped asymmetrically, with a flowing, cape-like structure that cascaded over his frame in sharp, angular lines. Beneath the jacket, a patterned top clung to him, its graphic print a riot of black and gray. 

A wide black belt cinched the waist, pulling the entire look together. His pants, fitted and pristine white, complemented the top’s geometric appeal. The material of the pants seemed smooth, possibly slightly shiny, reflecting the light. He seemed confident his outfit was good.

“Funny,” Liam muttered, though there was no real bite in his voice. “At least I’m not dressed like a human highlighter.” He motioned toward Gabriel’s bright green blazer, which looked blindingly out of place with Kimi and Ollies pink.

“The stylist said I look like a ray of sunshine.”

“A ray of sunshine with questionable taste,” Liam retorted, earning a snort from Isack.

Ollie adjusted his jacket, straightening the lapels with a practiced motion. "And it’s a mint-green, not just any green," he said, his tone both proud and slightly exasperated, as though he’d already made this point several times today. The light mint color of the suit shimmered slightly under the studio lights, its subtle hue contrasting strikingly with the deep burgundy-red velvet tie that hung from his neck. The tie, almost a sash in its width, drew the eye immediately.

The design of the jacket emphasized the sharp cut of his shoulders, the visible buttons gleaming in a metallic manor. Beneath it, a off-white collared shirt peeked out, the collar sitting neatly under his chin. It was the sort of look that, if anything, demanded attention without seeming to try.

As the banter continued, Ollie and Kimi exchanged a glance. For a moment, the earlier tension from the elevator seemed to dissipate, replaced by the chaotic energy of the room. Jack, sensing the shift, clapped his hands together and grinned. “Alright, rookies—and Liam—let’s get this show on the road!”

Ollie adjusted the hem of his pink pants, trying not to fidget as they were herded toward the set. Kimi fell into step beside him, his movements precise and practiced as though he’d done this a hundred times before. Ollie envied the ease with which Kimi carried himself, even in the ridiculous outfit.

“Relax,” Kimi said under his breath, catching Ollie’s nervous glance. “It’s just a photoshoot.”

“Easy for you to say,” Ollie muttered, tugging at the collar of his mesh shirt. “You look like you belong here.”

“And you look like a life-sized Barbie,” Jack chimed in from behind, earning a chorus of laughter from the group.

Ollie groaned but couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at his lips. As much as he hated the outfit, he had to admit there was something strangely comforting about being surrounded by people who understood. They were going to look ridiculous paired up with each other. Did the designers not collaborate at all?

The photographer stood in front of the boys, smiling as she pointed out Kimi, Ollie, and Jack. She mentioned something about trio shots, and Ollie's eyebrows lifted in surprise. It was definitely an unusual combination—Kimi and Ollie made sense as teammates, but Jack seemed like an outlier. Ollie guessed it was probably a color coordination thing. He couldn’t help but wonder how Liam’s bright red would work alongside Gabi’s green. Liam's outfit was definitely the boldest.

The photographer squinted at Liam. “You’ll do solo shots, a few with Isack, and then we’ll change.” Liam’s eyes widened in surprise; that wasn’t what he’d expected. Isack chuckled, and Liam responded with a dramatic fan of his hands over his face.

“No worries, I’ll be fine,” Liam said with a cheeky grin. Ollie, however, couldn’t help but wonder why he was the only one with a second outfit. Pink and green was becoming a trendy combo, but Isack’s white and Liam’s red looked pretty sharp together. Ollie glanced around the simple set—a plain white backdrop—and thought it was almost too minimalist.

His gaze drifted and landed on a young man nearby. The guy was striking—gorgeous, really. His smile was effortlessly charming, perfectly fitting his face. Ollie felt his cheeks flush as their eyes briefly met, those green eyes making him feel oddly self-conscious. He would be deadly as a girl.

Kimi gently tapped Ollie's hand. His face looked more annoyed than anything. Ollie blinked down at Kimi, momentarily startled. "What?" he asked, feeling like he was caught doing something wrong.

"You were staring," Kimi said flatly, his tone sharp but quiet. His fingers tapped Ollie’s hand again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if testing his patience.

"At the set?" Ollie shrugged, not catching the flicker of irritation in Kimi’s eyes. "I don’t get why they didn’t go with something more colorful for this. I think Isack might blend in."

Kimi's lips pressed into a thin line. He tilted his head toward the photographer. "Focus."

Ollie frowned, glancing back at the pretty boy. "Right. The crew seems busy anyways." He nodded in the direction of the young man, who was now chatting with someone, flashing another one of those bright smiles.

Kimi's fingers tightened briefly on Ollie's wrist before letting go. His jaw shifted slightly, but he forced his voice to remain even. "Perché ti importa cosa sta facendo? Non fa parte delle riprese.”

Ollie looked at Kimi, confused by his clipped tone. "Are you annoyed or something? You keep giving me that look."

Kimi's brows furrowed as he looked away. "I’m not annoyed."

"You definitely sound like it." Ollie crossed his arms, leaning closer to catch Kimi’s eyes again. "Come on, out with it. What’s your problem?"

Kimi's gaze darted back to Ollie, holding his ground now. "No problem. Just stay focused, Ollie."

The photographer clapped his hands, the sound sharp and commanding. “Alright, let’s move! Jack, Ollie, Kimi—you’re up. Let’s see some energy!”

Jack rolled his shoulders and let out a deep breath, already grinning as he strode toward the set. I’ve got enough for all of us.” 

Ollie snorted as he trailed behind Jack and Kimi. “Just don’t hog the spotlight. You do look the best out of us,” he said, his tone half-teasing. Jack turned and winked at him, a playful gesture that, for some reason, made Ollie’s cheeks redden.

Kimi walked silently, besides a few chuckles. His expression was unreadable, though his eyes briefly flicked over Ollie before settling on the photographer, who was motioning them into place.

The photographer pointed at Jack first. “You’re in the middle, Jack. Big energy, lots of movement. You’re the focal point here.”

Jack gave a mock salute before taking his place. “Got it, boss. I’ll try not to overshadow these two.”

“Don’t try too hard,” Ollie quipped as he stepped forward.

“Ollie, you’ll be on Jack’s right. A little softer, more relaxed—balance him out.”

“Soft? Relaxed?” Ollie scoffed, though he took his place with a lazy smile. “Sounds like you’re describing a marshmallow.”

The photographer didn’t even look up from his notes as he gestured toward Kimi. “And Kimi, on Jack’s left. You’re the anchor—serious, composed. Hold the tension.”

Kimi nodded silently, stepping into position. He stood straight and tall, his gaze fixed on the camera, every movement deliberate. He will have to ask if George gave him those tips.

“Alright, let’s see some chemistry,” the photographer called out as he adjusted the lighting. “You’re a team—play off each other, but keep it natural. Jack, lean into your energy; Ollie, stay casual; Kimi, stay grounded.”

Jack immediately threw an arm around Ollie’s shoulder, pulling him closer with a grin. “Chemistry? Easy. We’ve got this down.”

Ollie laughed, swatting Jack’s hand away playfully. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t smother me.”

Kimi shifted slightly, his posture rigid as his eyes flicked to Jack’s hand on Ollie, then back to the camera. His expression didn’t change, but there was a tightness in his jaw that went unnoticed by everyone but him.

The photographer snapped the first shot. “Perfect. Now give me more!”

The photographer clapped his hands to grab their attention, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Alright, let’s try something fun. Jack, center stage. I want you to give me shock—big, over-the-top, hands on your face, like you’ve just heard the wildest secret of your life.”

Jack raised a brow, clearly amused. “Wildest secret? Got it. I’ll be hearing from the F1 movie directors after this!”

The photographer chuckled. “Exactly! Now, Kimi and Ollie, you’ll be on either side of him. Lean in close, like you’re whispering the secret into his ears. Keep it playful, but here’s the twist—make eye contact with each other, just enough to make the shot interesting.”

Ollie blinked, confused. “Wait, with each other? Not Jack?”

“Exactly,” the photographer said with a knowing grin. “Trust me, it’ll add a little… tension. Makes the composition more dynamic. Now, let’s see it!”

Kimi nodded without hesitation, stepping into place with his usual calm composure. Ollie hesitated for a second before shrugging and taking his position. Jack, meanwhile, threw his hands dramatically over his face and widened his eyes. “This good enough for you?”

“Perfect!” the photographer called out, adjusting the angle of his camera. “Alright, Kimi and Ollie—lean in, let the whispers look natural, and don’t forget that eye contact. Hold it… just like that!”

Ollie leaned in, feeling the slight awkwardness of the pose but rolling with it anyway. Jack’s dramatic expression in the middle was enough to keep him from taking it too seriously. As he whispered nonsense under his breath for effect, he glanced toward Kimi on the other side of Jack.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, everything else faded. Kimi’s gaze was steady, almost searching, and Ollie couldn’t help but notice how intense it felt. There was something unspoken in the way Kimi was looking at him, something Ollie couldn’t quite place. The corner of his mouth twitched, the start of a grin forming, but before he could say anything, Kimi’s gaze dropped.

Ollie followed it, realizing after a heartbeat that Kimi’s eyes had landed on his lips. A flicker of surprise ran through him, but before he could react, Kimi abruptly looked away, his posture stiffening as though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Why is this a constant with Kimi?

“Everything okay over there, Kimi?” Jack’s teasing voice broke through, but Ollie barely registered it, too focused on the way Kimi’s jaw tightened, his face slightly flushed as he muttered, “I’m fine.”

Ollie tilted his head slightly, watching Kimi with a faint frown. Something was definitely off, but he didn’t press it. He had better things to worry about than Kimi Antonelli. Instead, he settled back into the pose, his confusion lingering as he tried to make sense of the moment.

The photographer clapped her hands together, her smile wide and energetic. “Okay! That’s all for now,” she announced, stepping back from the camera and motioning toward the crew. “Let’s get Liam out of the way next!”

Jack dropped his hands from his face with a relieved sigh. “Finally. My cheeks are sore from all that emoting.”

As Liam bounded onto the set with his usual easy confidence, cracking a joke that sent a ripple of laughter through the crew, Ollie found his attention slipping. Despite his best attempts to focus on the scene in front of him, his thoughts kept circling back to Kimi’s reaction. The lingering eye contact, the sudden shift, the way Kimi had looked away so quickly—it all gnawed at the edges of his mind.

He shook his head, forcing himself to snap out of it. Whatever it was, he decided was none of his business. Kimi was just being Kimi—serious, distant, a little hard to read. There was no point dwelling on it. Ollie shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to convince himself it didn’t matter, even as the memory lingered stubbornly in the back of his mind.

The boys waited off to the side, lounging on a couple of folding chairs and idly chatting while Liam wrapped up his shoot. Gabriel, who had been sitting quietly near the prop table, suddenly perked up. He reached over and plucked a white rose from a small arrangement, twirling it between his fingers.

“Look at this,” Gabriel said, holding it up. “I found it just sitting there. Probably a leftover prop.”

Ollie’s eyes lit up when he saw it. “Oh man, I’ve always wanted to paint roses like they do in Alice in Wonderland—you know, with the red paint dripping down the petals?” He gestured enthusiastically, imagining the scene in his head.

Jack raised a brow. “You’re kidding. That’s what excites you? Painting flowers red?”

“Not just red,” Ollie shot back, rolling his eyes. “It’s about the process. The way the paint moves, how it stains the petals. There’s something... chaotic but beautiful about it.” He paused, his enthusiasm dimming slightly. “But you can’t really do it without ruining the rose. Once the paint’s on, it’s gone.”

Gabriel stopped twirling the rose and looked at it thoughtfully. “I mean, yeah, but isn’t that the point? Creating something new out of something temporary?”

Kimi, who had been silent up until now, glanced at Ollie. “You could always try it with fake roses. Same effect, no loss.”

Ollie sighed, slumping back in his chair. “Maybe, but where would I get paper roses?”

Gabriel tilted his head, still holding the rose. “Maybe the fact that it’s ruined afterward is what makes it special. You should just try it sometime—what’s the worst that could happen?”

Ollie gave him a half-smile, but the sadness lingered in his eyes. “Yeah. Maybe.” Ollie’s eyes lingered on the white rose in Gabriel’s hand, and he leaned forward slightly, a mischievous glint in his gaze. “Can I have it? I’ll try to wear it for our group pictures. Maybe the photographer won’t notice.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow but smirked, clearly amused. “You’re really going to sneak it in, huh? A little accessory for the shoot?”

“Exactly,” Ollie said, his voice light with a grin. “A rogue rose, a little bit of rebellion in the middle of all this glam.”

Gabriel chuckled, rolling the stem between his fingers before handing it over. “Alright, but if the photographer notices, you’re on your own. I’m not getting blamed for your secret flower mission.”

Ollie carefully took the rose, holding it between his fingers like it was fragile, as if he might accidentally break it. He tucked it behind his ear with a dramatic flourish. “Don’t worry. It’ll be our little secret.”

Kimi, watching from the side, didn’t comment but raised an eyebrow, his lips barely twitching as he glanced at Ollie’s impromptu accessory. Ollie felt the slight tension in the air but shrugged it off, turning back toward the set with the white rose still nestled behind his ear.

She didn't notice. The rose remained tucked behind his ear, a quiet victory—a small win for the Bearman community, as Ollie liked to joke. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a triumph for embracing the odd quirks of life with a touch of mischief. He glanced at Gabriel, who gave him a subtle nod

Chapter Text

"TODAY'S THE DAY!" blared Ollie's alarm, echoing through his hotel room with an obnoxious enthusiasm that matched the words on the screen. He groaned, rubbing his face as his brain sluggishly tried to piece things together. What day was it? Just another day in Australia, right? His eyes widened as realization hit him like a ton of bricks, qualifying day. In an instant, Ollie shot out of bed, adrenaline kicking in as he nearly tripped over his own feet. He practically bounced around his room, excitement coursing through him, already envisioning the roar of the engine and the feeling of the car beneath him. This was it—his chance to prove himself.

Ollie’s excitement was almost tangible as he rushed to the small kitchenette in his hotel room, determined to channel his energy into something productive—like breakfast. “Fuel the body, fuel the mind,” he muttered to himself, pulling out a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread from the mini fridge.

He cracked the eggs into a bowl with practiced ease, whisking them together before pouring them into a heated pan. The soft sizzle of the eggs brought a sense of calm to his racing thoughts. He tossed a couple of slices of bread into the toaster, mentally running through the track layout as he moved around the kitchenette. 

As Ollie whisked the eggs, the silence of his hotel room was suddenly broken by the familiar strum of a guitar. His playlist had started, and "American Pie" filled the air. A grin spread across his face. This song was a classic, and it felt oddly fitting for the morning—light hearted yet iconic, just like how he hoped his day would go.

"Bye-bye, Miss American Pie!" Ollie sang loudly, spinning on his heel as he grabbed the frying pan. He danced across the tiny kitchenette, dramatically stirring the eggs like a performer on stage. He slid over to the fridge, opened it with a flourish, and retrieved the avocado with a little shimmy.

Ollie had plated his scrambled eggs and toast, the avocado sliced perfectly on the side. He did a final spin before sitting at the table, still humming along. "If this isn't the energy for the day," he muttered with a chuckle, "then I don't know what is."

Ollie leaned back in his chair, finishing the last bite of his breakfast as the final notes of "American Pie" faded from the room. He let out a contented sigh, his foot still tapping to the rhythm stuck in his head. The excitement humming through his veins felt a little more manageable now, balanced out by the grounding comfort of a full stomach and a moment of fun.

Pushing his chair back, Ollie grabbed his plate and utensils, carrying them to the sink. As he washed up, his gaze drifted to the clock on the wall. There was still plenty of time before he needed to head to the paddock, but the weight of the day pressed on him. Qualifying wasn’t just about securing a good grid position; it was about proving he belonged here—on this track, in this sport, alongside drivers he’d admired growing up.

After drying his hands, Ollie crossed the room and pulled out his clothes out of the closet. His suit hung neatly on its hanger, the fabric spotless and gleaming under the morning light. He ran a hand over the logo on his chest, feeling a swell of pride. He was a haas boy! Every stitch of that suit represented years of hard work and sacrifice.

"Okay, Ollie," he said aloud to himself, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was still a mess from bouncing around earlier, and his face carried the lingering traces of sleep. "Time to focus. Today’s the day you remind them why they signed you."

He quickly changed into his team-issued polo and jeans, deciding to leave the racing suit for later. Grabbing his backpack, he made a mental checklist of everything he’d need—headphones, sunglasses, a notebook with track notes, and a couple of protein bars. The essentials for a long day at the circuit.

As he zipped up his bag, his phone buzzed on the counter. A message from Esteban lit up the screen. "Ready for the big day? Let’s make it count!" Ollie smiled, typing back a quick reply before tucking his phone into his pocket. It was reassuring to know he wasn’t the only one feeling the pressure. 

The hallway was quiet, the early hour keeping most of the hotel’s occupants still tucked in their rooms. He made his way to the elevator, the polished floors reflecting the slight bounce in his step.

The ride down was smooth and uneventful, giving him a brief moment of calm before the storm of the paddock. As the doors slid open, the familiar sounds of a bustling hotel lobby greeted him—voices, footsteps, and the occasional clatter of luggage wheels.

The pre-race energy was electric, and he could feel the buzz in his veins. He adjusted his cap, mentally running through the strategy he’d discussed with his engineers.

“Looking a little tense there, rookie,” Esteban said, walking up to him with an easy grin. His Haas racing suit was already zipped up, and he carried his helmet under one arm. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Ollie looked up, surprised. “Oh, nothing!” 

Esteban chuckled, setting his helmet down on the counter nearby. “It’s not a test, Ollie. It’s a race. You’ve done this a hundred times before! Ne perds jamais espoir, lorsque le soleil se couche, les étoiles apparaissen!” 

Ollie blinked, tilting his head slightly as he waited for clarification. Esteban grinned, clearly expecting the reaction. “It means, ‘Never lose hope. When the sun sets, the stars come into sight.’”

The phrase made Ollie laugh, the sound light and genuine despite his nerves. “Ne perds jamais espoir, lorsque le soleil se couche, les étoiles apparaissen!” he repeated, he cringed noticing how he used more of an italian accent than a french one.

Judging by Esteban’s horrified expression, he hadn’t even come close.

“Not even close!” Esteban exclaimed, laughing as he shook his head. “But good attempt! Maybe I’ll give you a lesson after the qualifying—if you don’t get in my way.”

“Deal,” Ollie shot back with a grin. “But only if you teach me how to say something cool next time, not something poetic.”

“Poetic is cool,” Esteban replied, pointing a finger at him. “You’ll see when we go out in the stars.”

Ollie smirked, shaking his head. “Sure, sure. Now, let’s see which one of us is quoting poetry when I out qualify you.”

“Big words for a rookie!” Esteban called as he headed toward the garage.

Ollie smiled to himself, feeling the nerves start to fade. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Ollie was sure he was going to fall over and pass out by the time it was all done. The Haas garage was alive with energy as qualifying wrapped up, the sounds of data crunching and muted cheers filling the air. Ollie leaned against the side of his car, helmet in hand, trying to catch his breath as his heartbeat finally started to slow. P11. Just one spot shy of Q3, but for a rookie in a Haas, it felt like a win.

“P11, mate!” his engineer had said over the radio, voice bursting with pride after his final flying lap. “You’re just two-tenths off Esteban. Excellent work, Ollie. That’s exactly what we needed.” He could almost pull a George.

And now, standing in the garage, he couldn’t stop the grin creeping onto his face. He’d done it—he’d shown what he could do.

Ollie grinned, finally setting his helmet down on the counter. “I was starting to think I might sneak into Q3. Missed it by, what, half a tenth?”

“Something like that,” Esteban replied, leaning against the garage wall. “You were quick in Sector 2. I saw the splits and thought, ‘Oh, he’s getting bold now.’”

Ollie laughed, shaking his head. “Just trying to make the most of it. The car felt great today. I mean, for us, P11 feels like pole.”

“Exactly,” Esteban said with a smirk. “And starting P11 means you get free tire choice. That’s a weapon in your pocket for tomorrow.”

The realization made Ollie’s grin widen. “True. And people cheered for me.”

“I was cheering for you,” Esteban said, clapping him on the back. “This is where it starts, Ollie. Build on it tomorrow, and who knows? Points might be on the table.”

Ollie's stomach fluttered with an odd mix of nerves and excitement. Esteban’s encouragement felt genuine, and the warmth in his voice made Ollie’s chest tighten in a way he didn’t entirely understand. It almost made him feel like a girl talking to her crush—not that he’d ever admit that out loud.

“Points in a Haas,” Ollie mused, still a bit in awe. “That’d be something.”

“It would be everything,” Esteban agreed, his easy smile lighting up his face. “And I think we’ve got the car to make it happen. Keep doing what you’re doing, and tomorrow might surprise you.”

Ollie chuckled, the nerves he’d been carrying all day finally dissipating. “Guess I’ll have to make it happen, then.”

“That’s the spirit.” Esteban pushed off the wall, grabbing a water bottle from a nearby table. “Get some rest tonight, though. Tomorrow’s the real challenge.”

As Esteban walked away, Ollie turned back toward his car, running a hand over the side of the chassis. He felt lighter than he had all weekend, pride and determination bubbling inside him. He may not have made Q3, but P11 in a Haas was a statement.

Tomorrow, Ollie thought, glancing out toward the track. Tomorrow, I’ll prove that today wasn’t a fluke.

He was about to grab a bottle of water when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Fishing it out, he frowned at the notification. A message, from all people, Kimi Antonelli.

Kimi Antonelli: You did great. I was cheering for you from my car.

Ollie’s mouth hung open, his fingers frozen over the screen. Kimi? The same Kimi who Ollie was sure had been quietly hoping he’d falter under the pressure of his rookie season?

“What am I supposed to say to that?” Ollie muttered to himself, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. He stared at the message like it might somehow explain itself if he looked at it long enough.

Was this a trap? A joke? Or worse—a pity text?

Before he could overthink it any further, a shadow loomed over him. Ollie looked up to see Esteban standing there, arms crossed and smirking knowingly.

“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Esteban asked, leaning against the garage wall.

Ollie blinked, then quickly locked his phone. “I don’t. Just... thinking about tomorrow.”

Esteban’s smirk widened as he crossed his arms. “You’re a terrible liar, rookie. And I’m observant, so what’s happening?”

“Nothing,” Ollie insisted, though his cheeks betrayed him with a faint flush. The way Esteban spoke was so simple, yet it held an ease and sincerity that made Ollie’s face warm in ways he couldn’t quite control. Every ounce of care in Esteban’s tone—whether it was teasing or genuine—seemed to strike Ollie in all the wrong places.

“Uh-huh,” Esteban replied, his smirk softening into a knowing smile. “Sure, rookie. Keep your secrets. Just don’t let whatever it is get in the way tomorrow, yeah?”

“I won’t,” Ollie said quickly, hoping the conversation would move on before Esteban could dig any deeper.

“Good,” Esteban said, giving him a firm clap on the shoulder before stepping away. “You’ve got this, Ollie. Just keep your head on straight.”

Esteban raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got momentum now—don’t lose it.”

Ollie nodded, grateful for the subject change. “Right. Momentum. Got it.”

“Uh-huh,” Esteban replied, his smirk softening into a knowing smile. “Sure, rookie. Keep your secrets. Just don’t let whatever it is get in the way tomorrow, yeah?”

“I won’t,” Ollie said quickly, hoping the conversation would move on before Esteban could dig any deeper.

“Good,” Esteban said, giving him a firm clap on the shoulder before stepping away. “You’ve got this, Ollie. Just keep your head on straight.”

As Esteban walked off to talk to one of the engineers, Ollie couldn’t help but watch him for a moment longer than necessary, his mind racing in every direction except where it needed to be.

He shook his head, pulling himself back to reality. Focus, Ollie. Tomorrow wasn’t just another race—it was a chance to prove himself. And if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that he wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip away.

Later that evening, Ollie sat in his hotel room, staring at his phone on the nightstand like it might detonate. He’d tried to focus on anything else—stretching, reviewing strategy notes, even mindlessly scrolling social media—but the text from Kimi lingered in the back of his mind.

Why would Kimi text him? They weren’t friends. Sure, they’d been friendly enough in passing, but Kimi insulted him in front of the media.

Finally, with a deep breath, he picked up his phone and opened the message. His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he typed out a cautious response.

Ollie Bearman: Thanks. Means a lot coming from you.

He hit send before he could second-guess himself, then immediately tossed the phone onto the bed like it might bite him. It didn't do much since the next text still came up.

Kimi Antonelli: Don’t let it get to your head, rookie. The real challenge is today.

Ollie snorted, shaking his head. He could almost hear Kimi’s tone through the screen—half-joking, half-serious. But instead of making him feel pressured, it fired him up. But it was still the same tone that called him weak.

Ollie Bearman: Don’t worry, I’ll try to keep up.

He grinned as he sent the message, feeling a little more confident now. If Kimi was going to play the rival, Ollie would rise to the challenge.

Chapter Text

The post-race buzz in the paddock was electric. Engines had gone quiet, but the energy in the air remained palpable. Mechanics moved in and out of garages, packing up equipment while strategists discussed what went right—and wrong—over headsets.

Ollie sat on the pit wall, still catching his breath after the race. P9. He’d done it. Points in a Haas. It wasn’t a podium, but for a rookie in one of the grid’s underdogs, it felt monumental.

He looked over to see Esteban surrounded by the team. His teammate had pulled off a P7 finish, a brilliant drive that had everyone buzzing. Esteban’s ease and confidence on track had been a lesson in poise, and Ollie couldn’t help but feel a little awestruck watching the way he commanded the race.

“Esteban!” Ollie called, hopping off the wall and jogging over to him. “You crushed it, man!”

Esteban turned, his smile lighting up as Ollie approached. “You’re not too bad yourself, rookie. P9 in a Haas—impressive.”

Ollie grinned, his nerves from the day dissipating under the glow of his teammate’s praise. “Thanks. But seriously, the way you held off Alonso at the end? That was insane.”

Esteban chuckled, clapping Ollie on the shoulder. “It was all about managing the tires. You’ll get there. For now, just enjoy this—points for both of us. The team’s going to throw a mini party tonight.”

“Mini party?” Ollie teased. “That doesn’t sound very Haas.”

“Trust me,” Esteban said with a wink. “You’ll see what I mean.”

As the crew around them continued celebrating, Ollie’s thoughts began to drift. While he was proud of his result and thrilled for Esteban, there was someone else on his mind.

After the cooldown room interviews, Ollie wandered the paddock, his helmet bag slung over one shoulder. The buzz of post-race activity surrounded him—mechanics rushing to pack up, media swarming around drivers, and the faint hum of celebrations from various garages. Despite the chaos, Ollie’s mind was elsewhere. The texts from Kimi the day before still lingered, replaying in his head like a song he couldn’t shake. He wasn’t sure why they stuck with him so much, but the urge to find Kimi and talk to him was impossible to ignore.

Kimi had finished P6, a result that felt almost unreal considering his age and the pressure of the competition. Ollie had caught glimpses of Kimi’s race on the screens during his own laps, and the precision of his moves had been mesmerizing. Every overtake was deliberate, every defensive line calculated. It was like watching someone far more experienced, a driver who seemed destined to make a mark in Formula 1.

As Ollie wove through the bustling paddock, he couldn’t help but reflect on Kimi’s drive. There was a smoothness to his style, a confidence that belied his rookie status. The way he passed Norris in Sector 3 had been a masterclass in timing and bravery, and it stuck with Ollie long after the race ended. There was no doubt in his mind: Kimi Antonelli was special, a star on the rise. And Ollie felt a smile across his face, he wanted to challenge that star.

Ollie adjusted the strap of his bag, his gaze flicking toward the Mercedes motorhome. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say if he did find Kimi—maybe congratulations, maybe something about the texts, or maybe just a casual chat. Whatever it was, he felt an inexplicable need to close the loop on the thoughts swirling in his mind. With a deep breath, he headed toward the sleek silver building, hoping he’d get the chance to figure it out.

“Where is he?” Ollie muttered to himself, scanning the Mercedes garage as he walked past. It was a chaotic mix of engineers, PR staff, and media personnel, all moving with purpose, but no sign of Kimi. His eyes darted over the bustling crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of the young driver, but the paddock was a blur of people and noise. Ollie’s heart beat a little faster—what was he even going to say when he found him? He wasn’t sure, but the desire to see Kimi again, to speak with him and tell him how he challenged him to be better, felt almost urgent.

“Looking for someone?” a voice teased from behind, making Ollie freeze in his tracks. He turned around quickly, startled by the interruption, and saw George Russell leaning casually against the doorway of the Mercedes motorhome. The older driver had a knowing smile on his face, his arms crossed, clearly amused by Ollie’s slightly frantic search.

“Uh, no. Just, you know, soaking in the paddock atmosphere,” Ollie lied, hoping George wouldn’t press the issue. His cheeks flushed slightly, knowing it was a terrible excuse, but his mind was too distracted by the thought of Kimi to focus on anything else.

“Right. Soaking in the atmosphere by pacing like you’ve lost something—or someone.” George’s smirk widened as he pushed off the doorframe, stepping closer. It was clear from the twinkle in his eye that he could see straight through Ollie’s feigned nonchalance.

Ollie sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Fine. I’m looking for Kimi. Happy now?” He winced as the words left his mouth, realizing just how desperate he sounded. George raised an eyebrow, his smirk still in place, but didn’t press further. Instead, he gave a light shrug. “He’s probably in the back grabbing a drink. Want me to tell him you’re here?” Ollie’s heart skipped a beat at the idea, but before he could answer, George was already moving to the side, leaving him to decide whether or not to actually find Kimi himself.

“No!” Ollie blurted, a little too quickly. His face flushed with embarrassment as George raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by his reaction. Ollie cleared his throat, trying to sound more composed. “I mean, no. I’ll just... find him myself.”

“Suit yourself,” George said with a chuckle, stepping aside to let Ollie through. His smile lingered a moment longer, but he didn’t say anything else, leaving Ollie to make his way further into the paddock.

Ollie’s steps were quick and purposeful as he moved through the sea of people. His eyes scanned every group he passed, hoping to catch sight of Kimi’s familiar figure. The paddock seemed to stretch on forever, the noise of the crowd blending with the hum of engines being powered down. Despite the flurry of activity around him, Ollie’s focus was unwavering. He had to find Kimi—he couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to talk to him. The post race adrenaline was exhilarating.

As Ollie turned a corner near the Ferrari garage, he bumped into Alex Albon, the two almost colliding as Ollie wasn’t paying attention to where he was going.

“Oi! Watch where you’re going!” Alex laughed, though it was clear he wasn’t upset. Ollie winced, stepping back to give Alex some space.

“Sorry about that,” Ollie said, straightening up. “I was just... looking for someone.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Who’s got you in such a rush? Couldn’t have been a more exciting race than your own, right?” He smirked, clearly teasing.

Ollie flushed, a grin tugging at his lips despite the awkwardness. “Yeah, well, it’s... Kimi I’m looking for. Have you seen him?”

Alex’s face lit up with recognition. “Kimi? He’s probably around here somewhere, but I wouldn’t be too worried. I’m sure he’s celebrating somewhere with the team. Honestly, if you’re in a rush, you’re better off talking to George. He’s always got his ear to the ground.”

Ollie nodded, a little deflated by the fact that Kimi seemed to be elusive again. “I just saw him actually,” he said, trying to piece the information together. “He mentioned something about getting a drink... Do you know where he would go for that?”

Alex thought for a moment, then gestured down the paddock toward a more private corner near the team garages. “There’s a small lounge area just past the Red Bull pit. It’s quieter, not too many people. He might’ve slipped in there to relax for a bit. If he’s not with the team, he’s probably there.”

“Perfect. Thanks, Alex!” Ollie said, giving him a quick nod before heading in the direction Alex had pointed out.

The thought of finally tracking down Kimi made his heart race a little faster. He knew it wasn’t a big deal, just a conversation between teammates, but there was something about Kimi’s presence that always seemed to throw him off. He was calm, fun, and sometimes collected, everything Ollie wasn’t in this moment.

Ollie weaved through the crowd, his excitement growing with each step. When he reached the lounge area Alex had mentioned, he paused just outside the door, taking a breath before entering. He spotted Kimi almost immediately, leaning against a table, his helmet bag at his feet as he chatted with a couple of the team’s engineers.

Ollie’s stomach fluttered as he took a step forward, unsure exactly how to approach. Was it the right time? Would Kimi even want to talk to him? But he had already come this far, and there was no turning back now. He walked in, determination setting in as he made his way toward the group.

Ollie hesitated for a moment, suddenly unsure of what to say.

Hey, congrats on P6. By the way, your texts yesterday totally messed with my head—what’s up with that?

Probably not the best approach. The thought made him cringe internally. What was he even doing here? He had no idea, but the need to speak to Kimi, to somehow acknowledge those messages, weighed heavily on his mind. Taking a deep breath, he walked over, his heart pounding a little harder than he’d like.

“Kimi,” he called softly.

Kimi looked up, his green eyes meeting Ollie’s. For a brief moment, there was a flicker of surprise on his face, but it quickly melted into a small, polite smile. Ollie couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly Kimi exuded a kind of calmness, even in moments like this, when Ollie was clearly a little rattled.

“Hey,” Kimi said, setting his phone down. “Congrats on P9. That’s a solid result.”

Ollie blinked at the compliment, still processing Kimi’s easy demeanor. “Thanks,” Ollie said, scratching the back of his neck. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “But P6? That was unreal. You were flying out there.”

Kimi shrugged, though there was a hint of pride in his expression. “It was a good race. The car felt great, and the strategy worked out.”

“Well, it was fun to watch,” Ollie said, his words tumbling out faster than he intended. “Especially that overtake on Norris in Sector 3. Clean and ruthless.”

Kimi chuckled, the sound soft and almost shy, a rarity in his usual composed manner. “Thanks. I just tried to stay focused.”

There was a pause, the noise of the motorhome fading into the background as they stood there in a sudden awkward silence. Ollie shifted awkwardly, his mind racing with everything he wanted to say. Should he mention the texts? Should he just say thank you and leave it at that?

“I, uh... I wanted to thank you,” he finally blurted out.

Kimi frowned slightly. “Thank me? For what?”

Ollie rubbed the back of his neck, trying to push through the sudden nerves. “For the texts,” he said, his cheeks flushing. “Yesterday. They... they meant a lot. Coming from you.”

Kimi’s expression softened, and for a moment, Ollie thought he saw a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes. “It wasn’t a big deal,” Kimi said quietly. “You deserved it. You’ve been doing well.” It sounded true.

There was no teasing, no hidden agenda—just honesty, and Ollie could feel the warmth of it settle in his chest. “Still,” he said, his voice softer now, “It made a difference. So, thanks.”

Kimi nodded, his gaze lingering on Ollie for a moment before he looked away. “No problem.”

"Kimi, why did you do that interview?" Ollie huffed out. He took his hand to his towel and patted himself; he would kill for some water right now. His knee was aching so hard, but it always was. He could live with it for a few more hours. "Why did you call me weak?"

Ollie opened his mouth to respond, but Kimi cut him off, his tone soft yet unwavering. "I see a lot of potential in you," he said, a small, almost hesitant smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You're talented and dedicated. My comments... they weren’t meant to hurt you." He hesitated, his words catching slightly. "I was scared. I... am."

Kimi leaned in, close enough that Ollie could feel his breath. His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible. "Mi piacciono i ragazzi."

Oh.

Ollie froze, the words hanging in the air like an unsolvable puzzle. “Wait... what?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kimi straightened slightly, his cheeks burning with a rare flush. He avoided Ollie’s eyes, suddenly fascinated by the floor. “It’s nothing,” he muttered quickly, his usual composed demeanor faltering.

“No, no, hold on,” Ollie pressed, stepping closer. “What did you just say?”

Kimi sighed deeply, his expression faltering for a moment as he seemed to regret opening up. His eyes flickered away, guilt settling into his features. “Forget it,” he muttered, shaking his head, the weight of his words lingering in the air. His voice softened, an almost pleading note creeping in. “I didn’t mean to make this about me. I just... I was trying to help you.”

Without thinking, he reached out, grabbing Kimi’s wrist gently. His grip was firm, but his touch was soft, as if to assure Kimi he wasn’t angry or upset. Ollie nodded, trying to convey understanding, even though his mind was racing to process everything Kimi had just said. He didn’t fully get what this had to do with him, but it was clear that whatever Kimi was going through, his confession meant something important. They’d talk about it later, in a space where it could make more sense.

"Hey," Ollie started, his voice steady as he shifted the focus to something lighter. "There’s a Haas party later. I’ll text you the details once I know them myself." He gave Kimi a reassuring smile, hoping to ease the moment, and Kimi seemed to relax a little, the tension in his shoulders easing.

Kimi met his gaze for a moment, the quiet between them thick but not uncomfortable. He nodded slowly, his usual stoic expression back, but there was something more genuine in his eyes now. “I’ll be there,” he said softly. Then, without another word, he gave a small nod and turned to leave, but not before looking back once more at Ollie.

The party was in full swing by the time Ollie arrived, the familiar buzz of chatter, laughter, and music filling the air. The atmosphere was vibrant, the typical mix of engineers, drivers, and media personnel mingling around. 

Ollie couldn’t help but feel a little out of place, though. Despite his recent progress and the positive outcome of the race, there was always a part of him that still felt like an outsider at these events.

He spotted a few familiar faces from the team, nodding a polite hello as he made his way deeper into the crowd. He wasn’t exactly sure what to expect from this Haas party, but he wasn’t here to sulk. It was about having fun, celebrating the small victories, and letting off some steam.

Ollie wasn’t sure if Kimi was going to show up. He hoped he would. The thought of spending the night surrounded by unfamiliar faces wasn’t exactly appealing, and Kimi’s presence might make things feel a little less awkward. 

But as he sat himself down at one of the tables, he couldn’t help but feel a little out of place. That was until he spotted a familiar face across the room: Arthur Leclerc. They’d spent some time together at Perma, and though their paths hadn’t crossed much since then, Ollie always appreciated the easygoing nature Arthur brought to the table.

Ollie quickly made his way over, glad to have at least one familiar person to talk to. He slipped into the seat next to Arthur, who grinned when he noticed him. "Well, well, if it isn’t the famous Ollie—still managing to stay out of trouble?" Arthur teased, his eyes sparkling with that characteristic mischief.

Ollie grinned back, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease just a little. "What, no polite greetings? Trying to get me drunk already, Arthur?" Ollie said, holding his hands up in mock horror. "How dare you!"

Arthur slid a drink right into Ollie’s hands with a wink. "There you go, no need to be shy. What’s the point of being at a party if you’re not going to have a drink or two?"

Ollie chuckled, accepting the drink but giving Arthur an exaggerated frown. "You really know how to get someone comfortable, huh? Is that your secret to being everyone’s favorite, just get them a drink and call it a day?"

Arthur laughed, clearly enjoying the banter. "I’m just getting you started, Ollie. You’re a lightweight, no?" He raised an eyebrow, his teasing grin never faltering.

Ollie scoffed, playfully swatting at Arthur’s arm. "I’m not a lightweight!" But he couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips—Arthur was exactly what he needed right now, someone who wasn’t taking everything so seriously. Someone who could pull him out of his head for a moment.

Arthur gave him a dubious look. "Sure, sure. I'll believe it when I see it." He took a sip of his own drink, clearly not buying Ollie's claims.

For a brief moment, it felt like things were just normal again. Like they were back at Perma, having a laugh over lunch, with none of the pressures that came with the new world Ollie was navigating.

Still, Ollie couldn’t help but glance around every now and then, hoping to see Kimi somewhere in the crowd. The party was starting to fill up, but he didn’t see any sign of the Mercedes driver yet. He could feel his nerves tingling with anticipation—he wasn’t even sure why.

"How’s Perma going?" Ollie asked, eager to steer the conversation away from his own anxious thoughts. He was genuinely curious, and the mention of his old team always brought a little warmth to his heart.

Arthur’s eyes brightened at the question. "It’s been great, honestly. I miss it too—still got some of the best memories from there. But hey, you’re out here now, doing your thing with Haas, so you’ve gotta be loving it, right?"

Ollie smiled faintly, nodding. "Yeah, I’m still getting used to it, but it’s a lot of fun. Different, for sure. I do miss the boys, though." He paused, taking a small sip of his drink, eyes glancing over the crowd again. "You know, the whole team vibe. It’s different in Formula 1... I miss Italy a lot too. The food, the pace of life. It’s like a whole different world now."

Arthur nodded, his expression growing more thoughtful. "I've grown up around Formula 1. It's always been this dream that feels so far out of reach, yet somehow, always just within arm’s length. I’ve worked my ass off to get here, but it’s never enough to escape the shadow. Every time I take a step forward, it feels like I’m right back where I started."

Ollie, listening intently, leaned in a little, sensing the weight of Arthur’s words. The lighthearted mood they’d shared earlier had shifted, and Ollie realized just how much more was going on beneath the surface. Arthur’s gaze flickered away briefly, the familiar charm momentarily gone as he let out a frustrated breath.

"People always compare me to Charles," Arthur continued, his voice quieter now but tinged with a raw honesty. "And I get it, I do. Charles is incredible—there’s no doubt about it. He’s got the talent, the drive, the results. But god, it’s hard sometimes. I’m not him, Ollie. I’m not just his little brother trying to make it on my own. I’ve got my own path to walk, my own goals."

Ollie’s chest tightened as he processed Arthur’s confession. He could feel the tension in his friend’s voice, the weight of expectations that Arthur had carried for so long. "I can only imagine what that’s like," Ollie said softly, his tone empathetic. "Having to prove yourself not just to everyone else, but to yourself, too."

Arthur let out a short laugh, but it didn’t sound like it was coming from a place of humor. "Yeah. It’s like no matter what I do, I’m always under this microscope. And the comparisons? They never stop." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration still evident in the way he held himself. "I’ve always felt like I’ve been in his shadow, like I’m just a footnote in the bigger picture."

Ollie nodded slowly, his own experience with pressure and expectation bubbling up in his mind. He’d never been in Arthur’s exact position, but he understood the constant battle of trying to carve out his own space when everyone else only saw the people around him. "You’re not a footnote, Arthur," he said firmly. "You’re not just ‘Charles Leclerc’s brother.’ You’re Arthur Leclerc. You’re doing this because you want to, because you’ve earned it. And that’s something no one can take away from you."

Arthur met his eyes, the faintest glimmer of gratitude flickering in his expression. "Thanks, Ollie. It means a lot to hear that. I just sometimes feel like no one sees me for me."

Ollie offered him a genuine smile, feeling a deeper connection with his friend in that moment. "They will. Trust me. You just have to keep pushing, keep doing your thing. You’ve got the talent. I can see it."

Arthur’s face softened into a small smile, a bit of the weight lifting from his shoulders. "I guess we’re not so different after all, huh?" he said, almost to himself. "You’ve got your own struggles, and I’ve got mine."

Ollie chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Seems that way. But that’s what makes us who we are, right?"

Arthur grinned, clearly feeling a little lighter now. "Right." He paused, then added, "You know, maybe it’s not just about being in the shadow. Maybe it’s about carving out a new space altogether. Something that’s our own."

Ollie raised his glass, toasting to that thought. "Here’s to carving out our own space," he said, his voice light but full of sincerity.

Arthur clinked his glass with Ollie’s, his smile more genuine than it had been all evening. "Here’s to that."

Ollie almost immediately spat out his drink. Not expecting the gross taste of the alcohol. Ollie quickly wiped his mouth, still trying to shake off the shock of the drink that had gone down the wrong way. He stared at the glass in his hand, then shot a disbelieving glance at Arthur, who was now laughing harder than he had ever heard.

Ollie, still trying to get his bearings, waved a hand dismissively, his face scrunched up in disgust. "Oh my God, it’s so bitter!" he said, practically gagging at the aftertaste. "What did you even give me, Arthur? Poison?"

Arthur was barely holding it together, snickering under his breath. "Nah, mate, it's just an old classic—an Aperol spritz," he said, feigning innocence. "Maybe you just need to learn to appreciate the finer things in life."

Ollie shot him an incredulous look. "Finer things? This tastes like someone’s idea of a cruel joke," he muttered, still trying to rid his mouth of the bitterness. "I’ve had bitter stuff before, but this is on a whole new level."

Arthur grinned, clearly enjoying Ollie’s reaction. "Well, you’re in me now, mate," he teased. "Got to get used to the strong stuff. You can’t be a lightweight forever."

The party had carried on, and so had the drinks. Time blurred into a mix of laughter, music, and clinking glasses. At some point, Ollie had completely lost track of how much he’d had to drink. His face was flushed, his words spilling out in a slightly slurred but cheerful stream, and his grin was wide and unrestrained.

Arthur, still seated beside him, was nursing a drink of his own, watching Ollie with a mix of amusement and mild concern. "You sure you're holding up, mate?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as Ollie leaned against the back of the couch, looking far too comfortable.

"Holdin' up?" Ollie repeated, his accent thick and his voice unsteady. He gestured vaguely with his drink, sloshing a bit of it onto the table. "I'm doing amazing, Arthur. Look at me. Thrivin'."

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, you’re absolutely thriving, mate. Totally not about to fall over or anything."

Ollie pointed a finger at him, swaying slightly in his seat. "You're so... supportive," he said, his tone exaggeratedly sincere. "Like... too supportive. Y’know that? You’re a good guy, Arthur Leclerc. Real good guy."

Arthur couldn’t help but laugh, leaning back in his seat. "You’re really laying it on thick, aren’t you?"

"Only 'cause it’s true," Ollie insisted, his grin lopsided but earnest. He reached out to poke Arthur’s arm, missing slightly and landing on his shoulder instead. "If I looked like you, I’d never have to try. Just... exist and let people fall at my feet."

Arthur shook his head, his laughter softening into something more affectionate. "You’re a real piece of work when you’re drunk, you know that?"

"And yet," Ollie said, leaning even closer, his face just a little too close to Arthur’s, "you’re still here, listenin’ to me ramble. So maybe... you like it?"

Ollie, emboldened by the alcohol coursing through his veins, found himself staring at Arthur’s face for a moment too long. His thoughts were messy and unfiltered, and before he even realized what he was doing, he leaned in closer, his gaze flickering to Arthur’s lips.

Arthur blinked, his smile faltering as he instinctively leaned back. “Whoa, Ollie,” he said, his voice still light but edged with surprise. He raised a hand between them, gently but firmly creating space. “What are you doing?”

Ollie froze, his brain struggling to catch up with his actions. “I—uh—” he stammered, feeling a flush of embarrassment mix with the drunken haze. “I just... I don’t know. Sorry.”

Ollie froze, his face flushing even redder than before—though whether it was from embarrassment or alcohol, it was hard to tell. Arthur raised both hands in a placating gesture, his voice calm but a little taken aback.

Arthur studied him for a moment, his expression softening as he let out a short laugh, more out of awkwardness than anything else. “It’s fine, mate. I’m just... not gay. You are? That’s fine, really. It just caught me off guard.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and as they settled, Ollie felt the weight of them—a weight that was somehow both terrifying and freeing. He thought of Arthur's lips, the way they crooked up into that easy, teasing smile. He thought of the man at the photoshoot, the sharp lines of his jaw, the way he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away. He thought about Kimi’s praise, the softness in his voice that made his chest tighten. He thought about Kimi’s curls, how they fell messily over his forehead, and the way it made him look so effortlessly... beautiful.

And then there was Esteban—the way he’d clapped him on the back with that warm, unwavering support. The way his words carried so much weight, the way he made Ollie feel seen, like he truly belonged. His stomach curled uncomfortably at the thought, but not because it was wrong. No, it was because it felt so glaringly, undeniably right.

They were all men. And instead of thinking about these things as just a friend or a teammate, he blushed. His cheeks burned as the realization hit him like a tidal wave. He wasn’t just grateful for their attention—he craved it. He wanted to earn more praise, to see more smiles directed his way, to hear more of those voices saying his name with warmth and admiration.

Ollie Bearman liked men. And for the first time, he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise.

Ollie stared at him for a moment, then suddenly blurted out, “Yeah! Yeah, Arthur, I like guys!!” His voice was loud, almost defiant, like he’d just made a groundbreaking announcement to the entire party.

Arthur’s eyes widened for a second before he quickly clapped a hand over Ollie’s mouth, glancing around nervously. He was clearly trying not to laugh as he hissed, “That’s great, mate, I’m happy for you, but I don’t think you want all of Australia to know right this second!”

Ollie, undeterred, stuck his tongue out and touched it to Arthur’s palm, causing him to recoil with a grimace. “Gross, Ollie!” Arthur exclaimed, shaking his hand as though he could fling the memory of the sensation away.

“I do!” Ollie said with an exaggerated nod, his voice even louder now. “I do want to tell the world how pretty—”

Arthur snapped his fingers right in front of Ollie’s face, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Focus, Ollie. Focus.” He looked him dead in the eye, trying his best to contain the chaos. “We can celebrate this breakthrough later, but maybe let’s do it quietly, yeah? You’re drunk off your ass.”

Ollie blinked at him, a goofy grin spreading across his face. “You’re a good friend, Arthur,” he slurred, clearly losing focus again. “But seriously, though, you’re also really... really pretty.”

Arthur sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, that’s my cue to get you some water before you declare me your soulmate or something.”

As Arthur attempted to lead him toward the bathroom, Ollie suddenly froze in his tracks, his eyes locking onto a figure across the room. His face lit up, and with absolutely no subtlety, he began aggressively waving. “Kimi! Hey, Kimi!” he practically yelled, his voice carrying over the music and chatter.

Arthur groaned, clearly exasperated. “Ollie, come on—bathroom first, dramatic reunions second,” he muttered, trying to tug him along.

But Ollie was rooted in place, his attention entirely on Kimi, who had turned at the sound of his name. And god, did Kimi look good. His curls were slightly damp, as if he’d just freshened up, and he wore a casual button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing his toned forearms. It was unfair how effortlessly perfect he looked.

Kimi hesitated for a moment, taking in the sight of Ollie—clearly drunk and wobbling slightly, yet beaming at him like he’d just won the lottery. With a small sigh and a shake of his head, Kimi made his way over, weaving through the crowd.

“Ollie,” Kimi said when he reached them, his voice low and calm as he glanced between him and Arthur. “What’s going on here?”

Before Arthur could explain, Ollie lurched forward, grabbing Kimi’s arm with a grin so wide it nearly split his face. “Kimi, you’re here! I was just telling Arthur how much I like guys!”

Kimi blinked, clearly caught off guard, and Arthur muttered, “Oh, for god’s sake,” under his breath, pressing a hand to his temple.

Kimi’s brows furrowed slightly, and he glanced at Arthur, who seemed caught between amusement and exasperation. Arthur gave a small shrug, clearly unsure whether to intervene or let this play out. “I see that,” Kimi said finally, his tone even but his ears tinged with red. “And how much have you had to drink, Ollie?”

Ollie squinted at him, as though he could divine the answer by staring at Kimi’s face. “Not that much,” he replied, though his words were sluggish and his grin far too wide to be convincing. Then, as if struck by a revelation, he leaned closer—too close—and whispered loudly, “But enough to know you’re really handsome.”

Arthur’s laughter burst out before he could stop it, and he clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. “Okay, yeah, we’re definitely past the point of ‘not that much,’” he said, shaking his head at Kimi, who looked utterly mortified. Kimi took a measured step back, his expression carefully neutral except for the bright flush creeping up his neck.

“Right,” Kimi muttered, clearing his throat. “I think it’s time for some water—and maybe for you to sit down.” But Ollie was undeterred, his gaze darting between the two of them with a dazed sort of fascination. 

“Wait, don’t go,” he said, pointing an unsteady finger. “You’re both way too good-looking. Like, it’s almost illegal.” Arthur snorted again, clearly enjoying himself, but Kimi sighed, already regretting every decision that had brought him to this moment.

Ollie, however, was undeterred. “But you haven’t answered my question,” he said, pouting like a child who wasn’t getting his way.

“What question?” Kimi asked, clearly confused.

“Why are you so good-looking?!” Ollie exclaimed, throwing his hands up dramatically. “It’s unfair! And Arthur, don’t think you’re off the hook either. You’re, like, annoyingly cute too.”

“You never asked me that, mate.” Kimi smiled. He was wide eyed, but joyful nonetheless.

Arthur, for his part, burst out laughing, shaking his head in disbelief. “Oh mate,” he said, his grin wide. “What is happening?”

Kimi pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something in Italian under his breath. “Arthur,” he said, his voice low, “can you help me get him out of here before he says something he’s really going to regret?”

Arthur shrugged, still clearly amused. “I mean, he’s already pretty far gone. But yeah, let’s get him somewhere quieter.”

As the two of them guided Ollie toward an empty bathroom lol, he kept switching between complimenting Arthur’s “amazing smile” and Kimi’s “perfect hair.” Arthur played along, laughing and teasing Ollie right back, but Kimi was noticeably quieter, his usual calm exterior showing faint cracks of discomfort.

When they finally got him seated with a glass of water, Ollie looked up at both of them, his cheeks flushed—partly from the alcohol and partly from the admiration he clearly couldn’t keep to himself. “You guys are the best,” he said, his voice soft and sincere. “Like, if I had to be stuck on a desert island, I’d pick you two. Hands down. You’re both so—so pretty.”

Arthur couldn’t contain his laughter, but Kimi just sighed, shaking his head. “Ollie,” he said gently, “bevi la tua acqua.”

Arthur grabbed Ollie by the shoulders, gently steering him toward a chair. “Alright, Casanova, time to rile down before you try to charm the entire party.” His tone was teasing, but there was genuine concern in his eyes as he glanced at Kimi for backup.

“I’m fine,” Ollie protested, waving his hand dramatically. “I don’t need to rile down. I need to—” He paused, his finger darting between Kimi and Arthur like he was weighing an important decision. “I need to figure out which of you is prettier.”

Kimi groaned, running a hand through his curls. “Mon dieu,” he muttered under his breath, his embarrassment evident as he tried to avoid Ollie’s glassy-eyed gaze. “Arthur, do something.”

Arthur smirked, clearly enjoying Kimi’s discomfort. “Oh no, you’re part of this now, mate. Don’t leave me alone with him—he’s relentless.” He crouched in front of Ollie, who was now beaming like he’d just discovered the meaning of life. “Ollie, you’re drunk. You don’t need to figure out anything right now except how to drink this water.”

Ollie blinked at the bottle Arthur held out, his expression serious for the first time all evening. “Water? That’s boring.” Then his face lit up again. “Unless Kimi feeds it to me. Then it’s romantic!”

Kimi’s eyes widened, and he held up his hands in defense. “Absolutely not!” he said loudly, though the red creeping up his cheeks told a different story.

Arthur couldn’t stop laughing, leaning on the back of the chair for support. “You’ve got your hands full with this one, Kimi.”

“I do not,” Kimi snapped, his voice sharp but his face betraying his flustered state. “You got him drunk!”

“Actually,” Ollie chimed in, his voice wobbling with an attempt at seriousness, “I’m everyone’s responsibility. Because I’m adorable.”

Arthur howled with laughter, and even Kimi couldn’t suppress the faintest of smiles, though he quickly turned away to hide it. “You’re impossible,” Kimi muttered, grabbing the water bottle from Arthur and shoving it into Ollie’s hands. “Drink this before I lose what’s left of my patience.”

Ollie looked at the bottle, then at Kimi, his grin softening just slightly. “You’re cute when you’re bossy, you know that?” he murmured, taking a sip of water as Kimi pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"I like boys! I need to call Haas and tell them to make a statement! I have a whole new world of lovers!" Ollie declared, his voice loud and theatrical as he clutched his chest like a soap opera protagonist. Without missing a beat, he flopped onto the floor in an exaggerated display of emotion, as though the weight of his revelation was simply too much to bear.

Arthur burst out laughing, clutching his stomach as he watched Ollie collapse onto the floor like a tragic hero in a Shakespearean play. “A whole new world of lovers, is it?” he wheezed. “I don’t think PR statements work like that, mate.”

Kimi, on the other hand, looked utterly mortified, crouching down to Ollie’s level in an attempt to bring some semblance of order back to the situation. “Ollie, you’re not calling Haas. You’re not calling anyone.” His voice was stern, but the faint blush creeping up his cheeks betrayed his discomfort.

Ollie dramatically grabbed Kimi’s hand, holding it to his chest. “Kimi, you don’t understand. This is a revolution! A rebranding! Ollie Bearman: lover of men!” His eyes were glassy, but his grin was wide and entirely too proud of his drunken declaration.

Arthur was now doubled over, tears streaming down his face as he tried to regain his composure. “This is the best night of my life,” he gasped between laughs. “Kimi, you’re handling this way too seriously.”

Kimi shot Arthur a sharp glare before gently but firmly prying his hand out of Ollie’s grasp. “No,” he said flatly. “Because if we let him run with it, tomorrow’s headlines are going to be about Ollie starting a dating service in the paddock.”

Ollie gasped, sitting up suddenly as if Kimi had just given him the best idea in the world. “Oh my god, that’s genius! ‘Paddock Love: Powered by Ollie Bearman!’ We could match drivers with engineers, media people with strategists—"

Kimi gently cupped Ollie’s face, tilting his head back until Ollie’s mouth fell open. With a steady hand, he slowly poured water into the other’s mouth, careful not to spill. 

Ollie made a small noise of protest at first, mumbling something incomprehensible between swallows, but eventually gave in, his eyes fluttering shut as if the simple act was a monumental task. The soft gurgle of water and Ollie’s uneven breaths filled the air, a stark contrast to the chaos from moments ago.

Arthur leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with a faint smirk. “If only the fans could see this,” he murmured under his breath. “Their golden rookie being babied by their other golden rookie and—what am I, the designated babysitter?”

Kimi shot him a look, though it lacked any real bite. “You’re welcome to leave, Leclerc. I’ve got it handled.”

Arthur raised his hands in mock surrender. “Not a chance. This is too good to miss.” He gestured toward Ollie, who was now dramatically flopping one arm over his face as if the water was some kind of ambrosia.

Ollie peeked through his arm at Kimi, his expression teetering between dazed and oddly sincere. “You’re so nice to me,” he murmured, his words thick and slurred. “You’re like...an angel. A handsome, curly-haired angel.”

Kimi’s ears turned red, and he busied himself setting the water bottle aside, ignoring Arthur’s poorly stifled laugh. “Just drink your water, Ollie,” Kimi muttered, his voice quieter than usual.

Arthur chuckled, leaning down to nudge Ollie’s shoulder. “And here I thought you saved all your flirting for me. I’m jealous.”

Arthur shook his head, laughter bubbling out of him as Kimi pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is going to be a long night,” Kimi muttered under his breath, though the corner of his lips twitched upward in the faintest hint of a smile.

Arthur crouched down beside Ollie, propping his chin on his hand as if thoroughly entertained. “Alright, Romeo, if we’re both so pretty, who’s your favorite?”

Ollie’s face scrunched up in drunken concentration, as though he were solving a complex mathematical equation. “Hmm,” he hummed, pointing lazily between them. “Arthur’s got that cheeky little smile, like he’s always up to something... but Kimi...” Ollie’s gaze drifted to Kimi, his expression softening. “Kimi’s got curls. And he looks at me like he believes in me. He’s my rival.”

Kimi froze, the teasing atmosphere suddenly replaced with an awkward tension. He glanced at Arthur, whose raised eyebrows did little to hide his amusement, and then back at Ollie, who was now staring at him like he was the only person in the room.

“Ollie,” Kimi said, clearing his throat as he tried to keep his voice steady, “you’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Arthur let out a low whistle, his grin widening. “This just keeps getting better. Kimi, I think he’s proposing.”

“Arthur,” Kimi snapped, his cheeks now undeniably red. “You’re not helping.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” Arthur shot back, leaning his weight on Ollie’s shoulder. “This is the most fun I’ve had all week.”

Kimi, still standing, sighed but crouched on Ollie’s other side, gently patting his cheek. “You’re going to regret all of this tomorrow,” he said, his tone erratic but laced with a rare warmth. “And I’ll make sure you do.”

Ollie tilted his head, squinting at Kimi. “Are you threatening me, angel?” He attempted a wink, but it ended up looking more like a slow blink. “’Cause I think I like that.”

Arthur threw his head back, laughing openly now. “This is gold. Someone get a camera. Ollie Bearman flirting with every man in sightand insulting me all in one night.”

“I didn’t insult you!” Ollie protested, attempting to sit up but failing miserably and slumping back against the counter. “You’re perfect too, Arthur. Like... one of those Renaissance statues. All elegant and smug. Kimi is just, I want to beat him, I think-”

Kimi cut him off, pressing a hand firmly to Ollie’s mouth. “Ah Ah, Stop. Talking.” His face was burning now, the redness creeping past his cheeks to his ears.

Arthur grabbed the nearest water bottle, tossing it into Kimi’s lap. “Here, angelic babysitter. Hydrate your boy before he combusts.”

Kimi exhaled, exasperated but oddly patient, and removed his hand from Ollie’s mouth to hand him the bottle. Ollie took it without complaint, though he pouted dramatically. “Fine, but only because you told me to,” he said, pointing at Kimi as though he’d just made some profound point.

Arthur leaned back against the counter, watching the scene with an amused grin. “You know, Kimi, he’s never going to let this go. You’re going to be ‘angel’ forever now.”

Kimi groaned, rubbing his temples. “As long as he doesn’t remember half of this, I’ll survive.”

Ollie, meanwhile, had finished half the bottle and was now slumped forward, resting his head on Kimi’s shoulder. “You’ll always be my angel,” he mumbled sleepily.

Arthur smirked as he held the door open, leaning casually against the frame. “Alright, lovebirds, I think my job here is done. I’ll leave you two to... whatever this is.”

Kimi frowned, his arms still supporting a swaying Ollie. “Arthur, you can stay and—”

Arthur raised a hand, cutting him off. “No, no. I’ve already done my good deed for the night. Besides,” he added with a mischievous glint in his eye, “this is far more entertaining from a distance. I’ll let you handle your new admirer, Kimi.”

“Arthur,” Kimi warned, his tone dangerously close to a growl.

“Goodnight, gentlemen,” Arthur said, ignoring the warning entirely as he stepped out and closed the door behind him. Kimi could hear the faint sound of his laughter retreating down the hall.

Now alone in the room, Kimi glanced down at Ollie, who was half-slumped on the floor, blinking up at him with an unfocused but determined expression. “Arthur’s the worst,” Kimi muttered, running a hand through his curls.

“No, he’s not,” Ollie said, shaking his head slowly. “He’s great. But you—” He jabbed a finger in Kimi’s direction, though his aim was questionable. “You’re... you’re something else.”

Kimi sighed, stepping closer to steady him. “You need to get to bed, Ollie.”

“Wait,” Ollie said, his hand gripping Kimi’s wrist. His eyes were glassy, but his expression was oddly earnest. “I need to tell you something important.”

Kimi froze, wary of what might come out of Ollie’s mouth next. “What now?”

Ollie pushed himself upright, wobbling slightly but managing to hold himself steady. “You’re my rival, Kimi Antonelli,” he declared, his voice rising dramatically. “You’re the benchmark. The one I have to beat. The... the mountain I need to climb!”

Kimi blinked, unsure whether to be flattered or concerned. “That’s... okay?”

Ollie wasn’t done. “But you’re not just any rival.” He pointed at Kimi again, though this time his finger hovered in midair, aimlessly searching for a target. “You’re my... my ultimate rival. Like in those anime edits i’ve seen. The one I have to surpass... but also the one I—”

Kimi’s eyebrows rose. “The one you what?”

Ollie’s face flushed a deep shade of red, and he looked away, mumbling something incomprehensible.

Kimi crouched slightly to meet Ollie’s eyes, his voice soft but insistent. “The one you what, Ollie?”

“The one I admire!” Ollie blurted out, his voice cracking. “A lot. Like... a lot a lot.”

For a moment, Kimi didn’t say anything. The room was quiet except for Ollie’s slightly erratic breathing. Then, to Ollie’s surprise, Kimi let out a soft laugh—a genuine, quiet chuckle that made Ollie’s chest feel warm and weirdly full.

Ollie’s words came out in a rush, his voice trembling as he swayed slightly, a mix of exhaustion and alcohol making him unsteady. “I thought you hated me,” he blurted, his tone uneven and strained. “So much. Like, really, really hated me. I—I confessed everything to you, you know? I told you what I was feeling, and then you went on TV and bashed me. Do you even know what that felt like?” His voice cracked, and he leaned his head against the floor.

“I wanted to drive my car into you,” he continued, his words spilling out faster now, slurred but still raw. “I wanted you to hurt. Not, like, really hurt, but... I wanted you to feel how much it hurt for me. To think you hated me. And yet...” He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I couldn’t say a single bad thing about you. Not one. Because... because people need rivals, right? Isn’t that what this whole thing is? Me versus you? Kimi Antonelli and Ollie Bearman, the big dramatic showdown. But i’m not good enough for that.”

Ollie’s eyes glistened, and he scrubbed a hand over his face, his voice rising in pitch as he rambled on. “But it’s not a rivalry. Not really. You’re—you’re amazing, Kimi. You’re like... you’re everything I want to be. You’re calm, and composed on the track, and fast, and just... you. And I want to be you so bad. So, so bad.” He hiccupped, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to be someone else as much as I want to be you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper now. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he didn’t bother wiping them away. “I thought you hated me. I... I hated you for it. Is that cruel? Am I cruel?”

His hands fell to his sides, and he slumped into the chair behind him, defeated and drained. “I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore,” he mumbled, his head falling forward into his hands. “I’m just so tired, Kimi. Tired of... of everything.”

Kimi blinked, he was getting whiplash. He stared at Ollie, whose cheeks were flushed, not just from alcohol but from the sheer weight of his emotions. There was no teasing lilt in his tone, no drunken giggle to soften the blow. This was raw, vulnerable, and painfully honest.

“I...” Kimi started but faltered, his throat dry. He took a deep breath, crouching down to be eye level with Ollie, who was now sitting on the edge of the chair, his hands gripping his knees like they were the only things grounding him.

“I don’t hate you, Ollie,” Kimi said softly, his voice steady but filled with an unfamiliar gentleness. “I’ve never hated you. Not once.”

Ollie looked up at him, his eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. “But the interview,” he whispered, his voice cracking again. “You said I was weak. You said I wasn’t strong enough. How could I not think you hated me?”

Kimi’s chest tightened, guilt surging through him. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I swear, Ollie, it wasn’t about putting you down. It was-I thought it was better.”

“Better?” Ollie scoffed, his lips trembling. “You don’t get it. You’re Kimi Antonelli. The prodigy. The golden boy. You don’t understand what it’s like to feel like you’re constantly one step behind. To watch someone like you and think, ‘I’ll never be enough.’”

“You think I don’t know pressure?” he said, his tone dropping low, tinged with a quiet frustration that Ollie hadn’t expected. “You think I haven’t felt like I was failing every time I didn’t live up to what people expect of me?” Kimi’s eyes softened, but the intensity in his gaze didn’t waver. “I know what it’s like, Ollie. I know it too well. We have reputations to uphold, expectations to meet. But you know what? I wasn’t going to let the rumors about us—about me—tear that down. Not like that.”

“I wasn’t going to let dating allegations break us. No, I was going to let our real flaws, the ones that actually matter, do it. If I was going to fall, I’d do it on my own terms.” His voice softened with a hint of bitterness, as though he’d been carrying this weight for far longer than Ollie could ever imagine.

Ollie’s bottom lip trembled, and he wiped at his eyes, embarrassed. “I don’t know if I can ever be great, Kimi. Not like you. I can’t even figure out my own head half the time. And now I’m sitting here, telling you all this, and you probably think I’m pathetic.”

Kimi reached out, hesitating for a moment before resting a hand on Ollie’s shoulder. “You’re not pathetic,” he said firmly. “You’re human. And you’re allowed to feel all of this. But don’t think for a second that I don’t respect you. I do, Ollie. More than you know.”

Ollie’s breath hitched, his head bowing slightly as the weight of Kimi’s words settled over him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “For... for hating you. For thinking you hated me.”

Kimi’s hand tightened on Ollie’s shoulder, a quiet reassurance. “You don’t need to apologize. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

Ollie looked up at him, his expression still fragile but softer now. “I meant it, you know. About wanting to be you.”

Kimi smiled faintly, shaking his head. “Don’t try to be me, Ollie. Be you. Because the Ollie I see? He’s already someone worth being.”

“Kimi,” Ollie called out, his voice louder than he intended. Kimi tilted his head kindly.

“Yeah?” Kimi’s voice was calm, but there was concern in his eyes as he took in Ollie’s unsteady expression.

“I need to go,” Ollie said, his words coming out more urgent than he intended. “Take me home, please.”

Kimi’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, studying him, before he nodded. “Alright. Let’s get you out of here.”

They made their way toward the exit, Ollie’s steps unsteady as Kimi kept an arm around him, guiding him through the crowd. It wasn’t until they were outside, the cool night air hitting his skin, that Ollie realized just how much he had been holding on to.

Kimi’s car was parked nearby, and Ollie let out a breath of relief as they got into it. The drive felt like a blur. He didn’t remember much of the road or the passing streetlights; all he could focus on was Kimi beside him, the quiet hum of the car’s engine, and the overwhelming sense of everything inside him settling into a strange mix of exhaustion and relief.

As they arrived at Kimi’s motorhome, Ollie felt the weight of his body dragging him down. He didn’t even register the movement of getting out of the car and walking up to the door. All he knew was that he wanted to be somewhere quiet. He wanted to escape the world, even if just for a few hours. Kimi’s place, though unfamiliar, felt like the perfect escape.

The door clicked open, and Ollie stumbled inside, only slightly aware of Kimi guiding him toward the couch. He collapsed onto it, his limbs feeling like jelly, his head too heavy to hold up on his own. Kimi crouched down beside him, a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You good?” Kimi’s voice was quiet, low, as if trying not to disturb the fragile silence that had settled around them.

Ollie nodded, his throat tight. “Yeah, I just need to… sleep.”

Kimi didn’t press him further, just nodded in understanding. “Alright. Get some rest. I’ll be here.”

Ollie didn’t have the energy to respond. The words were stuck in his throat, tangled up with everything he had been feeling for what felt like weeks. His eyelids fluttered, and in a few seconds, everything around him became blurry. He felt his head loll to the side as sleep started to overtake him.

As he sank into the comfort of the couch, Ollie felt a strange peace settle over him. For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t worried about the expectations, the pressure, or the weight of his feelings. He was just… here. With Kimi. And in that moment, that was enough.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but when he stirred awake, it was because of the soft pressure of Kimi’s hand on his arm. Ollie’s eyes fluttered open, and he blinked a few times, trying to shake off the grogginess of sleep. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep so quickly, but it felt like he hadn’t slept in days.

Kimi was sitting beside him now, a cup of water in hand. “You alright?” Kimi asked, his voice steady and calm.

Ollie took the water, his hands slightly trembling as he sipped it. “Yeah, I just… needed to sleep.”

Kimi nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “It’s alright. You’ve been through a lot today.”

Ollie sighed and rubbed his eyes, feeling a dull ache in his temples. “I don’t even know what to say, Kimi. Everything’s just been… too much.”

Kimi didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned back on the couch, watching Ollie with a quiet intensity. “You don’t need to say anything. Just rest, okay? We can talk when you’re ready.”

Ollie blinked at him, a small smile tugging at his lips. Kimi’s calmness, his steadiness, was comforting in a way Ollie couldn’t quite explain. He wanted to say something—anything to ease the tension—but his mind was too clouded with everything that had happened. Instead, he let the silence stretch on, not quite uncomfortable but not entirely at ease either.

The minutes passed slowly. Kimi wasn’t pushing him to talk. He wasn’t rushing him. And for that, Ollie was grateful.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, Ollie’s eyelids began to droop again. He felt himself sinking back into the couch, the warmth of Kimi’s presence grounding him as the world around him faded away.

The last thing Ollie remembered before falling back into a deep, dreamless sleep was Kimi’s soft voice, as if spoken just for him.

“You’ll be alright, Ollie.”

And with that, Ollie allowed himself to let go, finally finding a bit of peace amidst the chaos.

Kimi, on the other hand, found comfort in the quiet of his bedroom, lying alone in his bed. He stared at the ceiling, the events of the night replaying in his mind like a jumbled reel he couldn’t quite make sense of. 

He didn’t know why he’d gone to the party in the first place or what he’d expected to happen. He had told himself it would just be another evening, but Ollie Bearman could never have a normal place in his life.

Ollie, with his drunken confessions and wide, earnest eyes, had managed to tear down every wall Kimi had tried so hard to keep up. His crush—no, his rival—had been openly, shamelessly flirting with him. And yet, despite all of that, Kimi felt horrible. Like something inside him had cracked, and he couldn’t figure out how to put it back together. Ollie was only flirting with him because he was a guy. He wasn't flirting because he loved him too.

Kimi exhaled slowly, his chest tightening as he thought back to the way Ollie had looked at him tonight. The vulnerability in his voice. The way his emotions spilled out, raw and unfiltered. He let Ollie hate him, he didn't deserve to feel horrible when he said it.

Kimi’s fingers curled into the bedsheets as he let the memory linger a little too long. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair—not to Ollie, and not to himself.

He made a silent promise to himself then and there, a promise he was determined to keep. He would never hold Ollie to the things he’d said tonight. The flirts were fun to Ollie, he didn't need to know how Kimi got sick as soon as he put Ollie to bed. 

Whatever confessions had slipped from Ollie’s lips in the haze of alcohol and emotion, Kimi would bury them deep, lock them away, and never bring them up again. He would never tell Ollie what had been said, and he would never let Ollie feel the weight of those words in the harsh light of day. It was better that way—for both of them.

Ollie had made it clear what he wanted: to be Kimi’s rival. And Kimi, despite everything, was going to hold him to that. He would fight him on the track, challenge him to be better, and push him to his limits. But that was all it would be. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Ollie remembered sparse things from the night before. The memories were disjointed and fleeting, like fragments of a half-finished puzzle. He recalled trying to kiss Arthur Leclerc—a decision that, in hindsight, was more humiliating than brave. He remembered telling Kimi he loved guys, the words spilling out of him with the kind of reckless honesty only drunkenness could provide. And then… nothing. The rest was a blank slate. When he woke up, it was clear he wasn’t in his hotel room. That much was obvious from the space around him. 

Mercedes merch was scattered across the room—caps, jackets, even a signed poster in the corner. It was enough to rule out Arthur, whose allegiance to Ferrari would have made such a sight physically painful. What really threw Ollie off, though, was the collection of decorative cups lining a shelf. They stood in neat rows, each one marked with an Italian flag, the year of an Italian Grand Prix win, and a signature etched beneath the details. He squinted at them, still groggy, but it didn’t take long for him to put the pieces together. 

This was Kimi’s place. And Ollie had clearly been an inconvenience. That much, he didn’t need a clear memory to know. 

He dragged himself out of bed, his body heavy and his stomach rebelling against every step. Every fiber of his being told him to sit down, but Ollie ignored it. He needed to do something—anything—to make up for being a burden. Stumbling into the kitchen, he blinked against the dim light, taking in the space. There were more of those decorative cups here, displayed proudly on a shelf above the counter. He tilted his head, a grin tugging at his lips despite himself. 

The cups were kind of stupidly sweet. Ollie ran his fingers over one, squinting at the faint lettering Kimi had scribbled on the bottom. It was personal, sentimental in a way that didn’t quite match the reserved and serious image Kimi projected. For a moment, Ollie let himself smile. One day, he decided, he was going to make it onto one of Kimi’s cups. Not only that, but he was going to beat Kimi while he was at it. 

“I’ll get there first,” he muttered to himself, his voice low but determined. “Just watch.”

Ollie’s head still throbbed as he shuffled around Kimi’s kitchen, muttering softly to himself about the sheer lack of groceries. The fridge was nearly barren, aside from a carton of eggs, some leftover fajitas, and a ridiculous number of protein shakes. 

Kimi clearly lived like a man who thought food was merely functional, which Ollie found both baffling and infuriating. How did someone with so much talent survive on the culinary equivalent of despair?

But Ollie wasn’t going to let that stop him. No, he was determined to repay Kimi for taking care of him, even if it meant cobbling together something from the scraps he’d found. He set the eggs on the counter, running a hand through his messy hair before glancing around for a whisk.

“Alright, let’s do this,” he muttered, grabbing a bowl.

The first crack of an egg didn’t go as smoothly as planned, the shell crumbling slightly into the bowl. Ollie frowned, fishing the pieces out with his fingers. “Ugh, rookie mistake. Get it together, Bearman.” 

He managed to crack a few more eggs successfully before reaching for a fork to whisk them. The motion was harder than he expected, his arms still weak from the hangover. After a few moments of slow, uneven whisking, he let out a dramatic sigh and leaned against the counter.

“I’m going to die before these eggs are ready,” he groaned, shaking his head. Then, as if on instinct, he started humming softly. The tune floated through the quiet kitchen, filling the space with a faint melody.

Ollie didn’t even realize what he was doing at first, his voice growing louder as he continued to whisk. The familiar words of Andrea Bocelli’s The Power of Love slipped from his lips, soft and unsteady at first, but gaining confidence with each line.

“Seriously, this guy lives like a monk,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “Coffee and protein shakes? That’s not a diet, it’s a cry for help.”

“The whispers in the morning… of lovers sleeping tight…” he sang, his voice low and warm as he worked. He paused to add a pinch of salt and pepper to the eggs, swaying slightly as the music carried him.

“…Rolling by like thunder now… as I look in your eyes…”

He reached for the leftover fajitas, his movements becoming more fluid as the song distracted him from the pounding in his head. Ollie carefully chopped up the filling, his knife skills a bit slower than usual but still precise. The fajitas smelled incredible, and he couldn’t help but sneak a small bite before adding them to the eggs.

“Cause I’m your lady… and you are my man…” Ollie belted, his voice rising as he poured the eggs into the pan. The sizzle of the omelette filled the kitchen, mingling with his singing.

As he worked, he kept singing, letting the song carry him through the process. He moved to the stove to stir some oatmeal he’d thrown together, adding a splash of milk and a sprinkle of cinnamon. It wasn’t gourmet by any means, but it was warm and comforting—the kind of breakfast that might make Kimi smile, if only for a second.

Ollie’s voice reached its peak as he flipped the omelette, his tone surprisingly clear despite the lingering fog in his brain. “We’re heading for something… somewhere I’ve never been…”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, breakfast was ready. Ollie set the plates on the small table, admiring his handiwork with a mixture of pride and exhaustion. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A small gesture to thank Kimi for… well, whatever had happened the night before. With a soft sigh, Ollie leaned back against the counter, letting the quiet of the kitchen settle over him. 

“Hope you’re hungry, Kimi,” he murmured to the empty room. “Because this is the best I’ve got.”

He didn’t notice the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway, or the way the kitchen door creaked slightly as it opened. It wasn’t until he turned to grab a plate that he saw Kimi standing there, leaning against the doorframe with an amused expression.

Ollie froze mid-note, his cheeks flushing red as he realized he’d been caught. “Oh,” he stammered, setting down the plate. “Uh, good morning.”

Kimi raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching in what might have been the beginnings of a smile. “You sing when you’re hungover?” he asked, his voice low and dry.

Ollie scratched the back of his neck, laughing nervously. “Apparently? Sorry if I woke you.”

Kimi shrugged, stepping into the kitchen and glancing at the food on the counter. “You did,” he said bluntly, though there was no real bite to his tone. His gaze lingered on the omelette and oatmeal, his expression softening slightly. “But… I guess it’s fine.”

Ollie brightened at that, grabbing a plate and sliding the omelette onto it. “Well, I figured you’d need something decent to eat after taking care of me last night,” he said, grinning. “I know it’s not much, but it’s better than protein shakes, right?”

Ollie watched as Kimi stared at the food with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. Their eyes met, and Kimi’s expression softened into a faint smile. He patted the seat next to him, an unspoken invitation that Ollie happily accepted. Sliding into the chair, Ollie leaned back, cradling his coffee mug as Kimi took his first bite.

“You’re surprisingly productive for someone who’s hung over,” Kimi remarked, his tone dry but teasing. He chewed thoughtfully, then let out a small, satisfied sound as he swallowed.

“How many calories is this?” Kimi asked, his fork hovering over the plate as he glanced at Ollie.

Ollie grinned, shrugging as he took a sip of his coffee. “Enough to keep you alive but not enough to get you in trouble,” he replied with a playful smirk. Kimi raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Okay, fine,” Ollie added, chuckling. “Roughly 400 calories, give or take. I wasn’t exactly measuring everything out while trying to keep myself upright.”

Kimi nodded, though the mention of the calorie count seemed to bother him. His brow furrowed slightly, but before he could voice any complaint, Ollie shot him an almost pleading look, silently asking him to just eat. With a quiet sigh, Kimi relented, picking up his fork again without further protest.

As Ollie started on his own plate, he couldn’t help but notice something peculiar about the way Kimi ate. It was hurried, almost desperate, like someone who hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks. There was a hunger there, one you wouldn't expect from a driver like him.

Ollie quickly reminded himself it was rude to stare and turned his focus back to his own meal.

Cooking had always been his escape, his way of turning the world off for a little while. He loved the simplicity of it, the meditative rhythm of chopping vegetables, whisking eggs, and layering flavors. 

For an hour in the store and an hour in the kitchen, he didn’t have to think about racing, the pressure, or the relentless noise of his life. It was just him, the ingredients, and the satisfaction of creating something from nothing. Looking at Kimi now, though, he realized that sharing that comfort with someone else might be just as rewarding.

Ollie glanced up from his plate, the tension from the night before still lingering at the edges of his thoughts. He hesitated for a moment before finally asking, “So… what exactly happened last night?”

Kimi paused mid-bite, setting his fork down as he gave Ollie an amused look, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “You don’t remember?”

Ollie shook his head, feeling a faint flush creep up his neck. “Not much after I tried to kiss Arthur and… well, everything else is a blur.”

Kimi leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the moment as he crossed his arms. “Well, let’s see. You made a very passionate declaration that you want to be my rival. Apparently, beating me on the track is your life’s goal.” His smirk widened, and he added with a teasing lilt, “And then you also decided to share that you’re gay. Which, from the way you said it, seems like it was news to you too!”

Ollie froze, his fork halfway to his mouth, as Kimi’s words sank in. “I—I said that?”

Kimi gave a soft chuckle, leaning forward again. “Oh, you said it loud and clear. You were very convincing, I might add.” His expression softened slightly, though the teasing light in his eyes didn’t fade entirely. “It wasn’t a bad look on you, though. Bold, maybe a little messy, but honest.”

Ollie groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my god. I’m never drinking again.”

“Please don’t.” Kimi laughed, the sound light but genuine, and for a fleeting moment, Ollie thought he detected something real in his voice. Like it wasn’t entirely a joke.

Ollie peeked through his fingers, narrowing his eyes at Kimi. “You sound way too serious about that. Was I that bad?”

Kimi raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in a smirk. “Let’s just say you’re very… expressive when drunk.”

“Expressive?” Ollie repeated, his voice muffled by his hands. He shook his head, still too embarrassed to meet Kimi’s gaze. “That’s one way to put it. Great. I can’t even remember half of it, and now you’re just going to keep it over my head forever.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Kimi said, his tone softening slightly. “Not unless you gave me a reason to.”

“You were an idiot,” Kimi said with a shrug, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But you were you. I’d take that over someone pretending to be perfect any day.”

For the first time since the morning started, Ollie managed a genuine smile. “Well,” he said, his voice a little lighter, “I guess that’s something.”

Kimi inhaled after a second, his chest rising slowly like he was weighing his words carefully. Ollie watched as Kimi fidgeted with the silver bangle on his wrist, spinning it idly with his thumb. It was something he’d noticed Kimi do before, a nervous habit he’d never seen broken.

“Mi dispiace,” Kimi sighed out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ollie tilted his head, observing him closely. Kimi’s expression was distant, like his mind was somewhere far away. The apology hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning that Ollie couldn’t quite place. He reached out hesitantly, slipping one of his fingers around the edge of Kimi’s bracelet.

The small touch seemed to catch Kimi off guard; his hand trembled lightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his eyes flicked down to where their fingers hovered close together before meeting Ollie’s gaze again.

“I should have come before you drank your heart out,” Kimi said finally, the words sounding almost rehearsed.

Ollie stared at him, the words sinking in, but he knew—he knew—that wasn’t really what Kimi was apologizing for. There was a weight in Kimi’s voice, a quiet regret that didn’t align with the surface-level excuse he was offering. But Ollie didn’t call him out on it. He didn’t press.

Instead, he gave a faint smile and squeezed Kimi’s bracelet lightly between his thumb and forefinger. “Maybe,” Ollie said softly, “but you’re here now, yeah?”

Kimi’s lips quirked into a ghost of a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I’m here.”

"Are you actually gay?" Kimi asked, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow in a way that somehow managed to be both curious and teasing. There was no malice in it, but the sheer bluntness made Ollie freeze.

Ollie froze for a moment, then groaned loudly, pulling his hands over his face. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t even know why I said all of that last night. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. Can we just... not talk about it?”

Kimi stayed quiet, waiting. Ollie could feel his eyes on him, patient and unassuming, which only made the silence feel heavier. With a frustrated sigh, Ollie dropped his hands. “Fine. I’ll talk about it. But if you laugh even once, I swear I’m leaving.”

Kimi nodded, folding his arms and leaning back slightly, signaling he wasn’t going to interrupt.

Ollie hesitated, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. “I’ve liked girls before. I know that much. But... I don’t think I’ve ever liked someone just because they were a girl, you know? I’ve never looked at someone and gone, ‘Wow, she’s hot, I’m in love.’ It’s always been... more than that. Like who they are, how they treat me. Stupid stuff like that.”

Kimi tilted his head watching Ollie with quiet focus.

“And last night,” Ollie continued, rubbing the back of his neck, “I was drunk, obviously, but I guess some stuff came up that I hadn’t really thought about before. Like... would I have liked the girls I’ve liked if they weren’t girls? If they were guys? And honestly, I think I would’ve.”

Kimi nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “So, it’s not about gender for you.”

Ollie glanced at him, a little surprised by how easily Kimi seemed to piece it together. “Yeah, I guess not. I don’t care about labels or whatever, but... I guess that means I’m not straight.”

Kimi didn’t react much—just gave another small nod like he was processing it. “And you’ve never thought about this before?”

Ollie let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Not really. I mean, I’ve been busy, right? Racing, training, all of that. And, I don’t know, I guess I always just assumed I liked girls because that’s what I was supposed to like.” He paused, frowning a little. “But thinking about it now... I’ve always cared more about the connection. Who they are as a person.”

For a moment, the room was quiet. Kimi shifted slightly, his elbow resting on the arm of the couch as he kept his gaze on Ollie. “Makes sense,” he said simply, his tone neutral.

Ollie blinked, his chest loosening just a bit at Kimi’s matter-of-factness. “It does?”

Kimi gave a small shrug, his bracelet jingling softly. “Yeah. People are different. You like who you like. I think that’s fine.”

Ollie couldn’t help but smile a little, despite the awkwardness he still felt. “Thanks. I mean, I know it’s not a big deal, but... I didn’t think I’d be saying any of this out loud. Especially not to you.”

Kimi raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering across his face. “Why not me?”

Ollie snorted. “Because you’re you. I didn’t think this would be your kind of conversation.”

Kimi tilted his head, considering this. “I’m calm because I listen. And right now, you need someone to listen.”

Ollie stared at him for a moment, caught off guard by the simplicity of the statement. He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You’re weirdly good at this, you know that?”

Kimi shrugged again, leaning back against the chair. “Maybe. But it’s better than me coming out to you after you confronted me about the interview.”

Ollie let out a laugh, though it was tinged with something heavier. The irony wasn’t lost on him—the two of them, liking guys. It wasn’t some monumental thing, just a quiet truth shared between them. But the weight of that truth pressed on Ollie’s chest as he realized what it meant for them both.

If the press ever found out about either of them, that night at the park wouldn't just be a misunderstanding. It would be dissected, twisted, and broadcasted across the world. The interview would resurface, Kimi’s words would be reexamined, and their reputations would hang in the balance.

Formula 1 drivers weren’t supposed to come out. They weren’t supposed to have secrets like this, not ones that threatened to shatter the image of untouchable masculinity the sport seemed to demand. It wasn’t fair, Ollie thought bitterly. He’d barely had time to understand himself, to come to terms with what he was feeling, and now it had to be buried. Tucked away like a mistake, something shameful.

Kimi didn’t say anything, but Ollie noticed the way his gaze softened, like he understood exactly what Ollie was thinking. It was comforting and frustrating all at once. Comforting because Kimi got it, frustrating because he’d had to carry that same weight, silently and alone, for who knows how long.

Ollie’s voice wavered slightly, teetering between something hurt and curiosity. "How have you lived? Knowing you like guys while knowing you can't be honest about it? You were so scared of even one person knowing, you tried to ruin both of our careers." He hadn’t meant for it to sound so bitter, but the words spilled out before he could stop them.

Kimi’s expression didn’t shift much, though there was a flicker of something behind his calm exterior—guilt, maybe, or regret. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he thought about his response. "Our careers were ruined anyway," he said quietly. "They weren’t going to believe us when we said it was platonic. That we were just two guys at the park, because we weren’t."

Kimi glanced up, his eyes meeting Ollie’s, his tone steadier now. "We were two F1 drivers. That’s what we are before we’re anything else. To them, anyway."

Ollie’s chest tightened at that. He’d known it deep down, but hearing Kimi say it aloud made it feel more real, more suffocating. "So what? We’re just supposed to live like this? Hide forever?"

Kimi shrugged, his movements slow and deliberate. "I don’t have a good answer for that. But you learn to live with it. You learn to pick your battles. If you fight every time you want to be yourself, you’ll lose before you’ve even started. If I could change myself, I would."

Ollie let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "That’s so... depressing."

"Maybe," Kimi admitted, his voice softer now. "But it’s not forever. The world changes, even if it’s slow. You can wait for that, or you can find ways to make it easier on yourself now. Surround yourself with people who get it, who won’t judge you."

Ollie frowned, biting his lip. "You mean like you."

Kimi gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. "Maybe, Mate. I’m not so bad to have around, eh?"

The tension in the room eased slightly, though the heaviness still lingered in the air. Ollie didn’t respond immediately, his thoughts swirling with everything Kimi had said. The bitterness he’d felt moments ago began to ebb away, replaced by a strange sense of understanding.

"Do you ever... regret it?" Ollie asked after a long pause. "Not being able to be open about it, I mean."

Kimi didn’t respond right away. His eyes drifted off to some invisible point across the room, his thoughts clearly miles away. When he finally spoke, it was in Italian, soft and almost hesitant. "Sì. A volte mi pento di essere nato."

Ollie froze for a second, the words settling in his chest like a weight. He didn’t need a translation to understand the gravity of what Kimi had just said. There was something about the way Kimi always switched to Italian when he was vulnerable, as though the language gave him a layer of protection, even in the safety of his own apartment.

But this time, there were no prying ears, no cameras, no media to twist his words. They were alone, yet Kimi still chose to hide, even if it was just a little. Ollie swallowed hard, trying to ignore the knot forming in his throat.

"You don’t mean that," Ollie said gently, though he wasn’t sure if it was a question or a plea.

Kimi gave a small, humorless laugh, running a hand through his curls. "No, not really. Not always. But... It's hard, Ollie. I’m young, and replaceable. There are many people like me who aren't gay."

He wanted to say something profound, something to make Kimi feel better, but all he could manage was, "You don’t have to hide with me, you know."

Kimi’s smile faltered slightly, and he looked away, his fingers fidgeting with the silver bangle on his wrist. "It’s not about hiding," he said after a moment. "It’s about... control. Choosing what people get to see, what parts of you are safe to share."

"But this is safe," Ollie insisted, his voice more urgent now. "I’m safe. I know what it feels like to think you’re alone, but you’re not. You’ve got me."

Kimi glanced back at him, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, finally, he nodded, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a little. "Grazie," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

They sat in silence for a while after that, the weight of the conversation settling between them. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t everything that needed to be said, but it was enough for now.

Chapter Text

Dino Beganovic knew Ollie so well it was almost terrifying. Dino Beganovic knew Ollie so well it was almost terrifying. He could read him like a book with pages worn and dog-eared, predict his moods before they even settled, catch the smallest shift in his tone. There were few people in the world who understood Ollie the way Dino did, and that was why, when Ollie finally came to the realization that he should confess his sexuality to his friend, he hesitated.

It wasn’t because he doubted Dino’s acceptance—he knew, without a shred of uncertainty, that Dino would support him. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was something else entirely, something that had been gnawing at the back of Ollie’s mind for longer than he wanted to admit.

Dino hadn’t told him first.

Even now, despite everything, despite how close they were, Dino hadn’t told him about Paul.

Ollie had found out after someone else. Through whispers, through an offhand comment, through Kimi, of all people. Kimi, who had laughed about it like it was old news, like it was something he and Dino had already talked about, dissected, and joked about together. Kimi, who had known him before.

And the worst part? The part that made Ollie’s stomach twist with guilt?

He had done the exact same thing to Dino.

Kimi had known before Dino. He had been the one of the first people Ollie had confessed to, the first person to hear him say the words out loud. The one who reminded him he said it in the morning. Dino had always been the person Ollie thought he could tell anything to, he may have been drunk, but he wasn't sure he would have said it anyway.

Dino had always been the person Ollie thought he could tell anything to. Ollie had told him everything—his fears, his struggles, his doubts. And yet, when it came to something as personal as this, Dino had chosen to keep it from him.

Ollie could understand not wanting to share something so personal right away. He knew what it was like to hold something inside, to wrestle with it before saying it aloud. 

The signs had been there. He could see that now. The way Dino always brushed past Paul’s name, the way he would steer conversations away before Ollie could ask too many questions, the way there was always something careful about the way he spoke, as if he was walking a tightrope.

Ollie wasn’t stupid. He knew what that meant.

Maybe Dino didn’t trust him the way Ollie had always trusted Dino. Maybe, despite everything, he wasn’t the person Dino wanted to confide in.

And maybe that was what hurt the most—not just that Dino hadn’t told him, but that he had made the decision not to. That he had looked at Ollie and, for whatever reason, decided that he couldn’t trust him with this part of himself.

Ollie stared at his phone for a long moment before finally sighing and pressing Dino’s contact. The call barely rang twice before Dino picked up.

“Ollie?” Dino sounded a little surprised, like he hadn’t expected him to call. Maybe he ihadn’t. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Ollie said, keeping his voice light. “You busy?”

There was a pause. A little too long for a simple yes or no. He could hear the faint sound of movement—Dino shifting, probably rubbing the back of his neck, debating how to answer a question that shouldn’t have been complicated.

“Not really. Why?” Dino said finally.

Ollie leaned back into his couch, one arm slung over the backrest, fingers drumming idly against his knee. He let the silence stretch just a second longer, just enough to make Dino wonder before he said, “Come over.”

Dino snorted. “That’s not much of an explanation.”

“I figured you’d just listen to me, like a good friend should,” Ollie teased, letting an exaggerated pout slip into his voice. He grinned, then, dropping his tone into something more playful. “Do you need me to beg?”

There was a resigned sigh on the other end. “Alright, alright. I’ll come by. Give me, like, twenty minutes.”

Ollie froze for just a second, his grip tightening around his phone. There was someone else. The voice was muffled, distant—so faint that he really shouldn’t have noticed it. Maybe it was just background noise, a passing sound from a TV, or someone walking by. But his gut told him it was Paul. His smile spread cheek to cheek.

Ollie’s lips parted slightly, but he didn’t let his tone waver. “Perfect,” he said smoothly, forcing himself to sound as casual as before. “Oh, and tell Paul he can come too.”

Ollie could practically hear the way Dino stilled, the sudden shift in his breathing. It was almost amusing how predictable it was.

There was silence.

“…What?” Dino’s voice wasn’t sharp, but it was careful. Hesitant. Like he was choosing his next words with more caution than usual.

Ollie smirked to himself, tilting his head slightly, as if Dino could see it. “See you two soon! Love you.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He kissed the side of his phone obnoxiously, then ended the call, setting it down on the counter.

Ollie set his phone down on the counter, staring at it for a moment longer than necessary. The weight in his chest hadn’t lifted, but at least now the wheels were in motion. Now, he just had to make sure that when Dino and Paul arrived, there was no reason for them to feel like they had to hold anything back.

With a sharp inhale, he rolled up his sleeves and turned toward the kitchen. If there was one thing he could control in all of this, it was making them feel welcome. And that started with food.

He was going to make marshmallow slices. His mum used to make them for him when he was younger, whenever he needed cheering up or whenever he had something important to say but couldn’t quite find the words. It was a comfort food, sticky and sweet, something so simple yet impossible not to smile at. If he wanted Dino and Paul to feel at home, this was the way to do it.

Ollie moved with a quiet focus, grabbing a bag of marshmallows from the cupboard and tearing it open with a practiced flick of his wrist. The sugary scent hit him immediately, warm and familiar. He set a saucepan on the stove, dropping a handful of butter into it, watching as it melted and coated the surface with a golden sheen.

As the butter sizzled, he poured in the marshmallows, using a wooden spoon to stir them slowly, watching as they softened, losing their shape and melting into a smooth, glossy mixture. The sight was oddly satisfying, the way the white and gold swirled together, thick and sticky, stretching between the spoon and the pan like the kind of thing that could hold anything together—maybe even friendships.

He let out a quiet chuckle at his own thought, shaking his head as he grabbed a tray and lined it with parchment paper.

Next came the rice cereal, which he poured in carefully, stirring with slow, deliberate motions. The crunch of it mixed with the soft marshmallow, binding together into something solid, something whole. It reminded him of the way friendships worked—separate pieces, different textures, but when mixed with the right things, they stuck together, holding firm, being something better.

Once the mixture was combined, he pressed it into the tray, using the back of a spoon to flatten it evenly. He ran his fingers along the edge, making sure there were no gaps, no uneven spots. Everything had to be perfect. He wanted this to feel effortless, to feel like something natural and warm, something that didn’t give Dino a reason to think twice before being honest with him.

As the slices cooled, he stepped back, wiping his hands on a dish towel. The kitchen smelled sweet now, comforting, like nostalgia and open conversations. He exhaled slowly, pressing his palms against the counter.

Now, all that was left to do was wait. And hope that this time, Dino wouldn’t feel the need to keep anything from him.

Ollie stared down at his hands, his fingers drumming idly against the counter. The question gnawed at him, curling around his thoughts like vines he couldn’t untangle.

Would Dino have told him if he had realized his own sexuality sooner? If Ollie had come to terms with it in a way that wasn’t so sudden, so messy, so drenched in the haze of alcohol and slurred confessions?

Would Dino have looked at him differently if he had figured it out the way people were supposed to—slowly, naturally, with passion instead of a drunken haze?

Ollie rubbed his cheeks, the motion brisk and restless, as if he could generate enough static to jolt himself out of his own head. Maybe if he shocked himself hard enough, the anxiety curling tight in his chest would short-circuit, fizzling out into something manageable. But all he got was the dull warmth of friction, his skin tingling uselessly under his fingertips.

He huffed, letting his hands drop to the counter. It was stupid. He was being stupid. This wasn’t some grand betrayal, wasn’t some cruel slight against him personally. Yet the weight of it rest heavy in the center of his chest.

He would’ve supported Dino through anything. He knew that with his whole heart. There was no version of their friendship where he would’ve turned his back on him, no scenario where he would’ve let Dino feel alone in it. So why hadn’t Dino done the same?

What about him made Dino think he couldn’t say anything?

The knock at the door came quicker than Ollie expected, cutting through the silence of his race home like a sharp reminder that this was real.

He barely hesitated before launching himself toward the door, shaking off the last of his nerves with a deep breath. By the time he swung it open, he was all bright grins and effortless charm, as if he hadn’t spent the past twenty minutes convincing himself that this was just a casual hangout and not some strange, unsaid confrontation.

“Dino, Paul,” he greeted, voice lilting slightly, teasing just enough to make Dino’s shoulders tense. “You know, you two are really starting to come as a set. It’s cute.”

Ollie grinned, stepping aside to let them in properly, though he made no effort to hide the way he was watching them. The way Dino refused to meet his eyes, how Paul seemed entirely too pleased with himself.

Paul snorted, stepping inside first, though Ollie didn’t miss the way his hand lingered a little too long at Dino’s wrist before letting go. He also didn’t miss the glasses Paul was wearing—the exact pair Ollie had seen resting in the cupholder of Dino’s car. It made him smile. It gave the impression they were a staple of Dino’s car now. He wanted to ask if Paul just forgets them or if he wears them on purpose. 

His gaze flickered briefly to Dino, who looked—Ollie hesitated—better than usual. Not that Dino was ever sloppy, but there was something sharper about him tonight, something more put-together in a way that wasn’t for the cameras. And then it hit him. The cologne. 

Ollie inhaled deeply, just enough to confirm what he already knew.

“Wow,” he hummed, rocking back on his heels. “You smell… expensive.” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Since when do you smell like that?”

Dino shot him a glare, a little too defensive for someone who hadn’t been caught red-handed.

Paul, on the other hand, just grinned, far too knowing. “You like it?”

Ollie smiled, trying not to reveal that he knew why paul asked that. Ollie leaned against the counter, arms crossed, still grinning. “So, Dino,” he started, dragging out his words just enough to make the other boy shift uncomfortably, “are you gonna tell me what cologne that is, or do I have to go digging through your bag for it?”

Dino scoffed, shooting him a look that was probably supposed to be annoyed, but mostly just looked guilty. “Why would I tell you? So you can buy it and ruin my signature scent?”

Ollie hummed, tilting his head. “Oh, so it is yours?”

Paul snorted at that, and Dino shot him a quick, warning glance before clearing his throat. “Yeah, obviously.”

Ollie raised a brow. “Right. Obviously.” He let the word settle for a second before nodding toward Paul, smirking. “I don’t know, though. It smells an awful lot like a certain Prema driver I used to know.” Dino was doomed from the moment Ollie opened his mouth, but he enjoyed it anyways.

“I—” Dino started, only to pause, hands twitching slightly at his sides like he wasn’t sure where to put them. His voice was a little too quick when he continued, “I just liked it. Thought I’d get some for myself.”

Paul, very helpfully, did not let him off the hook. “That so?” His voice was all amusement, no shame. “I could’ve sworn I left that bottle at your place weeks ago.”

Dino was always hopeless at this. Ollie had seen it firsthand a hundred times over—his friend was never great at keeping his cool under observation, especially when it came to things that mattered. And Paul, well, Paul was the exact opposite. Effortlessly smooth, almost insufferably so. The two of them next to each other were like watching a magic trick in real time—one constantly slipping up, the other making sure the illusion held.

Oh my god, gross. Ollie cringed internally, barely resisting the urge to physically recoil. “You two are disgusting,” he groaned, rolling his eyes as he turned on his heel. “I’m getting dessert before this cologne war gets intense.”

Behind him, he could hear Paul chuckling and Dino groaning again, muttering something under his breath that Ollie didn’t quite catch—probably a complaint about how he was never catching a break.

But when Ollie returned, holding a plate stacked with perfectly cut marshmallow squares, Dino’s entire demeanor shifted.

His eyes lit up instantly, brighter than Ollie had seen in a while. It was like watching a cartoon character come to life—if Ollie could peek into his mind, he was sure there’d be a version of Dino with his tongue rolled out all the way to the floor, drool pooling at his feet.

Ollie snorted, shaking his head as he set the plate down. “Okay, calm down, Beganovic. They’re just marshmallow squares, not a winning lottery ticket.”

Dino, already reaching for one, barely spared him a glance. “You don’t get it, Ollie. These are—” He took a bite, eyes closing in satisfaction. “—the best thing you’ve ever made.”

Paul, lounging comfortably beside him, raised an eyebrow. “I dunno, I think his brownies are better.”

Dino scoffed, grabbing another square before he even finished chewing. “These win.”

Ollie rolled his eyes, but there was something undeniably warm about watching Dino enjoy them so much. It reminded him why he liked making food for people in the first place.

Then, as if on cue, Dino swallowed and fixed Ollie with a knowing look. “Did you make these for Kimi? He wouldn’t shut up about the food you made him.”

Ollie blinked, caught off guard. “What? No—” But the heat creeping up his face betrayed him.

But now that the thought was in his head, he was considering it. Kimi had liked his food that much? Maybe he should make him something else.

Dino and Paul exchanged a glance, the same smug, knowing look that made Ollie groan.

“That’s adorable,” Paul teased.

Dino’s expression softened slightly. “I’m glad you two aren’t at each other’s throats anymore.”

Ollie shot him a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. He knew Dino was relieved—relieved that he and Kimi weren’t still locked in some bitter, pointless standoff. Maybe even relieved that Ollie had reached a point where he didn’t just see Kimi as an enemy, but as something more complicated.

“I actually saw him a few days ago,” Ollie admitted, glancing down. “I invited him to a party.”

Dino didn’t look surprised. If anything, he just hummed in acknowledgment, like he had already known.

And that was the part that got to Ollie. That itch.

Ollie might have been jealous of Kimi. Not in the way that made him wish he were closer to Dino—he was perfectly fine with their friendship, really. But he couldn’t stand the way they told each other everything, how there never seemed to be a moment of hesitation between them. Meanwhile, Ollie always felt like he was standing just outside the circle, looking in.

It wasn’t like he expected to be Dino’s only friend. He wasn’t selfish. But it still stung to know that there were things Dino shared freely with Kimi that he had never told Ollie. Things like Paul. Things like whatever else they talked about behind closed doors, in conversations Ollie would never be part of.

So maybe that was why, when he spoke, the words came out sharper than he intended.

“I told him I’m gay.”

Ollie watched as Dino struggled to clear his throat, his coughing fit loud enough to make Paul thump him on the back with a smirk. “Jesus, Dino,” Paul muttered. “Didn’t realize that was such a shocking revelation.”

Dino finally managed to swallow, wiping his mouth as he stared at Ollie, wide-eyed. “You—told him you're-?” His voice was hoarse, and Ollie couldn’t tell if it was from nearly choking or from sheer disbelief.

“I told Kimi I’m gay,” Ollie repeated, this time slower, letting the words settle between them. He watched Dino closely, catching the brief flicker of emotion in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or something deeper—but before Ollie could make sense of it, Dino was already shaking his head, as if trying to piece it all together.

After a beat, Ollie exhaled, tilting his head in thought. “Well… not gay, label-wise. I like boys and girls. I think I could fall in love with anyone—it just depends on how they treat the world around me.” The words came easily, but saying them out loud made something shift in his chest, like he was still figuring it out even as he spoke.

Paul, ever observant, gave a small nod. “I think there’s a label for that,” he mused, watching Ollie carefully.

Ollie shrugged, a faint smile playing at his lips. “I don’t think I want a label,” he admitted. “Not right now, at least.” It wasn’t rejection—it was freedom. Labels could come later. Right now, he just wanted to be.

Ollie leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, a slow, knowing smile creeping onto his face. “It’s nice, you know,” he mused, voice light, almost casual. “Seeing you two together. Always showing up places together. Wearing each other’s stuff.” His eyes flicked pointedly to Paul’s glasses, the ones he knew for a fact lived in Dino’s car. “It’s good to have someone who just gets you.”

Dino narrowed his eyes slightly, clearly sensing where this was going. “Yeah,” he said slowly, taking another bite of his marshmallow square. “It is.”

Ollie nodded, feigning deep thought. “You must spend a lot of time together. Like, a lot a lot. People might start assuming things.” He sighed, shaking his head dramatically. “Crazy how some people are just so secretive, huh?” His eyes darted between them, expectant.

Paul huffed out a laugh, shooting Dino a glance before looking back at Ollie with a smirk. “Subtle,” he deadpanned.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Ollie said, all innocence, but his grin betrayed him. He wasn’t going to ask—but if they wanted to tell him, well… he certainly wasn’t stopping them.

Ollie tapped his fingers against the counter, glancing between Dino and Paul with a thoughtful expression. “So… be honest,” he started, tilting his head. “Do you think I should start baking for Kimi every day? Like—after every race, just show up with something homemade?”

Dino blinked at him, caught mid-bite of his marshmallow square. “Every race?” he repeated, chewing slowly like he needed time to process.

Paul, meanwhile, smirked and leaned against the counter. “Sounds like a grand romantic gesture to me,” he teased, nudging Dino’s arm. “What do you think, expert on grand romantic gestures?”

Dino groaned, rolling his eyes. “Oh, shut up.” But then he looked back at Ollie, a little more serious. “I mean… if you want to. Kimi’s impossible with words, but if he liked something once, he’d probably like it again.”

Ollie tapped his fingers against the counter, mulling it over. It wasn’t like he hadn’t already thought about it—about making something food for Kimi, about the way Kimi’s face had lit up, just for a second, when he’d liked something Ollie made. “Right. So it wouldn’t be weird?”

Paul grinned. “Not weird. Just… devoted.”

Ollie’s face scrunched up immediately. “Don’t say it like that,” he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re making it sound like—like I’m courting him or something.”

Paul snickered. “Hey, you’re the one suggesting hand-delivered baked goods after every race. What’s next? A little note attached? Maybe a ribbon?”

Dino snorted, finally swallowing his bite. “If you start making heart-shaped cookies, I’m staging an intervention.”

Ollie groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my god, you two are impossible.” He peeked between his fingers, glaring half-heartedly. “It’s not like that. I just—I don’t know. I like making food for people. And Kimi actually liked it. That’s rare.”

Dino smirked, leaning back against the counter. “I’m just saying, Kimi is really nice. If he said he liked it, maybe he was just sparing your feelings.” There was a teasing glint in his eyes, but Ollie could tell he wasn’t entirely joking. “You should switch it up next time. Keep him on his toes.”

Ollie crossed his arms, feigning offense. “Tell me you’re not insulting my cooking after you just had a moment over those marshmallow squares.”

Paul chuckled, nudging Dino. “Yeah, you kind of lost all credibility the second you looked like you saw heaven.”

Dino scoffed, crossing his arms. “That’s different. Marshmallow squares are elite.” He paused, then pointed at Ollie. “But I stand by what I said. Kimi’s nice. Too nice. If your food was bad, he’d probably just suffer through it rather than hurt your feelings.”

Ollie gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Wow. I see how it is.” He turned to Paul, feigning betrayal. “You hear this? My best friend has zero faith in my skills.”

Paul smirked, leaning against the counter. “I mean, to be fair, I haven't seen you bake anything besides these and Betty Crocker brownies.” He gestured to the now half-empty plate. “So, statistically speaking, we only have proof that you can make one good thing.”

Ollie narrowed his eyes. “Alright, that’s it. I am making Kimi something else. And you two don’t get any.”

Dino immediately backtracked. “Okay, let’s not be hasty.”

Paul smirked, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “You could go all out and make homemade cannoli. Really show your dedication.” 

Ollie narrowed his eyes, weighing his options, before promptly grabbing a marshmallow square and launching it at Paul. It hit his shoulder with a soft plop, bouncing onto the floor.

Paul gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “Unbelievable. This is how you treat someone trying to help you impress your friend-turned rival-turned guy you would bake everyday for.”

“I said I would cook too,” Ollie shot back, blowing raspberries at Paul like a child refusing to concede defeat.

Dino snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, we get it. You’re so multi-talented.” But there was something amused in his expression, like he was already imagining Ollie showing up after every race with some new extravagant dish just to see Kimi’s reaction.

“Prince George Russell is gonna be so salty he doesn’t get any,” Paul joked, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Ollie huffed a laugh, but the comment made him wonder—had Paul ever actually talked to George? Given his past with Mercedes, it wasn’t impossible. Did they even get along? He tried to picture it, Paul and George in a conversation, but somehow, it didn’t quite fit.

“You say that like you know him,” Ollie mused, tilting his head. “Do you?”

Paul shrugged, nonchalant. “We’ve crossed paths. He’s... very British.”

“You’re very Estonian,” Dino replied smoothly, leaning in to place a quick peck on Paul’s lips.

For once, Ollie saw Paul melt. It wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t exaggerated—just a quiet shift in his expression, the way his shoulders loosened, the way his eyes softened. The blonde leaned back slightly, blinking up at Dino like if he didn’t get another kiss right now, he might actually die.

"FINALLY."

Ollie’s voice rang through the kitchen, loud enough to make both Paul and Dino jump apart like they’d been caught committing a crime. Paul nearly tripped over his own feet, and Dino’s ears went red so fast that Ollie had to physically restrain himself from laughing.

“I’m sorry,” Ollie continued, holding up his hands dramatically, “I just—I've been waiting for you to tell me. I only came out to you first because I thought maybe—maybe—it would give you the confidence to finally tell me, your best friend,that you were in love with Paul Aron.” He pointed an accusatory finger between the two of them, eyes gleaming. “And you know what makes it all worse? Kimi knew before me.”

Dino groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Ollie—”

“No, no, no, don’t ‘Ollie’ me,” Ollie cut him off, shaking his head. “I thought we were closer than this, Dino! I mean, Kimi? Of all people? The guy who insulted me on tv?”

“I thought you were over that,” Dino muttered, exasperated.

“I’m a complex person, Dino.”

Paul, who had fully recovered from his earlier shock and was now thoroughly enjoying the chaos, snorted. “So is Kimi.”

Ollie shot him a look before turning back to Dino, arms crossed. “I should be mad. I am mad. But honestly, I’m mostly just—” He waved a hand at them. “—offended. Do you know how annoying it’s been waiting for you two to just admit it?”

Dino chuckled, the kind of laugh that carried more meaning than he was probably willing to explain. “Yeah… I think I know a little something about that.”

Chapter Text

It was the day—the day Ollie had decided to surprise Kimi with a home-cooked meal after the race. And somehow, that was the most nerve-wracking part of it all. Not the high-speed chaos, not the ever-present danger of racing—no, the scariest thing was handing Kimi Antonelli a dish made entirely out of love.

Ollie had spent far too long agonizing over what to make. He wanted it to be something light but meaningful, something Kimi would actually enjoy. After some thought, he settled on panzanella—a fresh, flavorful bread salad. It felt like the right balance between thoughtful and practical. Plus, knowing how Kimi was about calories, it wouldn’t be too heavy.

Of course, there was the tiny issue of making an Italian classic for an actual Italian. Maybe that was shooting a little high, but hey—Ollie had lived in Italy long enough. If anything, that gave him some advantage… right?

Ollie moved around the kitchen with a focused rhythm, his hands quick and precise as he prepped the ingredients. A warm breeze drifted through the open window, carrying the scent of fresh basil and sun-ripened tomatoes, mixing with the golden light of the afternoon. As he worked, he hummed to himself.

He started by slicing the bread—crusty, golden-brown ciabatta, perfectly aged for the task. He tore it into rustic chunks, letting them tumble into a hot pan shimmering with olive oil. 

The sizzle was instant, the air thick with the nutty aroma of toasting bread. He tossed them with practiced ease, watching as they crisped up into golden perfection, edges just shy of caramelized.

Next came the tomatoes—plump, bursting with juice, the kind that tasted like summer itself. He sliced them carefully, their bright red flesh glistening as they released sweet, fragrant juices onto the cutting board.

He scooped them into a bowl, sprinkling in thinly sliced red onions, slivers of cucumber, and a handful of torn basil leaves that perfumed the air with their fresh, peppery scent.

The dressing was simple but rich, a slow drizzle of deep green extra virgin olive oil, a splash of red wine vinegar, and a pinch of flaky sea salt.

He whisked it together, watching as it clung to the sides of the bowl, thick and velvety. When he poured it over the salad, the ingredients glistened, absorbing every bit of flavor.

Finally, everything was together —crunchy, golden croutons tossed gently with the juicy vegetables, soaking up the tangy dressing without losing their bite.

He grated a delicate snowfall of Parmigiano-Reggiano over the top, just enough to add a salty, nutty depth to each mouthful. The final touch? A few curls of prosciutto, thin as silk, draped over the top like the finishing brushstrokes of a masterpiece.

The dish was perfect—fresh, vibrant, bursting with flavors that spoke of care and quiet affection. And as he stood back to admire it, he couldn’t help but smile.

Now all that was left was giving it to Kimi.

Ollie stood back, admiring his work like an artist stepping away from a finished painting. It looked like something straight out of a rustic Italian cookbook.

Ollie took his time packaging the meal, making sure every detail was just right—the bread still crisp, the tomatoes perfectly nestled, the dressing evenly distributed. Kimi deserved perfection, and this—this was as close as he could get.

As he secured the lid, he let himself imagine Kimi’s reaction. Maybe a flicker of surprise in those doe eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching up in that rare, soft smile. Maybe even a quiet, thoughtful thank you. The thought alone sent a ripple of warmth through Ollie’s chest.

If he could do this for everyone, he would. If he had the time, he’d cook something special for every driver on the grid, just to see the way they’d react. But this wasn’t for everyone. This was for Kimi. And that made it feel different—made it feel like it mattered more.

Ollie double-checked the packaging, smoothing out the edges of the paper as if that would somehow make the food inside taste better. Every step had been done with the kind of focus he usually reserved for racing.

The kitchen still smelled of fresh basil and the slight char of toasted bread, the tang of balsamic vinegar lingering in the air. It was the kind of scent that made his stomach growl, a reminder that he’d spent all this time cooking but hadn’t actually eaten himself.

The thought of sitting down and eating alone felt unimportant compared to the idea of handing this meal to Kimi.

Kimi was the kind of person who noticed the little things. He might not say much, but Ollie knew he would notice the effort—the way the bread wasn’t soggy, the way the tomatoes had been roasted just enough to bring out their sweetness.

Ollie could already picture him hesitating for just a second before taking the first bite. Maybe his brows would furrow in quiet concentration, like he was analyzing every flavor. Maybe he’d give one of those short, approving nods, the ones he reserved for things that truly impressed him.

Or maybe—just maybe—he’d smile.

The idea made something warm settle in Ollie’s chest.

He spotted Kimi near the mercedes motorhome, towel draped over his shoulders, curls damp with sweat. He looked exhausted, but his posture was still sharp, still composed. He always carried himself with that quiet, unshakable presence, like nothing could truly rattle him.

Ollie took a breath, steadying himself before striding over. “Hey,” he called, lifting the bag slightly. “I, uh… made you something.”

Kimi blinked, turning toward him fully. His expression didn’t change much—just a subtle tilt of the head, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “For me?”

“No, for Toto,” Ollie deadpanned, before immediately regretting it. Oh my god, why am I like this.

Kimi exhaled a small laugh, shaking his head as he took the bag. “You cooked for me?”

“Of course.” Ollie rocked on his heels as Kimi peeked inside, the scent of balsamic vinegar and fresh basil immediately hitting him. Kimi’s brows lifted slightly, clearly not expecting it to actually look good.

“…Panzanella?”

“Figured you’d appreciate something light.” Ollie shrugged, then smirked. “You’re kind of a pain about nutrition, so.”

Kimi hummed, running his thumb over the container like he was considering something. Then, without a word, he moved to sit down on a nearby bench, popping open the lid.

Ollie blinked. “You’re eating it now?”

Kimi speared a piece of tomato with his fork. “Why not?”

Ollie didn’t have a good answer for that, so he sat beside him, watching with far too much anticipation as Kimi took the first bite.

It was slow, deliberate. He chewed thoughtfully, gaze fixed downward like he was analyzing every detail. Ollie felt his own breath catch.

Then—Kimi exhaled softly, something almost pleased in his expression. “It’s good.”

“You sure?” Ollie squinted. “You’re not just saying that because we’re in public and you don’t want to hurt my feelings?”

Kimi lifted his gaze, utterly unimpressed. “When have I ever said something I didn’t mean?”

Ollie opened his mouth, then shut it. It wasn't the time to bring that up.

They sat in comfortable silence as Kimi continued eating. It was strange, seeing him like this—relaxed, unguarded in a way he rarely allowed himself to be. Mercedes drivers carried a different kind of pressure, expectations piled high. Kimi had always shouldered them without complaint.

But here, with a homemade meal in his hands, Kimi looked softer. There was something about the way he held the container, the way his fingers curled carefully around the edges like he was holding something fragile—like it was the best gift he had ever received.  

“You haven’t eaten,” Kimi murmured suddenly, breaking the quiet.  

Ollie blinked. “Huh?”  

“You made all this,” Kimi gestured vaguely at the food, “but you didn’t eat?”  

Ollie shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Got distracted, I guess.”  

Kimi stared at him for a moment, eyes sharp in that way that made Ollie feel like he was being studied. Then, without hesitation, he scooped up another forkful and held it out.  

Ollie froze. “What are you—”  

“Try it.”  

“I made it.”  

“And?” Kimi’s lips twitched, just barely. “You should still taste it.”

Ollie stared at him, and for a second, something wavered in his chest—something unspoken, something he didn’t have a name for. But then Kimi lifted the fork a little higher, patient, waiting, and the moment passed before Ollie could catch it.

With a roll of his eyes, he leaned in and took the bite.

Kimi didn’t say anything, just watched him with that same quiet focus, like this moment mattered more than either of them was acknowledging. His usual intensity had softened into something almost careful, like he was trying not to spook a wild animal. There was no teasing, no smugness—just patience, waiting for Ollie to realize something Kimi already seemed to know.

When Ollie swallowed, Kimi’s lips twitched into the smallest smile, satisfied. “Good, right?” he murmured, voice softer than before. It wasn’t a question that needed an answer, not really. He already knew. But there was something else in the way he said it, something warm, something steady. Kimi seemed to like taking care of him.

He swallowed, meeting Kimi’s gaze. “…Not bad.”

Kimi exhaled a soft laugh. “Not bad?”

“Fine, it’s great.” Ollie huffed. “Happy?”

Kimi didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he just looked at Ollie for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then, finally, he nodded. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I am.”

And for reasons Ollie couldn’t quite explain, that single sentence made his chest feel too full.

Ollie’s food had to be a good luck charm. Kimi finished fifth, and Ollie—against all odds—secured P11, outpacing his teammate, Esteban. It was one of his best drives yet, and he knew it. He barely contained his excitement during the post-race interviews, his grin practically blinding.

Ollie’s food had to be a good luck charm. Kimi finished fifth, and Ollie—against all odds—secured P11, outpacing his teammate, Esteban. It was one of his best drives yet, and he knew it. He barely contained his excitement during the post-race interviews, his grin practically blinding.

He nodded along to whatever the reporter was asking, but really, the only thought in his head was what should I make next time?

The cameras loved it—Ollie Bearman, the star rookie of Haas, beaming like he’d just won the whole damn race. And honestly? That’s what it felt like. He knew P11 wasn’t anything historic, but after seeing what he can do in a good mood. He felt like he could do anything.

The reporter finally caught his attention with a question he actually processed. “You seemed really confident out there today. What was different?”

Ollie huffed out a small laugh, running a hand through his damp hair. “Maybe I finally figured out how to drive,” he joked, then shrugged. “I don’t know, I just felt good. Maybe there was a rope pulling me along.”

The reporter in front of him smiled, but there was a glint of something more in her eyes—mischief, maybe, or the kind of excitement that came with stirring the pot. “Ollie, an incredible performance today—outqualifying your teammate and holding your own in the midfield. But I have to ask…” She tilted her head. “You and Kimi Antonelli—there’s been a lot of talk about the rivalry between you two. Another strong showing from him today with a P5 finish. Any thoughts?”

Ollie huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. He knew exactly what she was doing, trying to poke at something that wasn’t there. Maybe if this was barely weeks ago, when Kimi still made him bristle, he would’ve taken the bait. But now?

He shrugged. “I mean, yeah, he had a great race. I’m really happy for him.” His smile widened, completely genuine. “Honestly, I think my food must be a good luck charm.”

The reporter blinked, caught off guard. “Your… food?”

Ollie nodded, far too pleased with himself. “Yeah, I cooked for him last night. Panzanella. Maybe I should start doing it before every race.” He grinned. “Worked out pretty well for both of us, don’t you think?”

There was a flicker of surprise on her face, like she hadn’t expected that answer at all. She recovered quickly, but not before the camera caught it. “Well, that’s certainly… unexpected,” she said, before quickly steering the interview back on track.

She cleared her throat, adjusting her stance slightly as she tried to regain control of the conversation. “That’s quite the gesture. I don’t think we hear too often about drivers cooking for their, uh—” she hesitated just a second too long, clearly searching for the right word “—rivals.”

Ollie just shrugged, still grinning. “I mean, I’d cook for anyone if they asked. But Kimi liked it, so maybe I’ll make it a habit.” He tapped his chin, pretending to think. “Maybe next time, I’ll go for something more ambitious. Risotto, maybe.”

The reporter raised an eyebrow, sensing an opportunity. “That’s a lot of effort for someone you’re competing against.”

Ollie laughed. “Oh, come on, if good food could take seconds off a lap time, I’d be leading the championship by now.” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Besides, why wouldn’t I want him to do well? I like seeing him happy. He’s my boy, he has been since Perma.”

The words came out so easily, so naturally, that Ollie didn’t even register how they might sound. But the reporter did. Her lips parted slightly, as if considering pushing further, but something in Ollie’s expression—completely sincere, completely oblivious—made her hold back.

“Well,” she said, recovering, “it seems like both of you had a strong weekend. Maybe there’s something to this cooking theory of yours.”

Ollie winked at the camera. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

Kimi Antonelli might just be fucked.

He couldn't stop holding the box Ollie had given him, his fingers tracing the edges with a certain fondness he wished he hadn't rocessed yet.

The Mercedes paddock was buzzing with reporters, cameras flashing, voices calling for his attention, but all he could focus on was the weight of the box in his hands. It was ridiculous. He had just finished a race, had just secured solid points, and yet—his mind was stuck on something as simple as a homemade meal.

Before he could dwell on it any longer, an arm landed on his shoulder, jolting him from his thoughts. “Was it good?”

Kimi blinked, turning to find George Russell grinning at him like he already knew the answer. Kimi hesitated, thrown off by the question. “What?”

George nodded at the box in his hands, amusement clear in his eyes. “The food. You haven’t let go of it for the past ten minutes, mate.”

Kimi felt heat creep up his neck, but he quickly masked it with an eye roll, shrugging George’s arm off. “It was fine. I might have to work out extra hard tomorrow though.” He laughed, ignoring the eyebrow raise George gave him,

George didn’t look convinced. In fact, he looked positively delighted. “Right. Fine. That’s why you’re holding it like it’s a trophy.”

Kimi scowled, finally setting the box down on the nearest surface as if that would somehow erase the evidence. “I’m just not wasting it.”

George hummed, arms crossing as he leaned against the counter, watching him like he was the most interesting thing in the room. “Right. Because that’s totally normal behavior. Not at all suspicious.”

Before Kimi could tell him to shut up, a familiar voice cut through the paddock noise. “Kimi! A moment?”

He turned to see the same reporter who had kept Ollie occupied after the race, microphone in hand, a camera operator trailing behind her. Kimi exhaled slowly, already sensing where this was going, but nodded anyway, wiping his hands on his race suit before stepping forward.

She didn’t waste any time. “Great result today, P5! How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Kimi answered simply. He had done enough interviews to know the drill—short answers, don’t give too much away.

But she wasn’t here for the usual race recap. “We just spoke to Ollie, and he said he might start cooking for you before every race. He seems to think it’s a good luck charm.” Her smile was sharp, knowing. “Would you agree?”

Kimi hearing Ollie’s name from a reporter made something in his chest ache. He had tried—really tried—to avoid commenting on him too much after the whole incident, but this time, he couldn’t help it. His smile broke through before he could stop it, teeth showing in a way that made him feel vulnerable.

He wiped at his face, not because of sweat, but because maybe—just maybe—it would help hide the warmth creeping up his neck. The last thing he needed was for someone to point out how red he was getting at the mere mention of Ollie.

“Yeah,” he said, voice a little too easy, a little too casual. “I think his luck is just because I fed him some of it.”

The words had barely left his mouth before he felt a nudge at his hip. George. Of course.

George cleared his throat dramatically. “Maybe he should make me some, let me ace my podium?”

Kimi gave him a deadpan look, but George only raised his eyebrows, waiting.

“I don’t think it’ll work the same,” Kimi muttered, shifting his weight. He wished he had something to do with his hands, something to hold.

The reporter’s interest visibly piqued. “Oh? So you think Ollie’s cooking is special just for you?”

Kimi parted his lips, about to answer, but George cut in before he could even form a thought. “Oh, he knows it’s just for him,” he teased, smirking. “You should’ve seen him earlier, holding that box like it was a love letter.”

Kimi’s breath hitched. Too obvious. He was being too obvious. His jaw tightened, and before he could stop himself, he elbowed George—not too hard, but with enough force to shut him up. “Shut up.”

George dodged, laughing. “I mean, you did look ridiculous. I almost thought you were about to kiss the damn container.”

Kimi’s fingers curled into fists at his sides. Stop talking. Stop talking. Stop talking. His skin felt tight, heat rising from his collar, his ears burning. He forced out a scoff, hoping it masked the way his pulse had begun to race. “It’s just food.”

George, ever the menace, grinned. “Yeah, sure. Just food. That’s why you wouldn’t even let me look at it.”

Kimi swallowed. His throat was dry, too dry, and his laugh—awkward and too sharp—sounded foreign to him. He wondered if anyone else noticed the way his hands twitched, like they missed the weight of the box, like they were itching to reach for something familiar, something safe.

Because George was getting too close. His words, his teasing—it wasn’t harmless to him. It was pressing against something inside Kimi, something fragile and guarded, something that had always been kept just beneath the surface.

And now, suddenly, it felt like everyone was seeing him. The real him.

The reporter watched their interaction with keen interest, eyes flicking between Kimi and George like she was picking up on something neither of them wanted her to. She adjusted the mic in her hand, leaning in just slightly. “So, Kimi, would you say Ollie’s cooking is your new pre-race ritual?”

Kimi stiffened. His mind raced, scrambling for an answer that wouldn’t make things worse. He could feel George beside him, practically vibrating with anticipation, ready to pounce on whatever he said. “I—” He cleared his throat. “I mean, it was good. Maybe I’ll have it again.”

The reporter raised an eyebrow. “Just good?”

George snorted. Kimi resisted the urge to stomp on his foot.

“Yeah,” Kimi replied, too quickly, too stiffly. He felt the heat crawling up his neck again. He needed to steer this somewhere else—anywhere else. “But, you know, food doesn’t make the car faster. It’s all in the preparation, the training—”

“But it must’ve helped,” she pressed, smiling in a way that told Kimi she wasn’t buying his deflection. “Ollie did say he might start making it for you before every race. Sounds like quite the lucky charm.”

Kimi’s grip on his race suit tightened. He felt like he was under a magnifying glass, every reaction scrutinized, every word picked apart. “I—I don’t think he actually meant that,” he muttered, glancing away.

“Oh, he did,” George chimed in, all too happy to stir the pot. “He was beaming when he said it. Talking about how he should cook for all the drivers. But then he said something about how your food turned out the best. Special treatment,  huh?”

The reporter’s eyes lit up. “Special treatment?”

Kimi was going to kill George.

Kimi felt his pulse spike, a sharp jolt of panic shooting through him. He needed to get this conversation back on track—back to something safe, something normal. Racing. Yes. That’s what they were here to talk about. Not Ollie. Not the food. Not whatever the hell this was turning into.

“I think the team did a great job today,” he said abruptly, cutting off whatever smug comment George had brewing. “The strategy was solid, and the car felt really good out there.”

The reporter, still clearly entertained, let out a hum. “Of course, of course,” she said, but the glint in her eye told him she wasn’t done with the other topic. “But you can’t deny that you looked particularly sharp today. Would you say you felt more—what’s the word—motivated?”

George let out an exaggerated cough that suspiciously sounded like Ollie’s name.

Kimi clenched his jaw. “I always feel motivated,” he bit out, forcing a tight smile. “Every race is important. Every point matters. That’s what drives me.”

The reporter nodded, but her expression was still far too amused. “Right, but today was a standout performance for you. Something just clicked, didn’t it?” She tilted her head, all fake innocence. “Do you think maybe the extra… support played a role?”

Kimi wanted to throw himself into the nearest wall. “I—” He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “Like I said, it was a good race. I’m happy with the result. The team put in a lot of effort, and I think we executed well.”

The reporter opened her mouth again, likely ready to steer things back to the one topic he didn’t want to discuss, but before she could get a word out, a new voice cut in smoothly.

“I think what Kimi is trying to say,” Alex Albon said, stepping in like a guardian angel, “is that Mercedes really nailed the setup today. You could see it in the race pace, especially in sector two. The balance looked great, didn’t it?” He turned to the reporter with an easy smile, effortlessly shifting the conversation.

The reporter hesitated, caught between wanting to push further and realizing she’d just been outmaneuvered. “Right… of course,” she said, straightening slightly. “Mercedes did look strong today.”

George huffed, realizing his fun was over. “Alright, alright,” he mumbled, crossing his arms, but the smirk hadn’t left his face. He gave Kimi one last nudge before letting the interview continue.

Kimi barely registered the rest. He answered what he needed to, nodding along to Alex’s strategic input whenever necessary, but the moment they were finally released from the cameras, he all but bolted.

Alex caught up to him easily, placing a firm hand on his shoulder before Kimi could disappear completely. “Hey,” he said, lowering his voice. “Breathe.”

Kimi didn’t even realize how tense he was until Alex pointed it out. His whole body was wound tight, fingers trembling slightly at his sides. “I—” He exhaled sharply. “That was bad.”

Alex gave him a knowing look. “It was bad. You looked like you were about to short-circuit on live television.”

Kimi groaned, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to block out the overwhelming noise in his head. “I don’t know what’s happening,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost defeated.

Alex sighed beside him, giving his back a firm but reassuring pat. “I do,” he said simply, like the answer was obvious, like Kimi should have already realized it himself.

Kimi stiffened at that, his stomach twisting violently. He squinted at Alex, searching his face for some kind of bluff, but all he found was quiet understanding. It made something in him recoil. He let out a short, sharp laugh, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No. You don’t.”

But Alex just kept looking at him with that same awful, unbearable pity. Kimi hated it. Hated the way it made him feel exposed, like he was being cracked open for everyone to see. He wanted to scream, to push it all away, but his own body was betraying him—his breath too quick, his chest too tight.

Alex sighed again, softer this time, his hand still steady on Kimi’s back. He didn’t say anything right away, just stayed there, grounding him. And for some reason, that was worse than any words he could’ve said.

Alex gave him a look—one that was far too knowing, far too gentle. “Kimi,” he started, his tone careful, like he was approaching a wounded animal, “you’re freaking out.”

Kimi let out a sharp breath, dragging his hands down his face. “No, I’m not.” He absolutely was.

“You are,” Alex insisted, still steady, still unshaken. “And it’s okay.”

Kimi shook his head, his pulse loud in his ears. He could still hear the reporter’s questions, still see George’s teasing smirk. He felt like he was coming apart at the seams, and Alex just stood there, watching him with that unbearable pity. It made him feel seen in a way he didn’t want to be.

He exhaled sharply, forcing out a laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You seriously think you’ve got me all figured out?” His voice was light, but his hands were trembling.

Alex didn’t waver. “I think you’re a private perdon,” he said plainly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And I think my best friend is the opposite.”

Kimi stiffened at that. His stomach twisted violently, and for a second, he thought he might actually throw up. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Alex only sighed again, softer this time. “Sure, Kimi.” But there was no teasing in his voice, no playfulness—just understanding. And for some reason, that was worse.

Alex exhaled sharply, crossing his arms as he looked at Kimi with something between frustration and understanding. “Privacy is not a luxury in our career,” he said, his voice steady but firm. “We don’t even get our friendships to ourselves. You and Ollie decided to have a very public, very sought-out rivalry—whether you meant to or not. And now, everyone’s watching. And to them, you made up out of nowhere.”

Kimi swallowed hard, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He knew that. He wasn’t stupid. But hearing Alex say it so plainly made his stomach twist.

“They’re going to want everything from you,” Alex continued, his voice softening, but the intensity in his eyes never wavered. “Not just the races. Not just the wins. They’re going to want you. They’ll take the way you look at him, the way you talk about him, the way you don’t talk about him. And they’ll pick it apart until there’s nothing left for you to keep.”

Kimi’s breath hitched, and Alex must’ve noticed because he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know it’s unfair. I know it feels like your life isn’t yours anymore. But if you keep pretending there’s nothing there, you’re just letting them control the story. And Kimi…” He gave him a look that was almost pitying. “Play the part. Be his best friend, or be his rival.”

Kimi dragged a hand down his face, trying to find the words—any words—that wouldn’t back him into a corner. He couldn’t tell Alex the truth, not all of it. He didn’t even know what the truth was.

“It’s not like that,” Kimi started, his voice tight. “It’s just—Ollie and I, we didn’t mean for any of this to happen. The rivalry, the media making it into…whatever it is now. It wasn’t supposed to be this complicated.”

Alex nodded slowly, arms still crossed as he listened. “That happens. It’s easy to get caught up in the game. When you’re fighting someone on track, especially as much as you two do, it bleeds into everything else. It messes with your head, makes it hard to figure out what’s real and what’s just competition.”

Kimi tensed at that. Because that was the problem—this wasn’t just competition. It never had been. He and Ollie weren’t just two drivers going head-to-head. But he couldn’t say that. Not without saying too much.

“It’s not just that,” Kimi muttered, shaking his head. “I just—” He exhaled sharply. “I don’t know how to be around him anymore.”

Alex studied him for a moment before sighing. “Then you need to make a choice,” he said simply. “You can’t have it both ways, Kimi. You either keep him as your rival or you keep him as your friend. Because right now, you’re stuck in the middle, and that’s what’s messing with your head.”

Kimi swallowed hard, staring down at his hands. He wanted to argue, to tell Alex that it wasn’t that simple. But the worst part was—maybe it was. Maybe he did have to choose. He just didn’t know which choice would hurt more.

He wasn't going to make the wrong one this time.

Chapter Text

Somehow, against the gods themselves, Alex Albon sat in front of Kimi, holding his feet down while he did crunches. The scene was almost comical—Kimi, pushing through his workout with that same quiet intensity he brought to everything, while Alex acted like he was doing him the greatest favor in the world. 

The fans on Twitter had already started making jokes about Kimi stealing his teammate’s best friend, but if they knew the full story, they’d have even more to talk about.

Sometimes, it was just because George needed someone to hear him, someone who wouldn’t fill the silence with easy answers or reassurances. Kimi never interrupted—he just listened, let George talk until he had nothing left to say. And in return, Kimi had taken to leaving small things to pass the time. Paper cranes, carefully folded, one for every call. Eleven so far.

Alex knew about the calls, of course. He knew about most things, because George was his best friend first. But instead of being annoyed, he had just started treating Kimi like he was part of the deal, like Kimi had always been there. Maybe that was why, when Kimi found himself pacing the Mercedes motorhome after an interview had gone sideways, it was Alex who had shown up to talk him down. 

It was Alex who had dragged him out, forced him to clear his head, and then—somehow—ended up at the gym with him, holding his feet like it was just another Tuesday.

“Come on,” Alex said now, grinning down at him. “You call that a crunch? You’re getting soft, Antonelli.”

Kimi shot him a glare, sweat dripping down his temple. “I will kick you.”

Alex laughed, unfazed. “Yeah, yeah, threats mean nothing to me.”

Kimi rolled his eyes, but despite himself, a grin tugged at the corner of his lips. He threw a fake punch in Alex’s direction, fully expecting him to dodge. But instead, Alex—being Alex—took it as an excuse to throw himself forward, collapsing onto Kimi like a dead weight.

Kimi made a strangled noise, arms flailing as he tried to shove him off. “What the hell—”

“Oops.” Alex didn’t sound sorry at all, resting his full weight against Kimi with a shit-eating grin.

Kimi was not ready to have the full weight of another man on top of him. And in another situation—or if Alex were another person—he might have enjoyed it. But right now, all he could think about was the fact that he was trapped, muscles already sore, and Alex was making it worse.

Kimi tried to push him off again, but Alex just settled in, like he had all the time in the world. Kimi was starting to regret every life decision that led him to this moment.

“You know,” Alex mused, chin propped on his hand as he looked down at Kimi, “you and George really are like Mercedes test tube babies.”

Kimi blinked. “What?”

“I mean, think about it.” Alex gestured vaguely, as if this was some great revelation. “Both fast, both way too serious, both weirdly polite when you’re mad—it's like they made you in a lab somewhere in Brackley.”

Kimi scowled. “We do not look alike.”

Alex gave him a look. “You literally do. Same hair, same face shape, same stressed-out expressions.” He grinned. “I think they tried to clone him but accidentally made you Italian.”

Kimi groaned, dropping his head back against the floor. “I hate you.”

Alex finally rolled off him, still laughing as he stretched out beside him. “Nah, you love me.”

Kimi let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head as he wiped sweat from his forehead. “You’re ridiculous.”

Alex stretched his arms behind his head, still smirking. "I mean, come on, you and George could swap helmets and half the grid wouldn’t even notice if we gave you stilettos."

Kimi tilted his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. “That’s not true. Ollie knows me.”

Alex turned to look at him, smirk widening. “Excuse me, I am an expert in spotting team-manufactured drivers." He pointed dramatically at Kimi. "You? Absolute textbook Mercedes experiment. George? Prototype version."

Kimi bit his lip, trying—and failing—to suppress a grin. “You sound insane.”

Alex nudged his knee against Kimi’s, eyes gleaming with mischief. “And yet, you’re not disagreeing.”

Kimi exhaled, shaking his head, but the warmth in his chest was impossible to ignore. Maybe it was just Alex. Somehow, he always knew how to make everything feel lighter.

“You know,” Alex continued, leaning back on his hands, “for a so-called test tube baby, you’re way too stressed out all the time. You should try being fun, like me.”

Kimi let out a soft, breathy laugh, eyes crinkling. “Alex, your version of fun is making me question my entire existence.”

Alex grinned. “Exactly. Builds character.”

Kimi dropped his head back against the floor, still smiling. As much as Alex teased, he always managed to make things easier. And right now, Kimi didn’t mind that one bit.

Kimi’s laughter faded as he stared up at the ceiling, something heavy settling in his chest. It felt nice—too nice, maybe—to just sit here and joke around, to forget everything outside of this moment. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t tangled up in his own thoughts, wasn’t analyzing every single glance, every word spoken about him. But as soon as the quiet settled in, the guilt crept back in, slow and insistent.

He shouldn’t be enjoying himself this much. Not when everything was so complicated. Not when the world was watching his every move, waiting for him to slip up, to confirm every rumor buzzing in the paddock. He pressed his lips together, shifting uncomfortably.

Alex, oblivious to the way Kimi’s thoughts were turning, clapped a hand on his stomach. “Man, I’m starving. Let’s go grab something to eat.”

Kimi sat up a little too quickly, waving a hand. “I’m good.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “You sure? You barely ate anything before working out.”

no“I had enough,” Kimi lied, the memory of Ollie’s food flashing through his mind. He could still taste it, almost. The thought made his stomach twist.

Alex studied him for a second, then shrugged. “Suit yourself.” But there was something knowing in his gaze, something that made Kimi feel like he was being seen more clearly than he wanted to be.

He took a deep breath, trying to push the feeling aside. It was fine. He was fine. He just needed to stop thinking so much.

Alex didn’t push, but Kimi could feel the weight of his curiosity in the silence that followed. He hated that. Hated that someone could just look at him and see something was off. He had spent years perfecting the art of keeping things hidden, of making sure no one knew too much, yet somehow, Alex and George had cracked through it without even trying.

Kimi leaned back on his elbows, tilting his head toward the ceiling again. “You ever think too much fun is dangerous?”

Alex snorted. “That’s a depressing way to look at things.”

Kimi hummed, noncommittal. It wasn’t like he was trying to be cynical—it was just… every time he let himself relax, something pulled him back. It wasn’t even just about the media or the rivalry with Ollie. It was the way he felt deep down, like he was walking on a tightrope, and if he let himself lean too far one way, he’d fall.

“You know, you and George are really alike,” Alex said suddenly, stretching his legs out.

Kimi frowned. “That’s concerning.”

Alex grinned. “No, seriously. Even besides being made in the samr lab. Same mannerisms, same weird need to suffer in silence. Same way you overthink literally everything and pretend you don’t.”

Kimi let out a soft scoff, shaking his head. Alex didn’t know—couldn’t know—just how funny that comparison really was. If only he knew how much Ollie was Kimi’s type. The thought alone made Kimi smile, small and secret, like he was in on some inside joke no one else knew.

If Alex ever found out he’d just compared Kimi’s crush to himself and George, he’d probably combust on the spot. Kimi could already picture the way he’d react—wide-eyed horror, hands thrown up like he could physically take the words back. The image was so vivid it almost made him laugh.

Almost.

Because as much as the thought amused him, it also made something twist uncomfortably in his chest. It was one thing to know it himself, to keep it tucked away where no one could touch it. It was another to imagine someone else realizing it, pointing it out, making it real.

Kimi sighed, dropping his head back against the wall. Maybe Alex was right—maybe he really did overthink everything.

“Speaking of Ollie, where did you get that crewneck? The bears on it are nice.”

Kimi blinked, glancing down like he had forgotten what he was even wearing. His stomach twisted the second he saw it. The soft fabric, the warm colors—he knew exactly where it came from. It was the same one he had convinced Ollie to buy, only in his size instead.

His face burned at the memory. He had been trying so hard to flirt that day, teasing Ollie, nudging him toward the checkout like it wasn’t completely obvious. He had been playing a dangerous game, one where the stakes had been a little too high.

Maybe, if he weren’t such a coward, he would have actually done something about it. Maybe he would have kissed Ollie instead of just hovering in the running away from him.

Kimi pretending like Ollie liked him too was a dangerous game.

A universe where he wasn’t terrified to even glance at another guy for too long was a universe where he had figured himself out before it was too late. He had spent years pretending there was nothing to figure out in the first place—too long convincing himself that racing and love couldn’t exist in the same life.

He could never be a spokesperson. He could never be that driver. The one who was open, who was unshaken, who didn’t care about the cameras. Kimi barely even knew who he was when he wasn’t behind the wheel.

“Dude, you okay?”

Alex’s voice dragged him back to reality, a nudge against his arm grounding him. Kimi exhaled, shaking his head like he could shake off the thoughts with it. “Yeah,” he muttered, forcing a small smile. “Just zoned out.”

Alex gave him a look like he didn’t believe him, but he let it slide. “You sure that’s not Ollie’s?”

Kimi scoffed, though it didn’t come out as strong as he wanted. “It’s mine. He has the same one though.”

Alex smirked, arms crossing. “That tracks.”

Kimi prided himself on being Smart. A smart, pretty boy—that was his thing. But right now? Right now, he felt like he was running on two brain cells, and neither of them were working. All thanks to Alex’s little reminder.

His fingers hovered over his phone for a second before he gave in.

Kimi: Do you remember the sweatshirts we got at the mall?

Ollie 🐻: oooo yeahhh, of course. i wear mine to the gym if I’m too lazy to find team kit.

Kimi: Really?

Kimi barely had time to process that before his phone buzzed again—this time with an image attached.

He almost dropped his phone.

Ollie wasn’t shirtless, but somehow, this was worse. The pastel crewneck was bunched at his hips, pushed up just enough to reveal the sharp lines of his stomach. His hair was damp, clinging to his forehead, but it was the smile that really got Kimi. Easy, relaxed, completely unaware of the damage he had just inflicted.

Kimi felt like he needed a defibrillator. Instead, he did the next best thing.

Kimi: Dino.

Dino: It’s Paul, but yeah, what’s up?

Kimi has sent an image.

There was a painful beat of silence before Paul responded.

Dino: Oh, I need to go to a confession box.

Kimi: Imagine how I feel.

Kimi stared at Ollie’s photo for way too long. His fingers twitched against his phone, his brain short-circuiting between this is fine and this is actually going to kill me. But then a different thought slipped in—one that made his lips quirk up at the corners.

Two could play at this game.

He set his phone down and stood in front of his mirror, tilting his head as he adjusted the sweatshirt. It was just long enough to skim his mid-thighs, perfectly framing them. His quads—undeniably a product of years of brutal leg days—were in full view, but not too much. The hem of his shorts peeked out just enough to leave something to the imagination, a perfect balance between effortless and intentional.

He snapped the photo—casual but devastatingly effective. His expression was soft, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips, dark curls falling just right over his forehead. He looked every bit the pretty boy people always called him, and for once, he wasn’t trying to fight it.

Send.

And then—because he wasn’t above stirring the pot—he followed up with a single message.

Kimi: We match.

The second he sent the message, Kimi felt his pulse spike. He threw his phone onto his bed like it had personally wronged him, running a hand through his curls as he exhaled sharply. What the hell was he doing?

His phone buzzed almost immediately. He swallowed, hesitant, before finally grabbing it.

Ollie 🐻: That looks so warm. I should’ve bought mine a size up like that, it looks so nice all big on you. I bet it’d be great for naps.

Kimi bit the inside of his cheek, trying so hard not to laugh. Of course Ollie wasn’t teasing, wasn’t playing games. He just wanted a cozy sweatshirt. Meanwhile, Kimi was sitting here having a crisis. 

Kimi: …Right. Comfy.

Ollie 🐻: Do you think they have more from that company?

Kimi shut off his phone and threw it across the bed. This was so unfair.

Kimi lay back against his pillows, rubbing a hand over his face. His heart was still hammering in his chest, and for what? A stupid sweatshirt. A stupid conversation. A stupid Ollie, being so Ollie that Kimi was losing his mind over it.

His phone buzzed again.  

Ollie 🐻: If they do, maybe we should go get more together? Matching hoodies this time?

Kimi groaned into his hands. He could already see it—the two of them wandering through some mall again, Ollie excitedly picking up every soft-looking hoodie he could find, holding them up to Kimi like he was trying to color-match them, completely oblivious to the fact that Kimi was already struggling to keep his composure.  

This wasn’t fair.  

Kimi: You want more matching clothes?

Ollie 🐻: Duh, why not? We looked cute in them.  

Kimi exhaled so sharply it could’ve been a laugh if he weren’t so doomed. Cute. Ollie said it like it was nothing, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Meanwhile, Kimi felt like he was malfunctioning.  

Kimi: Yeah. Sure.

Ollie liked to match with him. That was fine. That was normal. Friends did that. It was totally, completely fine.

So why did Kimi feel like he was seconds away from passing out?

Kimi didn’t even hesitate before pressing George’s contact. The moment the call connected, he didn’t wait for a greeting.

“I need to talk,” Kimi said, pacing his room.

George groaned on the other end, his voice thick with sleep. “Mate, it’s midnight—”

“It’s important. You do it to me.”

There was a pause, then the rustling of sheets. “Alright, go on then.”

Kimi hesitated. He could not say Ollie’s name. Couldn’t even let George think for a second that his brain had been reduced to mush because of him. He needed an excuse—something, anything.

“I think I like a girl,” Kimi blurted out. The girl was a boy that Kimi had liked for a year. Yay.

Silence. Then, suspiciously, “You think you like a girl?”

Kimi clenched his jaw. “Yes.”

George snorted. “And this is a problem?”

“Yes—no—I don’t know,” Kimi muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “She’s just—she’s annoying.”

George laughed. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you kid.”

Kimi scowled, throwing himself down on his bed and staring up at the ceiling. “She says things that make my brain stop working. And she—she keeps wanting to match clothes and act all… all cute, and—”

George cut in, still laughing. “Kimi. You sound like you’re dying.”

“I am dying.”

George snickered. “This is the funniest thing you’ve ever done.”

Kimi groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Shut up.”

“Oh, absolutely not. This is gold.” George's voice was sharper now, fully awake and clearly enjoying himself. “I need details. Who is she? Where did you meet? How long have you been losing your mind over her?”

Kimi swallowed. “Doesn’t matter.”

“That’s a crap answer.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Kimi repeated, firmer this time. “I just—I don’t know what to do.”

George hummed. “Have you tried, oh, I don’t know… telling her?”

Kimi made a noise of pure distress.

“Right, I’ll take that as a no.” George was laughing, actually laughing, like this was the most entertaining thing he’d ever witnessed. “God, you’re funny. I thought you were supposed to be this calm, sweet guy, but look at you. Reduced to a mess because of some girl.”

Kimi groaned again, resisting the urge to throw his phone across the room. “This was a mistake.”

“No, this was the best decision you’ve ever made,” George corrected. “I’m having a great time.”

Kimi squeezed his eyes shut. He should’ve called Alex instead.

Kimi knew calling George was a mistake, but at the same time, he needed to say something before he lost his mind completely. He tried to ignore the way his chest was tightening, how his fingers twitched against his phone like he was seconds away from texting Ollie again.

George was still talking, barely holding back laughter. “So, let me get this straight. You, Kimi Antonelli, are losing your entire mind over a girl because she—what? Matches clothes with you? Compliments you? And that’s enough to make your brain short-circuit?”

Kimi gritted his teeth. “It’s not just that.”

“Oh, of course not,” George teased. “Because that would be normal. And you? You’re a mess.”

Kimi sat up, pressing the heels of his hands to his forehead. “She’s just there all the time, and I—” He sighed sharply. “I can’t stop thinking about her. It’s distracting.”

“Distracting how?”

“Distracting like—” Kimi exhaled, frustrated. “Like, if she’s in the room, I know exactly where she is. And if I’m not near her, I keep looking for her. And if she touches me—”

George wheezed. “She touched you?”

Kimi flushed. “Not like that.”

“Oh, no, no, please elaborate,” George said, thoroughly enjoying himself. “How exactly did she touch you? A casual brush of the hand? A lingering shoulder pat? Did she hug you, Kimi? Are you losing your mind over a hug?”

Kimi flopped back down onto his bed, groaning into his pillow. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re hilarious.”

Kimi clenched his jaw. “Ai ai ai, I hate this.”

“No, you don’t,” George said smugly. “You love this. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

Kimi’s stomach twisted because—fuck, maybe George was right. Maybe he did love it. The warmth, the closeness, the effortless way Ollie always pulled him in without even realizing it.

But he couldn’t say that. Not to George. Not to anyone.

So instead, he muttered, “I called you for advice. Not for you to mock me.”

George snickered. “Oh, mate, I am giving you advice. My advice? Stop being an idiot and just talk to her.”

Kimi shut his eyes, pressing his fingers into his temple. “It’s not that simple.”

George sighed dramatically. “It is that simple. You’re just making it complicated.”

Kimi stayed silent. Because maybe George was right. Maybe he was making this more complicated than it needed to be. Maybe if he just let himself feel—

No.

He wasn’t ready for that.

Not yet.

Chapter Text

Ollie couldn’t help but wonder if “celebrity malls” existed as he parked in front of Kimi’s motorhome. The transition from F2 to F1 had been a complex one, filled with unexpected changes, but none were more jarring than the shift in public attention. In F2, some diehard fans might recognize you from a few races or social media, but in F1? There was no escaping it. Suddenly, every step outside the paddock felt like walking through a minefield of cameras and autograph requests.

That was exactly why Ollie had gone full incognito mode. His disguise wasn’t anything groundbreaking—just an oversized hoodie, sunglasses, and a cap pulled low over his forehead. It was the kind of outfit any random guy might throw on, nothing flashy or memorable. And despite standing at an undeniably noticeable 6’1”, he convinced himself he could blend in effortlessly.

He stepped out of the car, glancing around the paddock like a secret agent on a mission. So far, so good—no one had stopped him yet. He adjusted his sunglasses and shoved his hands deep into his hoodie pockets, feigning nonchalance as he made his way toward Kimi’s motorhome

The ridiculous part was, he wasn’t even sneaking around for anything scandalous. He just wanted to see Kimi. And yet, here he was, acting like he was breaking into a top-secret government facility instead of visiting his friend.

As he reached the door, he hesitated for a moment before knocking. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the nerves creeping in, or maybe it was just the lingering paranoia that someone would recognize him and blow his whole “low-key” operation to bits. Either way, he took a deep breath, straightened up, and rapped his knuckles against the door.

A beat passed. Then another.

Finally, the door cracked open, and Kimi stood there, blinking at him in confusion. Ollie could see the exact moment his expression shifted from confusion to barely-contained amusement.

Ollie sighed. “Don’t say it.”

Kimi smirked. “You look like a celebrity trying to avoid TMZ.”

Ollie groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Come oooon,” he whined, his voice muffled as he felt Kimi’s hand settle on his shoulder.

In front of him, Kimi was practically in pieces, laughter spilling from his lips in soft, breathless giggles. The sound of jewelry clinking together caught Ollie’s attention, and when he looked up, he couldn’t help but snort. Kimi’s wrists were adorned with silver bracelets, rings glinting on every one of his fingers, and around his neck, two—no, three—silver and diamond chains rested against his collarbone.

Ollie let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “What got you all dolled up?”

Kimi rolled his eyes, still grinning as he leaned against the doorframe. “What? I am fashion.” He flexed his fingers dramatically, the silver catching the light, drawing attention to just how adorned he was. “Some of us like to have a little style, no?”

Ollie chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m just saying, this is a lot, even for you.” He reached out, tapping one of the heavier chains around Kimi’s neck. “You got somewhere fancy to be, or are you just trying to blind me with all this?”

Kimi huffed, crossing his arms, the movement making his bracelets jingle together. “Maybe I just wanted to look nice,” he said, a little too nonchalantly, though the hint of pink dusting his cheeks betrayed him.

Ollie narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “For what?”

“For myself,” Kimi shot back quickly, but his gaze flickered away for just a second too long.

Ollie smirked. “Right. Totally believe that.”

Kimi groaned, shoving Ollie lightly. “Shut up and get inside before someone actually recognizes you, idiot.”

Ollie, still grinning, let himself be dragged in.

Kimi pulled Ollie down onto the couch beside him, settling in comfortably. “I bought groceries,” he announced, as if that explained everything. “Not a lot, just enough for a meal. I checked with my trainer, so it had to be high in carbs and calories.”

Ollie tilted his head, taking that in. He understood the struggle—keeping their weight consistent was part of the job, and it drove him crazy sometimes, too. But as Kimi spoke, there was something almost hesitant about the way he said it, like he was skirting around the real reason he’d called Ollie over.

Ollie raised a brow, lips twitching into a knowing smile. “Did you invite me over just to cook for you?”

Kimi's fingers twitched where they rested against his knee, a flicker of something hesitant crossing his face before he smothered it with a small smirk. “Maybe,” he said, dragging the word out like it was a tease. “Or maybe I just wanted company.”

Ollie huffed a laugh, leaning back against the couch. “Right, because I’m just the best company you could find.” He stretched his arms over his head, utterly oblivious to the way Kimi’s eyes flickered to the sliver of skin revealed as his hoodie rode up.

Kimi shook his head quickly, like he was physically forcing himself to look away. “You’re not the worst,” he muttered, feigning nonchalance as he stood up. “Come on, are you helping me or not?”

Ollie groaned but pushed himself up anyway, following Kimi into the small kitchen area. “Fine, fine. But if I’m cooking, you’re on dish duty.”

Kimi rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he turned to pull out the ingredients, and Ollie caught the faintest hint of a smile lingering on his lips. He thought nothing of it—just Kimi being Kimi, enjoying the moment.

Ollie rolled his sleeves up as he surveyed the ingredients Kimi had bought. “Alright, let’s see what we’re working with.” He started sorting through them, pausing when he noticed a few odd choices. “Uh, Kimi… did you just grab random things and hope for the best?”

Kimi crossed his arms, feigning offense. “No,” he defended, though the hesitation in his voice betrayed him. “I had a plan.”

Ollie shot him a doubtful look, holding up a pack of strawberries next to a box of pasta. “Did this plan involve making two different meals at the same time?”

Kimi scoffed, snatching the strawberries from him. “That’s for after. Not everything has to make sense, Ollie.” He placed them aside, then leaned against the counter, watching as Ollie got to work.

Ollie, focused on chopping some vegetables. “You’re lucky I like cooking, or I’d make you eat this raw.”

Kimi hummed, tilting his head slightly. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to have you here.”

Ollie snorted, shaking his head as he turned on the stove. “Yeah, yeah, because I’m such a joy to be around.”

“I could eat it raw,” Kimi said from behind him, and Ollie could hear the smirk in his voice. “I’m not picky.”

“Yeah, yeah, you say that now, but if I actually served you raw pasta, you’d whine about it for a week.” Ollie tossed some chopped vegetables into a bowl and reached for the next ingredient.

Kimi didn’t argue, which was rare. Because usually Kimi liked to talk. Instead, he just hovered near the counter, close enough that Ollie could feel him there but not close enough to get in his way.

After they ate, Ollie leaned back on the country, stretching his arms over his head with a satisfied sigh. “Alright, so music?”

Ollie nodded, already reaching for his own phone. “Sick, I’ll pick—”

“No.” Kimi snatched Ollie’s phone right out of his hands, holding it just out of reach. “I pick.”

Ollie groaned, throwing his head back against the couch. “Oh, come on, I’m the guest! I should get DJ privileges.”

“You're cooking,” Kimi pointed out. “That was your part. This is mine.”

Ollie squinted at him, debating if it was worth fighting over. “Fine,” he conceded. “But if you put on something depressing, I’m hijacking the playlist.”

Kimi hummed, scrolling through his music. A second later, the room filled with the low, smooth sounds of something Ollie didn’t immediately recognize. It wasn’t bad, but—

Ollie frowned. “Wait, wait, wait. Andrea Bocelli?”

Kimi barely looked up. “No.”

Ollie’s soul left his body. He stared at Kimi like he had just admitted to a heinous crime. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

Kimi raised an eyebrow. “I mean no. I don’t listen to him. Why?”

Ollie sat up fully, placing a dramatic hand over his chest. “You—Kimi. You are Italian. You are a driver for Mercedes. You wear silver jewelry and look like you belong in a Renaissance painting. And you don’t listen to Andrea Bocelli?”

Kimi blinked, unimpressed. “That’s your argument?”

“Yes! It’s a disgrace!” Ollie threw his hands in the air. “You should be listening to ‘Con Te Partirò’ on repeat, basking in the beauty of your homeland, drinking espresso, and wearing a turtleneck or something.”

Kimi was laughing now, shaking his head. “You have the weirdest stereotypes about Italians.”

“They’re correct stereotypes!” Ollie insisted, grabbing his phone back to pull up a song. “Here. I am fixing you.” He hit play, and the swelling orchestral opening of ‘Time to Say Goodbye’ filled the room.

Kimi rolled his eyes but didn’t move to stop him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you have no culture,” Ollie shot back, settling in as the song played. “But don’t worry. I’ll save you.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath. “Actually offensive. You should be deported.”

Kimi, who had comfortably flopped back onto the couch, snorted. “For not listening to Andrea Bocelli?”

“Yes,” Ollie shot back, rifling through the cabinets. “It should be a requirement. Italian citizenship revoked.” He pulled out the ingredients he needed and got to work, rolling up his sleeves as he filled a pot with water.

Kimi watched him from the couch, looking entirely unbothered. “I don’t see why it’s such a big deal.”

“Because,” Ollie huffed, dumping pasta into the boiling water, “you’re missing out on one of the greatest vocalists of all time.” He grabbed a mixing bowl and started melting chocolate for the strawberries, shaking his head. “It’s a crime, really.”

Kimi just hummed, flipping through something on his phone. “You’re being dramatic.”

Ollie gasped, nearly dropping the spoon he was stirring with. “Dramatic?” He turned, eyes wide. “This coming from you?”

Kimi raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ollie scoffed, going back to stirring the chocolate. “Nothing, nothing,” he said with exaggerated innocence. “Just that you—Mister hand gestures, Mister smells like vanilla, Mister jewelry—are calling me dramatic.”

Kimi rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here I am, making you spaghetti and chocolate strawberries.” Ollie smirked, draining the pasta and setting it aside before reaching for the sauce. “A lesser man would let you starve.”

Kimi stretched, resting his head against the couch cushions. “Lucky me, then.”

Ollie shook his head again, pouring the sauce over the pasta. “I swear, once you hear Bocelli, you’re gonna feel it. Like, deep in your soul.”

Kimi yawned, waving a lazy hand. “Sure, sure.”

Ollie narrowed his eyes, grabbing his phone and queuing up ‘Con Te Partirò’ just as he plated the spaghetti. The rich, soaring vocals filled the room as he carried the food over to the table. “Alright,” he said, setting Kimi’s plate in front of him. “Moment of truth. We’re fixing two things at once—you’re eating and getting cultured.”

Kimi sat up, eyeing the food first—then the phone playing the song. He sighed, shaking his head with an amused expression. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you have no taste,” Ollie replied, stabbing into his own pasta. “Now, shut up and listen.”

Ollie couldn’t help himself. As the first notes of Con Te Partirò swelled through the motorhome, he dramatically placed a hand on his chest, eyes fluttering shut like he was about to deliver the performance of a lifetime.

Kimi, already mid-bite of spaghetti, paused, fork hanging in midair as he watched Ollie in wary amusement.

Then Ollie started singing.

And he could sing.

His voice was smooth, rich, and just theatrical enough to make the moment absurd. He didn’t just sing—he performed, gesturing grandly with every line, spinning dramatically around the tiny kitchen like he was on the stage of La Scala instead of Kimi’s motorhome.

“Con te partirò!” Ollie crooned, extending a hand toward Kimi as if he were declaring eternal devotion. “Paesi che non ho mai veduto e vissuto con te!”

Kimi groaned, setting his fork down with an exaggerated sigh. “Oh my god.”

Ollie didn’t stop. If anything, he got worse—twirling around the counter, clutching an invisible microphone, over-exaggerating his vibrato just enough to make it ridiculous.

“Adesso sì, li vivrò!” he sang, reaching out again, his fingers barely brushing Kimi’s sleeve.

Kimi leaned back, covering his mouth with his hand, and Ollie caught the way his lips pressed together like he was holding something back.

A laugh.

Encouraged, Ollie went for the grand finale—sweeping one arm wide, sinking dramatically to one knee beside Kimi’s chair. “Con te!”

And finally, finally, Kimi cracked.

A laugh—quiet, but real—bubbled out of him, shaking his shoulders as he tilted his head down, as if trying to hide it. His face was flushed, the tips of his ears red as he shook his head.

“You’re ridiculous,” Kimi muttered, but there was no actual bite to his words.

“You love it,” Ollie shot back, grinning as he grabbed the bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries and plopped into the seat across from him. “Admit it. Best private concert you’ve ever had.”

Kimi let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “You’re funny.”

“That’s not a no.” Ollie smirked, popping another strawberry into his mouth. “You’re lucky I didn’t go full opera mode. I could’ve had you in tears.”

Kimi didn’t say anything right away, just lifted his gaze and looked at him. Ollie didn’t think much of it—Kimi was always a little hard to read, his thoughts tucked away behind those sharp, quiet eyes—but something about the way he was watching him now made Ollie pause.

“…What?” Ollie asked, tilting his head.

Kimi blinked like he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He looked down quickly, reaching for his water. “Nothing.”

Ollie narrowed his eyes. “That was definitely something.”

Kimi took a slow sip, then placed the glass down deliberately, as if that could somehow steer the conversation away. “You sing well.”

Ollie grinned. “I know.”

Kimi let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head again. “And you know that you’re dramatic.”

“That’s part of the charm, Antonelli,” Ollie said, tossing a piece of spaghetti at him. Kimi batted it away with a huff, but Ollie didn’t miss the tiny smile that tugged at the corners of his lips.

The thing about Kimi was—he had this way of looking at people that made it feel like you were the only person in the world. Ollie had noticed it before, mostly during races, when Kimi’s eyes would lock onto something with full, unwavering focus. He’d seen it in post-race interviews, too, when Kimi was engaged in a question, listening like it was the only thing that mattered.

But this? This was different.

Kimi wasn’t analyzing a rival or focusing on strategy. He was just… watching him.

And Ollie had no idea what to do with that.

“Well,” Ollie said, trying to brush off whatever weird moment they were having, “next time I serenade you, I’ll make sure you’re a little more appreciative.”

Kimi scoffed. “Next time?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Ollie beamed, leaning forward on his elbows. “You think I’m gonna let your lack of musical taste slide? No way. I have so much work to do with you.”

Kimi just sighed, but there was a softness in his expression that Ollie couldn’t quite place. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Ollie said, reaching over to steal a strawberry from Kimi’s plate, “you still let me in your motorhome.”

Kimi just stared at him for a beat longer than necessary, his gaze dipping briefly to Ollie’s lips before flicking away.

Ollie didn’t think much of it.

If he had, maybe he would’ve noticed the way Kimi’s hands fidgeted, how he kept exhaling like he was trying to steady himself, or the way his voice went a little too soft when he muttered, “Yeah… I do.”

But Ollie didn’t notice. He was too caught up in his own amusement, too busy grinning to himself—until, without warning, Kimi grabbed a chocolate strawberry and shoved it straight into his mouth.

Ollie barely managed to keep from choking, a muffled laugh escaping as he jerked back in surprise. He coughed once, then dramatically pulled the chocolate-covered strawberry from his mouth like it was some grand performance. With a playful wink, he took an exaggerated bite, chewing with a theatrical giggle, clearly reveling in how ridiculous he could be.

Kimi, on the other hand, looked thoroughly unimpressed. He cringed at the sight, exhaling sharply through his nose as if questioning every decision that had led him to this moment. His eyes flickered with something unreadable—maybe amusement, maybe regret—but all he did was shake his head.

Meanwhile, Ollie remained completely unfazed. He swallowed the strawberry with ease, his grin never faltering. “Another one?” he asked, already reaching out, fully expecting Kimi to hand it over.

But instead of obliging, Kimi smirked—just slightly—before lifting the next strawberry high above his head, keeping it just out of reach.

Ollie’s brows lifted in surprise before a slow, knowing smirk spread across his lips. His eyes flickered up to meet Kimi’s, something playful sparking behind them.

Challenge accepted.

Without hesitation, he leaned in, closing the space between them, fully determined to claim what was his.

Ollie lunged first, quick and determined, but Kimi was faster, tilting his arm back just enough to keep the strawberry dangling out of reach. Ollie groaned, half-laughing as he pressed in closer, stretching on his toes.

“Seriously?” Ollie huffed, eyes flicking between the strawberry and Kimi’s annoyingly smug expression. “You’re really gonna make me work for it?”

Kimi tilted his head, lips twitching. “You want it?” he asked, feigning innocence, though the glint in his eyes said otherwise.

Ollie narrowed his eyes. “Obviously.”

Before Kimi could react, Ollie made another attempt—this time, gripping Kimi’s wrist in a desperate bid to yank his hand down. But Kimi wasn’t having it. He twisted his arm just enough to break free, shifting his weight to keep himself balanced while Ollie practically draped himself over him in pursuit of the strawberry.

Their laughter softened as the struggle turned into something slower, more deliberate. Ollie’s fingers skimmed against Kimi’s wrist, warm against cool skin, and for a split second, his grip wasn’t about taking the strawberry—it was just there, lingering, as if he forgot what they were doing.

Kimi swallowed hard. His breathing felt uneven, like he was fighting something much stronger than Ollie’s attempts to steal the fruit. “You really don’t give up, huh?” he murmured.

Ollie smirked, but there was something softer behind it, something unknowing. “Not when I want something.”

The weight of his words hung between them for a beat too long. Kimi’s grip faltered. Just slightly.

Ollie took his chance. He surged forward, finally managing to pry the strawberry free, his triumphant grin stretching wide as he popped it into his mouth.

Kimi exhaled, watching him chew with infuriating satisfaction. “You’re insufferable.”

Ollie winked, swallowing. “You love it.”

The tension hung in the air for a moment longer, thick and unspoken, before Kimi abruptly turned away, clearing his throat. He busied himself with adjusting the sleeves of his sweatshirt, as if the warmth in his face wasn’t completely obvious.

Ollie, oblivious as ever, just stretched with a satisfied hum, licking a stray bit of chocolate from his thumb. “Alright, chef, what’s next?”

Kimi exhaled sharply, shaking his head like he was resetting his brain. “Dishes,” he muttered, already grabbing plates to rinse off.

Ollie groaned dramatically. “Ugh, you’re such a buzzkill.”

He leaned against the counter, watching Kimi work, completely unaware of the way Kimi kept his eyes down, forcing himself to focus on anything but the boy beside him.

The sink ran softly in the background, the kitchen now quieter—more settled—until Ollie’s voice broke through, casual and curious:

“So… you never actually answered me earlier.”

Kimi turned slightly, raising a brow. “About what?”

Ollie smirked, grabbing a towel to dry his hands. “What got you all dolled up?”

Kimi froze for half a second—so quick that anyone else might’ve missed it. But Ollie, even in his obliviousness, caught the hesitation, the way Kimi’s fingers tensed slightly around the edge of the sink before he forced himself to relax.

Kimi rolled his eyes, turning his back to him. “I told you, I went grocery shopping,” he said, voice carefully even.

Ollie let out an exaggerated hum, clearly unconvinced. “Right, because everyone wears chains and rings just to pick up a bag of pasta.” He stepped closer, nudging Kimi’s shoulder. “Come on, you look like you were trying to impress someone.”

Kimi scoffed, shaking his head as he scrubbed at a plate with unnecessary force. “You’re annoying.”

Ollie just grinned, resting a hip against the counter. “You love it.”

For some reason, that actually made Kimi fumble with the plate in his hands, nearly dropping it into the sink with a clatter. Ollie barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “Jeez, you’re jumpy tonight. Did I hit a nerve?”

Kimi shot him a look—sharp, unreadable—but instead of answering, he simply flicked water at him, turning back to his task.

Ollie laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll drop it. For now.”

But even as he grabbed another towel to help dry, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Kimi was hiding something—something that made his teasing land a little too close to home.

Ollie leaned against the counter, drying off a plate with slow, lazy movements. He wasn’t actually trying to be helpful—mostly, he was just watching Kimi. Not in any deep, meaningful way, just… observing.

Kimi was always so put together, so sharp-edged and composed, but tonight? Tonight, he seemed off. The little hesitations, the way he was gripping the sponge like it had personally wronged him, the way he kept his eyes down. Ollie wasn’t sure if it was just him picking up on it or if Kimi had been like this all day.

“So…” Ollie drawled, attempting to fill the quiet, “if it wasn’t to impress someone, was it just for me? Because I gotta say, if this was all for my benefit, I’m pretty flattered.”

Kimi scoffed, finally looking up, meeting Ollie’s gaze with something dangerously close to exasperated fondness. “No.”

“That’s not a no.” Ollie grinned, leaning in slightly. “You could just admit it, you know. Tell me you wanted to look pretty for me.”

Kimi let out a slow breath, tilting his head, staring at him. And for a second—just a second—Ollie felt something shift, something quiet but heavy.

Then Kimi rolled his eyes and turned back to the sink. “I look pretty every day.”

Ollie laughed, reaching over to steal the last wet dish from Kimi’s hands before he could finish washing it. “Can’t argue with that.”

Kimi didn’t respond, just wiped his hands on a dish towel, his movements a little slower, a little more deliberate than before.

Ollie barely had time to register Kimi moving before a firm hand landed on his waist, guiding him a step back against the counter.

“You’re blocking my way,” Kimi murmured, voice smooth—calm, but firm.

Ollie blinked up at him, momentarily caught off guard. Kimi wasn’t short, but he also wasn’t usually the one who took up space like this. He had this way of existing—sharp but quiet, all presence and no pressure. Except now, Kimi was right there, standing close enough that Ollie could smell whatever expensive cologne he used, close enough that the warmth of him seemed to seep into his skin.

“Oh—uh,” Ollie started, gripping the counter to steady himself. His brain short-circuited for a moment, unsure whether to step aside or stay right where he was.

Kimi didn’t give him much of a choice. He leaned in slightly, reaching past him to grab a dish towel left on the counter. The movement pulled him in closer, his chest brushing against Ollie’s for half a second, long enough that Ollie felt it.

Ollie’s breath hitched. His first instinct was to joke—to say something about how Kimi could’ve just asked him to move—but the words caught in his throat, swallowed by the sudden heat of the moment.

“You good?” Kimi asked, his voice softer now, but still holding that effortless authority. Like he knew exactly what he was doing, exactly what kind of effect he had.

Ollie exhaled, blinking himself back into reality. His pulse was racing, but for some reason, he just nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

Kimi held his gaze for a second longer, something unreadable in his eyes, before stepping back, giving Ollie just enough space to breathe again. “Good,” he said simply, before turning away like nothing had happened.

Ollie stayed frozen against the counter for a second longer, trying to figure out why his whole body felt like it had melted.

The warmth of the kitchen faded into the soft glow of the living room, time slipping by without much notice. At some point, Ollie had ended up lounging against the couch, scrolling through a fashion website with Kimi beside him, their laptop balanced between them. The screen’s glow flickered across their faces as Ollie mindlessly clicked through the options, half-focused, half-amused.

“This is so ugly,” Ollie snorted, stopping on a particularly questionable designer jacket. “Why does it look like someone skinned a couch and called it fashion?”

He barely waited for a response before moving on, clicking through pages at random. The search wasn’t serious—just something to do, another way to fill the time. His knee bounced slightly as he scrolled, occasionally pausing to give a particularly harsh critique of a piece before moving on.

Then, something caught his eye. “Oh, wait—this, though.” He clicked on a sleek, well-fitted leather jacket, nodding in approval. “This would suit you. You already dress like some rich villain half the time, might as well embrace it.”

Kimi’s response was immediate, dry but amused. “You just want an excuse to call me hot.”

Ollie scoffed, shoving him lightly. “I do not.”

He turned his attention back to the screen, ignoring whatever teasing look Kimi was probably giving him. He didn’t need to entertain that. Not when there were way more important things—like figuring out why half these designer pieces cost as much as a small house.

Ollie kept scrolling, still shaking his head at the outrageous price tags. “Seriously, who buys this stuff? Do you know how many steaks I could get for the price of this one shirt?”

Kimi hummed beside him, clearly more entertained by Ollie’s reactions than the clothes themselves. “That depends. Are we talking cheap steak or Wagyu?”

Ollie shot him an unimpressed look. “That is not the point.”

He flicked past a few more options, barely registering them before something else caught his eye. A sweater—soft-looking, oversized, a muted shade of blue that he didn’t realize he liked until now. Without thinking, he clicked on it, tilting his head slightly.

“This is nice,” he muttered, more to himself than anything. He could already imagine how comfortable it would be, how easy it’d be to throw on after training or on a lazy morning.

“You should get it,” Kimi said smoothly, leaning in just a little.

Ollie hesitated, glancing at him. “It’s kind of expensive…”

Kimi made a dismissive noise. “So? You’ll wear it, won’t you?”

Ollie frowned, still unsure, but before he could think too hard about it, Kimi was already reaching over, adding it to the cart with an effortless click.

“There. Now you have to.”

Ollie blinked at him. “Did you just peer-pressure me into buying a sweater?”

Kimi smirked. “I just helped you make a decision.”

Ollie groaned, but there was no real frustration behind it. If anything, he was starting to think Kimi had a way of making things seem easier—of guiding things without making it obvious. It was a little unfair, how naturally he did it.

Still, Ollie couldn’t be too mad. He did really want the sweater.

Ollie sighed, accepting his fate as he begrudgingly clicked the checkout button. “You’re the worst,” he muttered, though he didn’t actually sound annoyed.

Kimi leaned back against the couch, looking far too smug. “You’re welcome.”

Ollie rolled his eyes, but his attention quickly shifted when Kimi scrolled further down the page. A matching pair of sweatpants popped up, the same soft blue as the sweater. Ollie hesitated, then pointed. “Wait, those look kinda nice.”

Kimi glanced at him, then back at the screen. Without asking, he clicked on them, adding them to the cart just as effortlessly as before. “Might as well get the full set.”

Ollie let out an incredulous laugh. “Are you trying to drain my bank account?”

Kimi smirked, stretching his arms behind his head. “You don’t have to buy them. But if you don’t, you’re gonna regret it the second you put the sweater on and realize you want the whole thing.”

Ollie hated how easily Kimi read him. It was annoying—unfair, even—but also… kind of nice?

He stared at the screen for a moment, then sighed dramatically. “Fine. But if I starve, I’m blaming you.”

Kimi let out a low chuckle. “You won’t starve. Worst case, I’ll buy you dinner.”

Ollie narrowed his eyes at him. “You say that like you actually know how to order for someone else.”

Kimi raised a brow. “I know what you like.”

Ollie scoffed, but before he could argue, Kimi casually listed off three of his favorite meals—exactly how he liked them.

Ollie stared, caught completely off guard. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

Kimi smirked. “Told you.”

Ollie didn’t know what to say to that, so he just clicked the checkout button again, trying not to think too hard about the way his face suddenly felt warm.

Chapter Text

Kimi wished he could melt into his car and never leave. Maybe he’d come out if he crashed, or maybe if Ollie showed up with food—but otherwise, he wanted to exist nowhere else. Every part of him ached to live and breathe racing, to pour himself into the machine and become one with it.

He loved this sport. At times, it felt more like an addiction than a career. The rush of speed, the precise dance of control and chaos, the electric thrill of an overtake—it consumed him. And when someone took that position back, when the fight was thrown right back at him, it only made him hungrier.

There was something primal about it, something that clawed at his chest and kept him coming back. The car was the only place where his mind went quiet, where the noise of the world faded and all that mattered was the next corner, the next second, the next move.

And maybe that was the problem. Because outside of the car, everything felt too loud, too complicated—too real.

The adrenaline never truly left his system, even long after the race was over. It lingered in his veins, keeping him wired, making his hands twitch like they were still gripping the wheel. He could still hear the roar of the engine, feel the vibrations through his body. But the moment he stepped out of the car, it was like stepping into a different world—one he wasn’t sure he belonged to.

The paddock was a blur of voices, reporters, flashing cameras, and the lingering scent of burnt rubber. His body ached, exhaustion creeping in now that the rush was fading, but his mind refused to slow down. Every past lap replayed in his head, every mistake, every near-miss, every move he could have done differently.

Kimi had his own routine, but at that moment, all he could focus on was the scent of something warm and sweet drifting toward him.

He turned his head and, unsurprisingly, found Ollie standing there, a paper bag in hand, looking far too pleased with himself. “Breakfast delivery,” Ollie announced, shaking the bag slightly.

Kimi took the bag carefully, like it was something precious. Which—well, if it was from Ollie, wasn’t it? He peeked inside, and the scent of vanilla washed over him, warm and sweet, just like the person who made them.

“Beignets?” he murmured, barely looking at the pastries because his eyes kept flickering back up to Ollie’s face—the soft curve of his smile, the way his hair curled at the ends, how his eyes always seemed so bright, like they caught every stray bit of light and reflected it back.

Ollie nodded, shifting on his feet. “Stole the recipe from Esteban. Had to make it work with your whole calorie thing, though. No idea if they’ll actually taste good.”

'Your whole calorie thing…’

Kimi forced a small smile, trying to focus on the effort Ollie had put into making the beignets rather than the way his words sat uncomfortably in his chest. He knew Ollie didn’t mean anything by it—he wasn’t being cruel, wasn’t mocking him. He just didn’t get it.

Ollie had always carried himself with an ease Kimi envied. He never seemed to think twice about what he ate, never lingered on numbers or measurements. If he was hungry, he ate. If he wasn’t, he didn’t. It was that simple. Kimi wished it could be that simple for him, too.

He looked down at the beignet in his hand, the vanilla scent still thick in the air. It was small, perfectly portioned, made with him in mind. Ollie had put effort into adjusting the recipe, had cared enough to make sure it wouldn’t throw off his diet. That was what mattered, right? Not the way his skin crawled at the mention of calories. Not the way his brain twisted everything into a battle.

Ollie nudged him lightly, pulling him back to the present. “You gonna eat it or just stare at it?”

Kimi exhaled through his nose, shaking off the thoughts. He took a bite, chewing slowly, letting the sweetness settle on his tongue. It was good. Of course it was good. Ollie had made it.

“Not bad,” Kimi said, voice even.

Ollie groaned dramatically. “Mate, the betrayal.”

Kimi almost laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. Ollie didn’t get it, but maybe he didn’t have to. Maybe it was enough that he cared.

Ollie rolled his eyes but grinned anyway, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter. “Not bad, he says. You’re lucky I like you, Antonelli, or I’d be taking these back.”

Kimi’s lips twitched, something dangerously close to fondness creeping up before he could stop it. “You wouldn’t.”

Ollie huffed. “Try me.”

Kimi raised the half-eaten beignet in challenge, taking another slow, deliberate bite while holding Ollie’s gaze. The second it disappeared into his mouth, Ollie gasped, dramatically clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded.

“You absolute menace.” Ollie shook his head, exasperated but clearly entertained. “I slave away in the kitchen, crafting the perfect beignet, and this is the thanks I get? ‘Not bad’ and a smug look?”

Kimi swallowed, tilting his head slightly. “You expected me to fall at your feet in gratitude?”

Ollie grinned, shrugging. “Would’ve been nice.”

Kimi hated how easy it was for Ollie to make him smile, how effortlessly he fit into his space like he belonged there. He hated how much he liked it.

Instead of responding, he reached for another beignet, only for Ollie to swat his hand away. “Uh-uh. Not until you admit they’re good.”

Kimi arched a brow. “So now you’re holding them hostage?”

“Desperate times, Kimi.” Ollie smirked, eyes bright with mischief. “Desperate times.”

Kimi sighed, shaking his head with a feigned look of suffering before giving in. “Fine. They’re good.”

Ollie grinned triumphantly and pushed the plate toward him. “See? Was that so hard?”

Kimi didn’t answer. He was too busy pretending he wasn’t completely, hopelessly soft for him.

Just as Kimi was about to grab another beignet—if only to keep his mouth occupied so he didn’t accidentally say something embarrassing—two all-too-familiar voices shattered the moment.

“There he is! Our favorite test-tube baby!”

Kimi barely had time to react before George and Alex swept into the room like a storm. George, with his usual effortless chaos, was already reaching for a beignet before Kimi could stop him.

“Hey—” Kimi started, but George was faster.

“God, these are amazing,” George said through a mouthful, eyes wide in delight. “Ollie, mate, why are you wasting your talents on him?”

Alex snickered as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Yeah, really. You could be feeding people who actually appreciate it.”

Kimi shot them both a flat look, but George only grinned at him, nudging his shoulder. “Speaking of appreciation… you wanna tell us why you’ve been looking at Ollie like he’s the beignet?”

Ollie, still blissfully unaware, busied himself with tidying up, completely missing the way Kimi’s entire body tensed.

Alex, never one to let an opportunity slip, smirked. “Oh, come on, it’s so obvious. You’ve been all heart-eyes this whole time.”

Kimi glared at them both, heat creeping up his neck. “I have not.”

George made a dramatic show of looking between Kimi and Ollie. “Yeah, okay. So if I just went and told Ollie right now—”

Kimi grabbed his arm in a vice grip before he could take a step, eyes dark with warning. “Don’t.”

George burst into laughter. “Oh, you’re so gone.”

Alex clapped a hand on Kimi’s back. “It’s cute, really. Kind of pathetic, but cute.”

Kimi groaned, running a hand down his face. “You’re both insufferable.”

George smirked, snatching another beignet. “And yet, here we are. Now come on, lover boy, you’ve got a race to focus on.”

As they dragged him away, Kimi risked one last glance at Ollie, who was still completely oblivious, humming to himself as he made his way to Haas.

Yeah. Kimi was in trouble.

He was sandwiched between Alex and George, the two of them flanking him as they walked down the paddock, far enough from prying eyes but close enough that Kimi knew they weren’t letting him leave until they had thoroughly embarrassed him.

George was still chewing on the stolen beignet like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted, while Alex had his hands shoved into his pockets, glancing at Kimi every few seconds with that signature knowing smirk. Kimi was scowling, arms crossed so tightly against his chest he could practically feel his own heartbeat hammering.

“I can’t believe you,” Kimi muttered, shaking his head.

George, still chewing, patted his shoulder. “You’ll live.”

Kimi shot him a glare. “You stole my dessert.”

George grinned. “Yeah, but I also stole your dignity, so I think we’re even.”

Alex snorted, bumping into Kimi’s side. “Oh, please, like you weren’t going to just sit there making moon eyes at Ollie all day instead of focusing on the race.”

Kimi groaned, rubbing his temples. “I don’t make—moon eyes. Eh, whatever that means.”

Alex and George shared a look, something unspoken passing between them before they both broke into identical amused expressions.

“Mate,” George said, slinging an arm around Kimi’s shoulders, “you absolutely do. It’s embarrassing.”

Kimi stiffened under the touch, huffing. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh? Then what is it like?” Alex prompted, a teasing lilt in his voice.

Kimi opened his mouth, then closed it again. He didn’t have a good answer, not one they would accept, anyway. Because he didn’t know what it was like. It was frustrating, confusing, and, frankly, terrifying. Being seen by someone is so petrifying.

Alex and George seemed to sense his hesitation, and for once, their teasing softened.

Alex nudged him lightly. “You ever actually… y’know, liked a guy before?”

Kimi hesitated. He wanted to say yes, wanted to have a definite answer, but the truth was far more complicated.

“Not besides celebrities,” he admitted, voice quieter. “Not like this at least.”

George whistled. “That bad, huh?”

Kimi groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I hate you both.”

Alex laughed. “No, you don’t.”

They walked in silence for a bit, the noise of the paddock distant, drowned out by Kimi’s thoughts. It wasn’t until Alex spoke again that Kimi realized just how weirdly quiet George had gone.

“Y’know,” Alex said casually, “I get it.”

Kimi looked at him, brow furrowed. “Get what?”

Alex shrugged. “That whole—figuring yourself out thing. Took me a while, too.”

George hummed in agreement, arms crossed. “Yeah. It’s a process.”

Kimi blinked at them. “Wait. You two?”

Alex and George exchanged a glance, and suddenly, Kimi wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating or not, because there was something—something—in the way they looked at each other. It wasn’t obvious, but it was there, in the lingering eye contact, the way Alex’s lips twitched like he was holding back a smirk, the way George tilted his head, watching Alex out of the corner of his eye.

Kimi narrowed his eyes. “Are you two…?”

Alex chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “No.”

George choked, “He’s taken.”

Alex sighed dramatically. “George is annoying, and I have good taste in men, and well woman.”

George clutched his chest in mock offense. “Oh, please. You’re obsessed with me.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “See? The twenty missed calls I get from you say otherwise.”

Kimi squinted at them. He wasn’t sure whether to be horrified, impressed, or completely confused. Maybe all three.

“You’re joking,” he finally said.

Kimi wasn’t sure what to do with this information. He felt like he’d just been let in on some inside joke he wasn’t sure he understood yet.

“So…” he started hesitantly, looking between them. “How did you know?”

George raised a brow. “Know what?”

“That you were… y’know.” Kimi waved a vague hand. “Not straight.”

Alex laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, mate. That’s a long story.”

Kimi crossed his arms. “I’ve got time.”

George hummed, tilting his head. “I don’t think there was ever, like, one moment. It’s not like in movies where you have some dramatic realization. More like… little things adding up.”

Alex nodded. “Yeah. For me, it was just—realizing that I looked at guys the same way I looked at girls. And then one day it just clicked.”

Kimi frowned. “But what if it doesn’t click? What if you just… never know?”

Alex’s expression softened. “Then that’s okay too.”

George nodded. “It’s not a race, mate. You don’t have to have it all figured out.”

Kimi looked down, feeling something tight in his chest. He wasn’t used to talking about this, wasn’t used to thinking about it, not in a way that made it feel real. But here, with them, it felt… okay. Not as scary.

Kimi felt the weight of Alex’s hand on his shoulder, a comforting pressure that somehow felt like too much and just the right amount all at once. He didn’t flinch, even though he wanted to. His body had learned to shy away from too much touch, but with Alex, it felt different—warmer, softer. Almost safe. Kimi tried to focus on that warmth, trying to ignore the way his thoughts started spiraling again.

The conversation had taken a turn that made his insides twist uncomfortably. They were talking about it—being gay, being different in a world that didn’t exactly welcome difference with open arms. But the way Alex and George spoke about it, as if it was a simple fact of their lives, made Kimi feel so far away from understanding. The two of them seemed to wear their identities like a second skin, something they didn’t have to fight for every second of the day.

Alex, the confident, laid-back, perfectly comfortable-with-who-he-was Alex—he had made it look easy.

And George, with his calm smirk and smooth charisma—he had the same effortless air about it. It was like they had this secret that Kimi had been chasing for so long but couldn't seem to find. He was trying, he really was, but the puzzle pieces never quite fit.

Kimi wanted to ask them how they did it, how they lived with it so freely. How could they exist in a world that, for him, felt so overwhelming? The racing world wasn’t forgiving, and Kimi wasn’t sure if he had the strength to be open about that part of himself.

There were nights when he laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, suffocating under the weight of his own thoughts. He didn’t want to be like this. He didn’t want to feel like a freak, to feel like he was pretending to be something he wasn’t. He wanted to fit into the world the way George and Alex seemed to, with their nonchalant confidence. But instead, he begged the universe to let it be a phase. A phase where he could just like girls like everyone else. Where he could pretend that none of these feelings existed, that it was just a passing thought, something easily shaken off.

But it wasn’t. And Kimi hated it.

He hated that every time he looked at Ollie, his chest tightened in ways that felt far too unfamiliar. He hated that he couldn't stop thinking about him, about the way Ollie’s smile made his insides go soft, and how every conversation felt like a little win for his heart.

Kimi cleared his throat, trying to shake off the weight of the moment. He didn’t want to admit to himself, let alone to anyone else, just how much he felt whenever Ollie was around. The growing tension in his chest felt like a knot he couldn’t untangle, and for the first time in a long while, Kimi didn’t know how to push it away.

“Well,” Kimi started, his voice steady but distant as he took a step back, feeling the familiar rush of his racing instincts return. “I’ll see you both after the race,” he said, offering a forced grin. It didn’t feel real. He couldn’t make it feel real. It was easier this way.

Alex nodded, and Kimi could see the understanding in his eyes, but he didn’t push. George gave him a quick thumbs-up, his usual carefree expression hiding something Kimi couldn’t quite put a finger on.

With a quick wave, Kimi turned on his heel, the cool air hitting his face as he stepped away from the room. He needed space. He needed to focus. His mind was already running a thousand miles ahead, preparing for the race, preparing for what he knew would be another exhausting battle for control. But the thought of Ollie lingered, like a whisper in his ear.

Kimi tried to focus on the race, on the track, but his mind kept circling back to that smile, to the way his heart fluttered when Ollie looked at him like he did—like maybe, just maybe, there was something more there. He couldn’t think about it. Not now. Not yet.

With a deep breath, Kimi shut the door behind him, taking one last glance toward the hallway where Alex and George were still talking, their voices muffled. For a moment, he allowed himself to feel something—anything—before the weight of the race, of the expectations, came crashing back down.

The moment ended as quickly as it came.

Kimi was alone again. And the race was waiting.

The engine roared beneath him, a familiar hum that settled deep in his bones. In the car, Kimi felt free. It was the one place where everything made sense—where his hands, his reflexes, his instincts dictated the outcome. Here, control wasn’t some fragile illusion; it was real. The outside world, with all its questions, all its expectations, all its prying eyes, didn’t matter.  

Sure, people were watching his every move, scrutinizing every sector time, every overtake, every mistake. But in the car, he decided what they saw. He controlled the narrative. The only thing that mattered was the race, the next turn, the perfect lap. Nothing else could touch him here.  

Kimi tightened his grip on the wheel, his mind sharpening as he rolled up to his grid slot. The lights overhead gleamed against his visor, a heartbeat away from release. The outside world faded, his focus tunneling down to this moment, this start, this race. The only thing that existed was the track stretching ahead of him.

Kimi’s grip on the wheel was firm, steady. The moment the lights went out, he reacted on pure instinct, launching off the line with the precision of a machine. The tires gripped the asphalt perfectly, propelling him forward as if the car itself had been waiting for this moment just as eagerly as he had.

He darted to the inside, threading the needle between two cars that had bogged down at the start. His reflexes were razor-sharp, anticipating every movement of the drivers ahead before they even made them. The engine roared beneath him, vibrations running up his arms as he nudged the throttle, adjusting his trajectory with the finest of inputs.

By the first corner, he had already gained two positions. He barely had time to register it before the next turn came hurtling toward him. Braking just before the limit, he smoothly guided the car through the apex, his tires kissing the curb at just the right angle. He felt it in his bones—this was going to be his best race yet.

Every movement felt effortless, like he and the car were one. His mind was clear, free of the usual noise that clouded his head outside the cockpit. Here, in this moment, he had absolute control. The weight of expectations, of media scrutiny, of his own thoughts—none of it existed here. Just him, the car, and the track.

His engineer’s voice crackled in his ear. “Great start, Kimi. P8 already. Keep this pace.”

P8. Already? He barely processed it. His eyes locked onto the next car ahead, calculating his next move before he even finished his current one.

George in front was struggling for grip, and Kimi could see the slight corrections they had to make on exit. That was his opportunity. He stuck close, using the slipstream to his advantage, and as soon as they reached the next braking zone, he dove to the inside. His tires clung to the tarmac, and by the time george exited the corner, he was ahead.

His heart pounded, but it wasn’t from nerves. It was adrenaline, the pure rush of competition. Every battle, every perfectly executed overtake fueled him further.

The laps blurred together in a perfect rhythm. Brake, turn, throttle. Repeat. Each move felt like second nature. It wasn’t just a race anymore; it was a dance, and Kimi was leading it flawlessly.

Then came the real challenge. The top five.

Oscar wasn’t going to make it easy. Defending aggressively, they shut the door every time Kimi tried to line up a move. But he wasn’t frustrated. He was patient. He studied them, waiting for a mistake, a gap, anything.

And then—there it was.

A fraction of a second too wide on exit. Kimi seized the chance, launching himself alongside. They went wheel-to-wheel, mere inches separating them as they barreled down the straight. His pulse was steady, his grip unyielding. He had the inside line. He had them.

A clean pass. P5.

His engineer’s voice came through again, barely cutting through his focus. “Great move, Kimi. Eyes forward.”

Eyes forward. Always forward.

His tires were still in great condition, and the team had nailed the strategy. Every decision, every call—it was all lining up. His mind was locked in. His body was in perfect sync with the machine around him.

With every lap, he edged closer to the leaders. Another driver fell victim to his relentless pursuit, and then another. Suddenly, the podium was within reach.

P3.

The thought barely settled in his mind before the radio crackled again—this time, with something different

One moment, everything was smooth—his car was in perfect rhythm, every move instinctual. The next, his eyes flicked up ahead, and his stomach dropped.

“Kimi, there’s been a crash.”

His entire body stiffened. He barely heard the details, but one word stood out among the static in his head.

Ollie.

Doohan and Ollie. Too close. Too fast.

The collision was inevitable.

Kimi’s fingers tightened around the wheel, his breath coming shorter. No, not now. Not during the best race of his season. Not during the one moment he finally felt untouchable.

His eyes darted to the massive screens around the circuit. For a split second, he saw it. Kimi barely had time to process before the impact. Doohan’s Alpine clipped Ollie’s rear tire, and immediately, the car snapped sideways. Time stretched painfully as Kimi watched, helpless, as Ollie’s car spun out, smoke billowing from the tires before slamming violently into the barriers, front-first.

His stomach twisted violently.

The sound of the crash echoed through his radio, but the ringing in his ears drowned everything else out. His engineer’s tone was sharp, trying to anchor him, but it felt distant, like a voice underwater.

His hands clenched around the wheel, breath stuck in his throat. The wreck was right there, flashing past him as he sped by, unable to stop, unable to do anything. His instincts screamed at him to slam the brakes, to pull over, to—

His engineer’s voice came in, steady, professional. “Yellow flag, Kimi. Medical team is deploying.”

Kimi exhaled sharply, but it did nothing to settle the panic clawing at his chest. He had seen crashes before. Been in them. But this—this was Ollie.

He blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the track ahead, but his mind was still back there, back with the wreckage.

“Do we have anything? Is he moving?” His voice wasn’t steady.

“Stand by.”

That wasn’t enough.

Kimi sucked in a breath, forcing his hands to steady. Focus. He couldn’t do anything from here. The best thing—the only thing—he could do was finish the race.

He forced his grip to relax—just a little. Forced his breathing to steady, even as panic clawed at the edges of his focus. He could still win this.

He had to win this.

The race wasn’t over, but for Kimi, it might as well have been. His mind was split between the track and the last thing he saw—Ollie’s car, crumpled against the barriers, smoke curling from the wreck.

His grip on the wheel was vice-like, knuckles white as he forced himself to focus. Keep driving. Keep control. But how was he supposed to when he didn’t even know if Ollie was—

No. Don’t think like that.

He swallowed hard, eyes flicking to the pit wall as he passed. They knew. They had information, but no one was telling him anything.

His radio crackled again. “Kimi, we need you to focus.”

He was focused. He was driving. But his head was screaming at him to turn the car around, to ignore the race entirely and find out if Ollie was okay. He’d never felt this kind of panic before—this deep, gut-twisting need to know

His engineer’s voice returned, calm as ever. “Ollie’s in the medical car.”

That should’ve made him feel better. It didn’t.

Instead, the relief was cut with fresh anxiety. If they had to bring the medical car out, it wasn’t just a small impact.

He squeezed his eyes shut for half a second, inhaling sharply before taking the next turn. His sector times were still strong—he was still fighting, still in third.

But his mind was not in the race.

Then, Toto piped in.

“Kimi.”

Kimi exhaled sharply. It wasn’t a shock, but it was grounding. Toto wasn’t his engineer, but he was someone who trusted Kimi. Someone he talked to outside of racing. Someone who wouldn’t sugarcoat things.

“You’re still with me?” Toto asked, his voice steady, controlled. It wasn’t a question meant to be answered with instinct, not something Kimi could brush off with a careless nod. It was grounding, an anchor against the storm raging inside his head.

Kimi forced a nod before realizing that wasn’t enough. He had to speak, had to confirm that he was still in the car, still in the race. “Yeah,” he managed, but his voice didn’t sound like his own. It felt distant, like his body was moving on autopilot while his mind was somewhere else—somewhere by the wreckage of Ollie’s car, waiting for him to climb out.

There was a pause, just long enough for Kimi’s pulse to hammer against his ribs.

“He’s nineteen,” Kimi muttered suddenly, his voice tight with something that sat between anger and fear. His knuckles ached from how hard he was gripping the wheel. 

“I know,” Toto said evenly. “And know you're eighteen. So listen to me carefully.”

Kimi’s grip flexed around the wheel, fingers trembling despite the heat of his gloves. He had to listen.

"He’s in the medical car. He’s being taken care of. You cannot help him from where you are.”

Kimi inhaled sharply through his nose.

“What you can do,” Toto continued, voice unwavering, “is finish this race. Win this race.”

It was said so simply, like it was obvious. Like it was inevitable.

But it wasn’t about the race anymore. It was about doing something. He couldn’t sit still, couldn’t let his helplessness swallow him whole. If he couldn’t be there with Ollie, if he couldn’t know for sure that he was okay, then he could at least win. He could at least make sure this wasn’t for nothing.

Every turn was sharper. Every sector faster. Every overtake precise and merciless. He wasn’t driving with strategy anymore—he was driving on pure instinct, on desperation. If he couldn’t see Ollie, then he had to feel something else. The track, the speed, the one thing he could control.

By the time the checkered flag waved, he was across the line—P1. His first win.

And all he cared about was getting out of the damn car and finding Ollie.

The moment Kimi pulled into parc fermé, everything around him felt like white noise. The cheers, the applause, the flashing cameras—it all blended together into something distant, something unimportant. His hands trembled as he unbuckled his harness, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath his suit. His heart wasn’t racing from victory. It was racing because he still didn’t know if Ollie was okay.

He barely registered the team around him as he climbed out of the car. Hands clapped against his back, congratulatory words were thrown in his direction, but they didn’t stick. His helmet felt suffocating, trapping in every frantic thought. The second he pulled it off, he scanned the pit lane, eyes darting past the celebrating mechanics and rival drivers.

“Where is he?” Kimi asked, his voice raw, strained from the chaos of the race and the anxious adrenaline still coursing through his veins. His heart wouldn’t stop pounding, each beat sending a wave of panic through his chest.

Someone—his race engineer, he thought—placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, the touch grounding him, even if only for a moment. “Medical center. We’ll take you as soon as you’re cleared.”

Cleared. The word didn’t sit right with him, felt too sterile, too distant from what mattered. Media, podium, debriefs—all the things that suddenly felt so trivial, so meaningless. All of it was just a barrier between him and the one thing he cared about right now—Ollie.

Kimi took a deep breath, forcing the frustration and the panic down. He didn’t have time to indulge in it—not now. He nodded stiffly, his gaze shifting briefly over the crew and the buzzing atmosphere around him. The faster I get through this, he thought, the faster I can leave.

And then, suddenly, a microphone was in his face.

“You must be over the moon, Kimi!” the interviewer said, beaming. “Your first Formula 1 win—how does it feel?”

Kimi blinked. He could feel the sweat still clinging to his skin, the rapid hammering of his pulse against his throat. How did it feel? Wrong. Like there was a weight in his chest that not even victory could lift.

He swallowed, forcing himself to look somewhere near the camera but not at it. “It’s… good,” he said, the words coming out stiff, mechanical. “Really good race.”

The interviewer chuckled, seemingly mistaking his tension for nerves. “It certainly was! You kept a blistering pace in those final laps. What was going through your head?”

Kimi exhaled sharply through his nose. “Just… keeping it clean. Keeping it fast.” He paused, fingers tightening around the edge of his gloves. Not thinking about Ollie’s crash.

The interviewer didn’t seem satisfied, but before they could push further, another question was fired at him. “And of course, a lot of fans noticed your reaction after the red flag. There seemed to be a moment where—”

Kimi clenched his jaw. He knew what they were getting at. Knew the cameras had probably caught the way his hands had shaken, the way his voice had cracked through the radio. He knew they’d seen how his first instinct wasn’t to celebrate but to find Ollie.

He forced himself to breathe, shifting his weight slightly. “I saw the crash,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “Didn’t look good.”

The interviewer tilted their head, reading between the lines. “Is that what pushed you to fight even harder?”

Kimi hesitated. Then, finally, he nodded.

Kimi sighed heavily, the weight of the race still pressing on his shoulders. "I think I was more worried for Ollie than I was about winning, mate," he confessed, his voice softer than usual, almost distant. "I mean, I'm worried for Jack too, don't get me wrong. But Ollie... Ollie is my..." He hesitated, his teeth briefly sinking into the side of his lip as he tried to find the right words.

His gaze drifted, his thoughts swirling. "Friend," he finally muttered, as if the word alone was a heavy burden. "He means a lot to me. If he got hurt... I’d be upset. Really upset."

There was a vulnerability in Kimi’s words that was rarely seen, a raw honesty that had nothing to do with the race itself, but everything to do with what mattered most.

Kimi let out a quiet breath, trying to push the thoughts back to the back of his mind, but it was impossible. The image of Ollie’s car, spinning out of control, kept flashing in his mind, like an unwanted replay. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake it off. The adrenaline of the race was fading, but the worry... that wasn’t going anywhere.

The journalist, sensing his discomfort, pressed on. “You’ve had a lot of success this season, Kimi. But there’s clearly a different weight to today’s win, isn’t there?”

Kimi blinked, his focus snapping back to the present. He had expected questions about the race, his performance, but not this. The question was loaded with something more personal, more revealing.

“Yeah, I guess,” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’ve been racing for a long time, and it’s always been about the drive, the challenge. But today… it’s different.”

The journalist leaned in slightly, nodding as if they understood. “I get that. And it’s clear to anyone watching that you’re a lot more than just a teammate to Ollie. Your connection with him—it's obvious.”

Kimi shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with how much truth was packed into their words. He could feel the tension building in his chest. His fingers tightened around the edge of the table, as if grounding himself. The last thing he wanted was to be analyzed in front of the media.

“I mean, we’ve been through a lot together,” Kimi said after a beat, voice softening. “He’s a good guy. A strong driver. And we’ve been working alongside each other for... a long time now.”

The journalist smiled, sensing that Kimi was choosing his words carefully. “It seems like you care about him more than just a colleague.”

Kimi hesitated. He wasn’t sure what to say, how to even approach this topic. He wasn’t ready to put any labels on what he felt. And he sure as hell wasn’t prepared to talk about it under the public’s microscope.

“I care about him, yeah,” Kimi said, his tone firm but not defensive. “But that’s all. Just... I care.”

The journalist didn’t press any further. They simply nodded, giving Kimi space to gather his thoughts. The interview had taken an unexpected turn, and now the questions about the race seemed almost trivial in comparison to the more complicated emotions swirling in Kimi’s mind.

The sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway, signaling the approach of another member of the team, and the journalist glanced toward the door before focusing back on Kimi. “Well, you did great today. You’ve had an incredible season, and this win is a huge milestone for you.”

Kimi nodded, giving a short, tight smile. “Thanks. It means a lot to me.”

“Do you feel different now?” the journalist asked, pausing as if weighing the significance of their words. “Is this victory something more for you—something that goes beyond racing?”

Kimi leaned back in his chair again, trying to steady his racing thoughts. He stared at the floor for a moment, feeling the weight of everything he’d been holding back. His hands tightened around the edges of his seat, and he took a deep breath, unwilling to let the moment pass without acknowledging the shift that had happened inside him.

“I don’t know if it’s different, exactly,” Kimi said quietly, a small frown knitting his brow. “But it feels... important, yeah. There’s a lot of things happening right now, and it’s hard to explain. Sometimes, racing isn’t just about winning. It’s about everything that comes with it.”

The journalist smiled, clearly satisfied with his response, but Kimi was already far beyond the interview now. His mind was occupied with Ollie again, with how much he wanted to be by his side and how much he still had to manage in this whirlwind of emotions.

“Well, we’ll let you go to join your team,” the journalist said gently. “Congratulations again on the win, Kimi. We’ll talk more later.”

Kimi stood up, shaking their hand firmly before heading toward the door. As soon as he stepped into the hallway, he felt the tension from the interview melt away, but that nagging unease still lingered in the back of his mind. He couldn’t shake it. The only thing that mattered now was making sure Ollie was okay—and whether he could make it through the next few days without completely losing himself in his own confusion.

Kimi’s steps were hurried as he made his way through the team’s garage, the usual noise and chaos of post-race debriefs lost on him. The win, the race—it all felt distant now. His mind was only focused on one thing: Ollie. He couldn’t shake the image of the crash, the way it had unfolded on the track. The adrenaline from his victory felt hollow, and the excitement in the air seemed to dissipate as soon as the checkered flag waved.

His chest was tight, his mind spinning, and it wasn’t until he spotted Alex standing by the lockers that he felt a small sense of clarity. Alex was leaning against the wall, chatting with someone from the team, his usual easygoing demeanor present despite the pressure of the race.

Without thinking, Kimi pushed through the small crowd, his urgency making him more forceful than usual. His heart raced in time with his footsteps, and he didn’t even hesitate before grabbing Alex’s arm, pulling him away from the conversation.

Alex blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the intensity in Kimi’s touch. “Oi, what’s up?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Kimi didn’t respond immediately, his breath coming out in shallow bursts. He pulled Alex a bit further down the corridor, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the team. He could feel the tension in his body, the tightness that had settled deep in his chest, and it was only getting worse. Kimi stopped, his back to the wall, trying to ground himself. His pulse was erratic, and every part of him felt unsteady.

Alex’s face softened, concern flickering across his features. “Kimi?” he asked again, his voice quieter this time. “What’s going on? You’ve been off since the race.”

Kimi didn’t have the words. He tried to steady himself, but the pressure, the fear—it was suffocating. He couldn’t hold it together anymore. Without warning, he let out a strangled breath and collapsed forward, his head falling against Alex’s chest.

Alex was quick to react, his strong arms wrapping around Kimi instinctively, supporting him as he leaned into him. The rush of emotion overwhelmed Kimi, and all he could do was cling to Alex, his hands gripping at the fabric of his shirt.

“Kimi,” Alex said softly, his tone filled with concern as he gently pulled him closer, his hand rubbing soothing circles on Kimi’s back. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay.”

But Kimi couldn’t shake the feeling that everything wasn’t okay. His mind was still racing, torn between the high of his victory and the dread that had only intensified since Ollie’s crash. His body shook, and he hated how vulnerable he felt in this moment. He hated that he was falling apart in front of Alex.

“I—I don’t know,” Kimi whispered, his voice thick. He pulled away slightly to look up at Alex, eyes wide with something almost raw, desperate. “I can’t—can’t stop thinking about him. Ollie. What if he’s... what if he’s not okay?”

Alex didn’t answer immediately, just holding Kimi tightly for a few moments more. He could feel the tension rolling off Kimi, the way his heart was still pounding beneath the surface. After a beat, he spoke quietly, his voice calm and grounding.

“You did everything you could today,” Alex said softly, his grip firm. “You raced your heart out, Kimi. Ollie knows that. He’s strong, he’s gonna be okay.”

Kimi just shook his head, his mind still clouded with the fear of what might happen to Ollie. 

Alex gently pushed Kimi back slightly, making him look up at him. “Listen to me, okay? Ollie’s not going anywhere. And neither are you. But you’ve gotta let yourself breathe, mate.”

Kimi blinked rapidly, trying to force himself to take a deep breath, but his chest felt heavy, like he couldn’t get enough air. He swallowed thickly, trying to push the panic down. He had to pull it together. He didn’t want to be this vulnerable, didn’t want to feel like this in front of anyone, especially not Alex.

“I just… I don’t know what to do, Alex,” Kimi murmured, voice cracking slightly. “What if I’m too late?”

Alex’s grip tightened reassuringly. “You’re not too late,” he said firmly. “You’re here now. And that’s enough.”

Kimi exhaled shakily, nodding, but still feeling like there was something more, something he wasn’t saying. The weight in his chest wouldn’t ease, the worry still clawing at him from every direction. All he wanted was to see Ollie, to make sure he was okay, to make sure he hadn’t lost something—someone—that mattered more than he had ever been willing to admit.

But for now, he had Alex, and he wasn’t sure how long it had been since he let himself feel this... raw. This vulnerable. Maybe it was okay to let it all out, just for a moment.

After a few seconds, Kimi managed to pull back, wiping his eyes and forcing himself to stand taller, taking in the quiet around them. Alex didn’t let go of him just yet, but Kimi knew it was time to move on. Time to check on Ollie.

“Thanks, mate,” Kimi said quietly, his voice rough but sincere.

Alex gave him a small smile, clapping him on the back. “Anytime.”

Chapter Text

Kimi was the first person outside of Ollie’s family to step foot in the emergency room. Jack’s parents were already in his room, and Ollie still had a long while before he was cleared for visitors. The doctor had said he was shaken up. That was supposed to be reassuring, but it only made Kimi feel worse. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t by his side when it mattered most. The thought made his stomach twist, nausea creeping up his throat.

His hands were trembling as he walked up to the front desk, his fingers drumming impatiently against the counter. The receptionist looked up, startled by the sudden noise.

The receptionist looked up at him, her expression neutral but weary, as if she’d already had a long night. Her tone was polite, but there was an edge of exhaustion behind it as she asked, “Can I help you?”

Kimi nodded, maybe too quickly. His head was spinning, his body barely keeping up with the adrenaline still coursing through him. “Is Jack Doohan open for visitors?” His voice came out rougher than intended, strained from the hours of tension sitting in his chest.

The receptionist’s brow lifted slightly, no doubt recognizing him from the multiple times he’d come up asking about Ollie. He knew the answer by now, but it didn’t stop him from asking. Desperation made people stupid.

She hesitated before answering, offering a weak, almost sympathetic smile. “Yes, he is.”

Kimi exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he processed that. He should feel relieved that at least one of them was stable enough for visitors, but it only made his stomach churn more. Was it embarrassing? Being the only driver to show up? The only one pacing these halls, feeling like he was going to be sick every time he asked for Ollie?

Maybe it was. But he didn’t care.

Without another word, he turned and made his way toward Jack’s room, his steps heavy, his mind still stuck on Ollie.

Kimi barely had time to react before he collided straight into Mick Doohan, who was just stepping out of Jack’s room. The impact was sudden, and Kimi felt his face heat up as he scrambled for words.

“I—um—” He cleared his throat, forcing himself to sound more composed. “I’m gonna see Jack. Sorry.”

Mick gave him a nod, a firm pat on the shoulder before moving past him without another word. Behind him, Jack’s mother followed closely, her gaze lingering on Kimi for just a moment. There was something in her eyes that made his chest tighten—a rawness, a grief that hadn’t quite settled yet. She had been crying. Of course, she had. Her son had just been in a crash, and Kimi knew better than anyone how quickly those moments could turn from terrifying to tragic.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside Jack’s hospital room. The second Jack saw him, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Wrong room,” Jack mumbled, his voice still a little groggy. He gestured vaguely down the hall. “Ollie’s right—”

Kimi cut him off with a loud, exaggerated “Shhh,” the sound sharp enough to make Jack jolt slightly before blinking at him in bewilderment.

After a beat, Jack simply exhaled, blowing raspberries in response, as if that alone would chase away the tension in the air.

"I-I was worried about ollie. But your room was open first, I wanted to see you okay so maybe he would be too."

Jack blinked, clearly taken aback by Kimi’s sudden honesty. For a moment, the room felt heavier, the air thick with something unspoken. Kimi hadn’t meant to say it like that, hadn’t planned on letting that fear slip through, but now that it had, he couldn’t take it back.

Jack’s expression softened, just slightly, before he huffed out a breath. “At least he still has a seat.”

Kimi frowned at that, his stomach twisting. “Jack—”

“I’m serious,” Jack interrupted, leaning back against the pillows. There was a ghost of a smirk on his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I know how this works. I’m lucky if I even get another race.”

Kimi stayed quiet, jaw clenched. He hated this part of racing, the way everything felt so temporary, like they were all just waiting for the moment they were no longer useful.

Jack must’ve noticed his expression because he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Sorry. That was depressing as hell.”

Kimi shook his head. “It’s just… unfair.”

Jack gave him a look, something almost amused. “And since when has this sport ever been fair?”

That shut Kimi up. He didn’t have a good answer for that, because Jack was right. It had never been fair, and it never would be.

Alpine had poured a ridiculous amount of money into Franco, the previous Williams driver, grooming him to be the future of the team. Jack had always been a second option, a backup plan. Even now, after proving himself, it was obvious where Alpine’s priorities lay.

And to make matters worse, Jack’s contract only covered six races. Six. That was all he was guaranteed. After that, it was all up in the air, dependent on performances, team politics, and whatever Alpine decided they needed next.

A beat passed before Jack’s gaze flickered back to Kimi, more curious this time. “So… you were worried about me too, huh?”

Kimi rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched. “Shut up.”

Jack grinned, but the tiredness in his eyes was still there, lingering beneath the surface. “Seriously, though. I appreciate it. Even if you only came in here ‘cause Ollie’s room was closed.”

Kimi exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I would’ve come anyway.”

Jack blinked at that, surprised, before a slow, lopsided smile spread across his face. “Yeah?”

Kimi huffed, shoving Jack’s foot lightly through the blankets. “Yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Jack just laughed, the sound lighter than before, and for the first time since the crash, Kimi let himself breathe.

Kimi lowered himself into the chair beside Jack’s bed, resting his arms on the edge as he studied him. “How are you holding up?” he asked, biting the inside of his cheek before offering a small, hesitant smile.

Jack let out a short laugh, though it lacked any real humor. “Minor concussion. Nothing too bad.” He paused, then sighed. “I’m more worried about my career, honestly.”

Kimi expected the joke—expected Jack to brush it off like it wasn’t eating at him. But hearing it said out loud, even lightly, made his chest tighten. He’d never heard Jack voice that fear before, and somehow, that made it worse.

Kimi studied Jack’s face, searching for any sign that he wasn’t as worried as he sounded. But there was something in his eyes—something raw, unguarded. It wasn’t just a joke. It was real.

He exhaled sharply, dropping his gaze to the edge of the blanket. “They’d be stupid to let you go.”

Jack let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, well. Stupidity isn’t exactly rare in this sport.”

Kimi frowned. He hated how Jack had to think like this, how he had to constantly prove he deserved to be here when it should’ve been obvious. “You’ve done everything right,” he said, voice firm. “You’ve shown them you belong.”

Jack looked at him for a long moment before shaking his head with a small smirk. “Didn’t know you were such a fan.”

Kimi rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. “I just think it’s bullshit.”

Jack sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah. But it’s the reality. Franco’s their guy. I was always just filling space.”

Kimi clenched his fists. Alpine had put an absurd amount of money and effort into Franco, their golden boy. Jack had never been more than a placeholder in their eyes, no matter how much talent he had.

Jack must’ve noticed Kimi’s expression because he nudged him lightly. “Hey. Don’t look so grim. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“For now,” Kimi muttered before he could stop himself.

Jack arched a brow. “Damn, way to lift a guy’s spirits.”

Kimi groaned, rubbing his temples. “I just—I hate how easily they throw people aside.”

Jack hummed in agreement. “Welcome to F1.”

A silence settled between them, not exactly uncomfortable, but heavy.

After a moment, Jack sighed. “Honestly? I’m more pissed that this crash might make me miss a race. Six races, Kimi. That’s all I’ve got. Every single one matters.”

Kimi swallowed hard, knowing there was nothing he could say to fix that. He wasn’t going to feed Jack empty reassurances. Instead, he reached out, giving Jack’s arm a firm squeeze.

“You’re not done yet,” he said quietly.

Jack studied him for a second before nodding, a flicker of something grateful in his eyes. “Yeah. Not yet.”

Kimi placed a steady hand on Jack’s shoulder, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing soothing circles against his back. He didn’t miss the way Jack shivered at the touch, and for some reason, that made him laugh softly. Jack joined in, shaking his head, and for a moment, the tension lifted—just a little.

It wasn’t romantic, not even close. But it was something gentle, something grounding, despite everything that had happened.

A beat of silence passed before Jack spoke again. “Who got pole?”

Kimi blinked, caught off guard. His brows lifted slightly as he searched his own mind for the answer—then huffed out something between a scoff and a laugh when he realized.

He had won. His first win.

But all he could think about was Ollie’s DNF.

Kimi exhaled softly, his gaze dropping to his hands as if the answer might be written there. He shifted uncomfortably before muttering, “I, uh… I did.”

Jack’s face lit up immediately. “No way!” His voice shot up with excitement, eyes wide as he grinned at Kimi like he’d just won the championship. “Dude, that’s insane! Your first win? And you didn’t even mention it?”

Kimi felt warmth creeping up his neck, a flush spreading across his skin as he scratched at his jaw and quickly looked away. "Wasn't really thinking about it," he muttered, trying to dismiss the sudden discomfort.

Jack gawked at him like he’d just spoken a different language. “Not thinking about it? Kimi, you just won your first F1 race! That’s huge! We should be celebrating!”

Kimi shrugged, shifting in his seat. “Didn’t feel right.”

Jack’s excitement faltered just a little, his grin softening into something more understanding. “Because of Ollie?” he asked, his voice gentler now, as if he sensed the weight Kimi had been carrying.

Kimi swallowed, nodding once. His fingers tapped idly against the bed railing, restless. “Felt wrong to be happy when—when that happened.”

Jack huffed, shaking his head. “Mate, that’s exactly why you should be happy. If he were here, he’d be making this all about you. Probably throwing confetti in your face or some shit.”

Kimi couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh, because yeah, that sounded like Ollie. The thought of him being awake and well enough to do something so ridiculous made his chest ache.

Jack nudged him with his elbow. “Come on, man. At least let me be excited for you.”

Kimi rolled his eyes, but the redness on his cheeks betrayed him. “Fine.”

Jack smirked. “Good. Now tell me everything. Last I saw, you were barely in the top five. How the hell did you pull that off?”

Kimi sighed, shaking his head fondly as Jack’s enthusiasm took over. And for the first time since the race ended, he let himself talk about it.

Kimi couldn’t help himself. Once he started talking about the race, it was like a dam had broken. His words tumbled out in rapid succession as he replayed every corner, every overtake, and the sheer adrenaline of it all. He was in his element now, his excitement growing with every detail he gave.

"Man, I can't even begin to explain how perfect the car felt. Every turn, every brake, I had this insane rhythm with it. Like we were one. And the launch, I made up positions in the first couple laps like it was nothing. I had the pace—felt like I had everything under control, y'know? And then when I saw the gap open in front of me, I just knew I had to take it. Took the lead, held it till the end…" Kimi’s hands were moving as he spoke, gesturing like he was back in the cockpit, reliving those moments.

Jack sat back, eyes wide in pure admiration, clearly captivated by Kimi’s passion. He couldn’t help but smile, his affection for Kimi growing with every word, the way Kimi lit up talking about the race. It was impossible not to be drawn in.

Kimi kept going, his voice eager and animated, oblivious to the effect he was having on Jack. Finally, Jack interrupted with a chuckle, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“You know, I was here ranting about my problems in front of the fucking winner!” Jack exclaimed, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "I should’ve been taking notes instead of whining about my concussion.”

Kimi froze for a moment, then turned red, realizing just how much he'd been going on about it. His gaze shifted to the side, embarrassed but still smiling. "Well, uh… you needed to hear about it. You’ve been through a lot too, right?" he muttered, clearly flustered by Jack’s teasing.

“By a lot, you mean Alpine, then yeah," Jack said with a knowing look. "Sometimes I wonder if they put chips in my food so that when I mess up, they can just control me until they don’t need me.” He chuckled darkly, but it was a laugh that didn’t match his eyes.

Kimi raised an eyebrow, his own expression shifting from amusement to a bit of concern. "That bad?" he asked, his voice softening just a little as he leaned back in his chair. His usual sarcastic edge was gone, replaced with genuine curiosity.

Jack shifted uncomfortably in his bed, feeling the weight of Kimi’s question. "It’s just… It’s not that they’re evil or anything, but it feels like they have a way of making you feel like you’re always one step away from being replaced. You get so stuck in the routine that you forget who you are outside of racing." He laid his head back, clearly frustrated by the emotions that he hadn’t realized were still simmering beneath the surface.

“But you know, at least you’re in a team that actually values you, right? You’re at Mercedes—what a lucky duck!”

The compliment hit Kimi like a splash of cold water. He shifted uncomfortably, the idea of being “valued” at Mercedes not sitting quite right with him. He was used to working alone, being a bit of a rogue element, so the idea that his team was actively rooting for him in a way that didn’t come with strings attached was foreign.

Jack let out a sharp exhale, his fingers tapping restlessly against the metal railing of the hospital bed. “I don’t even know if I’m really being given a chance,” he admitted, voice quieter now, like saying it out loud made it more real. “Maybe it’s just to get other teams to see me, but…” He trailed off, frustration evident in the way he clenched his jaw.

His hand curled into a fist before he smacked the side of the bed, not hard, but enough to release some of the pent-up tension. “You know,” he muttered, looking away like he didn’t want to see Kimi’s reaction.

Kimi did know. That kind of helplessness—feeling like a pawn in someone else’s game, waiting for a chance that might never really come. He had his own seat, but there were days when the critics haunted him, like one wrong move could rip it all away.

For a moment, there was just silence. The faint beeping of Jack’s monitor, the distant hum of hospital staff moving through the halls. Kimi exhaled through his nose, then leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

“You’re good,” Kimi said finally, voice steady despite the weight behind it. “Teams see that. You just have to hold on long enough for the right person to notice.”

Jack huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Easier said than done, mate.”

Kimi smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, well. You’re still here, aren’t you?”

Jack tilted his head, considering Kimi’s words. He looked tired—more than just from the crash, more than the lingering effects of a concussion. It was the exhaustion of uncertainty, of feeling like no matter how hard he fought, he was still just treading water.

Jack tilted his head, considering Kimi’s words. He looked tired—more than just from the crash, more than the lingering effects of a concussion. It was the exhaustion of uncertainty, of feeling like no matter how hard he fought, he was still just treading water.

“Still here,” Jack echoed, his fingers flexing against the hospital sheets. “For now.”

Kimi frowned at that, straightening in his seat. “Don’t talk like that.”

Jack let out a short breath, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “What? It’s true.” He gestured vaguely. “My contract is for six races, and if I don’t impress by then, that’s it. Meanwhile, Alpine’s throwing everything at Franco. They put more money into him than they ever did me—feels like they’ve already made their choice.”

Kimi’s lips pressed into a thin line. He knew how much backing meant in this sport. Money talked louder than talent sometimes, and Alpine had been investing heavily in Franco for years. The reality of it made him sick.

Jack must have noticed his expression because he forced a grin, nudging Kimi’s arm. “C’mon, don’t give me that look. It’s not like I’m giving up.”

Kimi scoffed. “Better not be.”

Jack sighed, shaking his head with a tired smile. “You’re a good friend, you know that?”

Kimi huffed, rolling his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “Don’t get sentimental on me now, Doohan.”

Jack just grinned, then, without thinking much of it, reached over and grabbed Kimi’s hand. His grip was loose, casual, but warm. It wasn’t anything dramatic—just the kind of touch that said I’m here. You’re here. We’re okay.

Kimi blinked, stiffening for half a second before forcing himself to relax. He wasn’t used to things like this. Physical affection that wasn’t a handshake, wasn’t a shoulder clap after a race, wasn’t forced or awkward.

But this? This was easy. It wasn’t anything grand or overwhelming. Jack was just there, and for some reason, that made it easier for Kimi to breathe.

Jack gave his hand a light squeeze, his expression unreadable. “You don’t have to sit with me all night, you know.”

Kimi glanced at their hands, then back at Jack. He didn’t pull away. “I know.”

Jack didn’t say anything else, just let Kimi sit there, his hand warm in his own. The hospital room still smelled sterile and artificial, but somehow, it didn’t feel so cold anymore.

Kimi sat hunched over the small hospital table, fingers deftly folding thin sheets of paper into delicate roses. It had started as something to pass the time—something to keep his hands busy, to stop his mind from spiraling—but now, it was turning into something else entirely.

Each fold was careful, precise, almost meditative. He’d never done this before, never really had the patience for crafts, but for some reason, he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t bear to sit there doing nothing while Ollie was still in the other room, unreachable.

When he had a small bouquet of them, he hesitated, glancing at the tiny bottles of red paint the hospital had for kids. It was cheap, watered down, nothing like what he’d use back home, but it would do.

Dipping his fingers into the paint, Kimi brushed the edges of the paper petals with soft, uneven strokes. The red bled into the paper, staining it like something real—something alive. He told himself he was just adding detail, just making them look nice, but his chest felt tight as he worked, like there was something he wasn’t saying.

When he was finished, he leaned back, staring at the messy little roses in his hands. They weren’t perfect. Some edges were frayed, the paint uneven. But they were his. And they were for Ollie.

He even left blank ones for Ollie to paint.

Chapter Text

The soft hum of his ceiling fan and the distant ticking of the clock blended into the background. Tick Tock. It was impossible to ignore. Tick Tock. It was louder than the voices. The voices that were drifting away right as they hit him.

The quiet hiss of the oxygen tube and the steady beep of the monitor melted into the walls, becoming part of the room itself. Beep. It never stopped.It was louder than his own thoughts, louder than the voices he knew had been there, but couldn’t quite grasp.

A shift in weight. The faintest rustle of fabric. Someone had moved. Or had they? The sound was already slipping away, vanishing before he could be sure it was real.

The sheets beneath his fingers were stiff, tucked too tight around him, trapping him in place. He tried to move, to shift even slightly, but his limbs felt heavy—like they belonged to someone else. When had he last moved? When had he last spoken? The words didn’t come. He wasn’t sure if there were any left in him.

Footsteps echoed somewhere in the hall, slow and deliberate. A door creaked open, then clicked shut. A quiet voice, too far away to understand. A chair scraping against the floor. The smallest sigh. He had heard these sounds before. He knew them. But they slipped away too quickly, dissolving into the hum of overpowering lights.

Tick Tock.

The clock never hesitated, never slowed, never lost itself the way he did. His heartbeat fell into the rhythm, slow and deliberate, like it, too, was waiting for something. He counted each second, as if it would make time feel real again.

A whisper of movement. The sensation of fabric brushing against skin. The presence of something—someone—nearby, lingering at the edge of his awareness. But the sound drifted away before he could reach for it.

A breath. Not his own. He wasn’t alone.

He should look. Should turn his head, open his mouth, say something. But the effort felt enormous, like dragging himself through a dream, through air too thick to breathe. His fingers twitched, the only proof he was still in his body, still tethered to something real. The sheets felt rough beneath his fingertips, crisp and cool, but there was warmth nearby. A presence. A weight.

He let himself focus on that instead. On the warmth.

The beeping of the monitor filled the silence between seconds, steady but distant, like a heartbeat not quite his own. Tick. Tock. A soft shuffle, then stillness again. Someone was waiting. For him?

He blushed, he hoped it was Kimi. He likes Kimi.

A chair creaked. The warmth shifted. He exhaled slowly, eyes still closed, and let the sounds blur together—the quiet breathing, the ticking, the rhythmic hum of something mechanical in the walls.

Something brushed against his wrist. Barely there, just a ghost of contact. He couldn’t tell if it was intentional. Couldn’t tell if it had even really happened. His fingers curled slightly, testing the air, but there was nothing to grasp onto. Tick. Tock. The moment had passed.

Time stretched, twisted. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like this, floating somewhere between waking and whatever was beneath it. But eventually, the warmth shifted again, and this time, a voice came with it.

Soft. Careful. Just above a whisper.

“Ollie?”

But after a long, heavy pause, his lips curved—not quite a real smile, just the ghost of one. Faint. Distant. Detached. It barely reached his eyes, more an automatic response than anything conscious.

The warmth near him didn’t shift right away. Whoever was there—who had said his name—hesitated, like they weren’t sure if that counted as an answer.

A hand brushed against his, light and fleeting, but Ollie barely registered the touch. It was there, and then it wasn’t—like a passing thought he couldn’t quite hold onto. The weight in the room shifted, someone exhaling, murmuring something low and careful.

Tick. Tock.

Something filled the spaces between words, between thoughts. Between the awareness that someone was here and the dull, numbing fog that made it impossible to hold onto why.

The air smelled sterile, sharp with antiseptic, but beneath it was something softer. Familiar. Like fabric softener, like worn leather, like the lingering scent of an engine cooling down. It should have meant something. It probably did.

Another pause. Another breath. And then, the sound of a chair scraping softly against tile, someone settling in beside him.

Ollie’s lips twitched again, that same vacant smile. A gesture. Acknowledgment. He thought, maybe, that was enough.

Ollie blinked slowly, willing his body to cooperate, but even the act of shifting his jaw felt sluggish. He parted his lips, barely managing a small breath before trying again.

“Mm—”

The sound barely made it out, rough and broken, catching in his throat like gravel. His brow furrowed, frustration creeping in, but the effort of reacting at all was exhausting.

There was movement beside him, someone leaning in, their presence grounding. He could hear something—a voice, low and steady—but the words blurred together, like a radio station just out of tune.

Ollie tried again. He needed to say something, anything. He wet his lips, forcing a quiet, hoarse whisper.

“…Hhh—”

The syllable never finished. His body refused, his breath too weak to carry it. His chest ached, whether from the crash or the struggle, he didn’t know.

Tick. Tock. The sound drilled into his head. The world kept moving, but he stayed stuck, unable to force himself through the thick haze wrapped around his brain.

There was a shape—not too tall, broad in the shoulders, but hunched like the weight of the room pressed down on them. Dark hair, messy, curling at the ends. A shadow where their face should be.

Ollie’s mind fumbled for a name, but all he could hear was the tick-tock, tick-tock—an endless, steady beat in his skull. His breath felt too shallow, like his body had forgotten how to do it properly. The figure moved, shifting closer, and Ollie’s eyes dragged to the way their hands twitched against their lap, restless.

Familiar.

He knew them.

Didn’t he?

Ollie blinked again. The figure wavered. He tried to focus, tried to grab onto something solid, but the world kept slipping through his fingers.

He opened his mouth, a breath catching in his throat.

“…Who?”

The word barely made it out, rasping, unfamiliar even to his own ears. The figure froze, those restless hands tightening into fists.

Ollie wanted to understand. Wanted to reach through the fog. But all he could do was stare, blank and lost, as the tick-tock in his head counted the seconds slipping away.

Ollie swallowed, feeling the scratch of dryness in his throat, the slow burn of something he should be feeling but couldn’t name. The figure was still there—closer now, shoulders tight, fingers twitching in small, restless movements.

There was something about the way they were sitting, like they were bracing for something. But Ollie couldn’t figure out what. Couldn’t grasp why his chest felt weirdly tight at the sight of them.

The figure leaned in slightly, slow and careful, like they didn’t want to startle him. The movement sent a faint shift of air against his skin, warmth and something else, something familiar, something safe.

He wanted to melt into them.

The person said his name, soft and low, the syllables curling in a way that felt… right. Not foreign, not distant, like everything else.

He knew that voice.

The fog in his head rippled, but it didn’t clear.

Ollie wanted to answer, wanted to acknowledge the pull in his chest, but his body felt wrong, like it wasn’t moving the way it was supposed to. Like his muscles had forgotten how to respond. His lips twitched, then pulled into something weak and unnatural.

It must not have been the right reaction, because the person inhaled sharply, their breath catching.

Another shift. A hand twitched, hesitated, then slowly, carefully, reached out.

Warmth.

It brushed against his wrist, light and tentative, like they weren’t sure if they were allowed to touch him. The feeling sent something strange curling in his stomach, something heavy and confusing.

Ollie’s gaze flickered down.

A hand.

A real, solid hand, rough in places, clean nails, fingers slightly pink like they’d been worrying at the skin too much. He stared at it, blank, like he was looking at an abstract painting he didn’t understand.

His mouth opened, then closed. He looked at the person harder, the shape of their face, the way their hair curled at the ends, the way their shoulders stayed squared even when they sagged slightly.

It should’ve clicked. It should’ve made sense.

Ollie recognized the feeling before the face. It tugged at something deep in his chest, frustratingly familiar yet just out of reach. His vision blurred at the edges, refusing to focus the way he wanted.  

A quiet frustration bubbled up. He needed to see them. Needed to know.

A quiet frustration bubbled up. He needed to see them. Needed to know.

Without thinking, his hand reached out, fingers brushing over warm skin before cupping their face. He pulled them closer, studying the shape of their features, the way their eyes widened at the contact.   

The rush hit him all at once—something sharp and overwhelming, curling deep in his stomach.   

“Woah,” he exhaled, the word barely more than a breath. His throat felt tight, his heart unsteady, like something was waking up inside him.

Kimi let out an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak, completely caught off guard. Ollie’s face was so close—too close—and he was staring at him like he was something to be devoured. The direct eye contact sent an involuntary shiver down Kimi’s spine.

How the hell did he even get in here? Did the nurse finally get sick of him loitering outside and just wave him through? Because this—this dazed, out-of-it Ollie—definitely didn’t seem like someone cleared for visitors.

Before Kimi could even think of pulling away, Ollie started giggling, the sound rough and scratchy, like it scraped against his throat. It made something in Kimi ache.

Ollie hummed little oo’s and aa’s, tracing his gaze all over Kimi’s face, his fingers following. Kimi tried not to react when their noses brushed.

Kimi swallowed hard, his breath catching as Ollie’s fingers trailed over his cheek, barely there but still so much. Ollie wasn’t even looking at him properly—his eyes were glazed over, unfocused, but his hands moved with intent, like he was trying to commit Kimi’s face to memory.

He cut himself off with another giggle, fingers pressing just a little harder against Kimi’s jaw. “You feel real.”

Kimi huffed, forcing himself to stay still even as his heart pounded erratically. “I am real, Ollie.”

Ollie tilted his head, considering. “Could be a dream,” he mumbled. Then, before Kimi could process it, Ollie’s thumb brushed over his bottom lip, and Kimi’s brain short-circuited entirely.

Ollie hummed, his eyes slipping shut for a moment before fluttering open again, still hazy, still distant. His fingers twitched against Kimi’s shoulder like he was holding onto something fragile, something slipping through his grasp.

“If this isn’t a dream,” Ollie murmured, voice thick, “then why do you look like that?”

Kimi blinked. “Like what?”

Ollie’s lips curled into the ghost of a smile. “Like you belong in one.”

Kimi’s breath caught in his throat, and for a second, all he could hear was the steady beep of the monitor, the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. His heart slammed against his ribs, loud enough that he swore Ollie could hear it too.

“I—” Kimi’s smirk faltered, heat creeping up his neck. He forced himself to look away, to focus on anything but the way Ollie was staring at him like he was something unreal. “You’re still out of it.”

Ollie giggled again, breathy and light, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His fingers curled against Kimi’s hoodie, gripping weakly, like he was trying to anchor himself. “Maybe,” he admitted. “But I’d still dream of you.”

Kimi’s whole body went still. His pulse hammered in his ears, and he had no idea what to say to that. No quip, no teasing remark—just silence, thick and heavy between them.

Ollie blinked up at him, waiting. But before Kimi could even try to respond, his grip slackened, his body sinking further into the hospital bed, exhaustion finally winning over whatever haze he was stuck in.

Kimi exhaled, running a hand through his hair, trying to will his heartbeat back to normal.

“Sleep, Ollie,” he murmured, brushing a stray curl from his forehead.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Ollie admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I kept waiting.”

Kimi’s chest ached. He had been waiting—waiting outside, waiting for permission, waiting for someone to tell him it was okay to see him. And now, looking at Ollie, he wished he’d forced his way in sooner.

“I’m here now,” Kimi said softly, covering Ollie’s hand with his own. He squeezed it, grounding, solid. “I wasn’t gonna leave you alone.”

Ollie’s fingers twitched beneath Kimi’s, like he wasn’t sure whether to grip back or let go. His eyes, hazy and rimmed with exhaustion, flickered between Kimi’s face and their joined hands, as if grounding himself in the proof that Kimi was really there.

“You’re warm,” Ollie mumbled, barely audible, his voice still raw.

Kimi swallowed, his throat dry. “You’re freezing.”

Ollie huffed out something like a laugh, though it barely made a sound. His grip on Kimi’s hand didn’t loosen. If anything, it got firmer, like he was afraid Kimi would slip away.

For a moment, they didn’t speak. The beeping of the monitors, the distant murmur of hospital staff, the steady ticking of the clock—it all felt muted, like the room had shrunk to just the two of them.

Kimi exhaled slowly. “They didn't let me in, I’m still in my race gear,” he admitted, voice barely above a murmur.

Ollie blinked at him, slow and heavy-lidded, but his lips curved the slightest bit. “You’re here now,” he repeated, echoing Kimi’s words from earlier.

Ollie’s hand squeezed his just a little, reassuring, forgiving.

He let himself relax, just a little.

“Yeah,” Kimi said softly, “I’m here.”

“Thankfully,” Ollie’s voice was barely a whisper, something fragile, something struggling to be heard. It rasped out of him like it had been dragged through gravel, like every syllable clawed its way from the inside of his throat. It was the kind of voice that wasn’t meant to be used yet, something raw, something unfinished.

Kimi had to lean in to catch the words, had to focus past the sound of the monitors, past the rhythmic ticking of the clock, past the thoughts hammering against his skull. Even then, Ollie’s voice slipped between the noise, like a thread unraveling, fraying at the edges.

His breath hitched when Ollie spoke again, the sound scraping against the quiet. “Is Jack okay?”

It wasn't just hoarse—it was ruined.

Kimi’s fingers twitched against the sheets. He wanted to tell him to stop talking, to rest, to take care of himself for once. But how could he, when Ollie was looking at him like that, when his lips parted to say things that made Kimi’s stomach twist, made his pulse stutter?

The words had weight. Even if Ollie wouldn’t remember saying them tomorrow, even if they were just a product of painkillers and exhaustion, they landed like something undeniable.

And yet, Kimi couldn’t say anything back.

Ollie’s frown deepened. “Is Jack okay?” His voice was barely audible, his accent roughened by the raw, strained sound of it—like every word was being dragged over gravel.

Ollie blinked up at Kimi, hazy and unfocused, clearly waiting for more. Kimi could feel the weight of the unspoken question pressing between them.

Jack’s fine. Mild concussion. That was easy to say. But Ollie?

Ollie, whose hand was wrapped up tight, hidden under the blankets. Ollie, who hadn’t noticed yet.

Kimi’s throat tightened. He wasn’t ready to tell him. Not when he was like this—dazed, barely clinging onto reality, staring at Kimi like he was the only thing keeping him tethered.

So instead, he smoothed his thumb over the back of Ollie’s hand, careful, deliberate. “Just focus on resting,” he said, forcing a small smile.

Ollie opened up his mouth, and Kimi didn’t even think. He pressed a hand over Ollie’s mouth, gentle but firm

“Shh,” he murmured. “Jack’s fine. Mild concussion. You, on the other hand, have a bad one—and by the sound of it, some serious throat damage. So, do me a favor and stop talking, yeah?” 

Ollie’s brows furrowed, eyes searching Kimi’s face, but he didn’t resist when Kimi kept his hand gently over his mouth. His breath was warm against Kimi’s palm, uneven but steady.

Kimi sighed, shifting his hand to rest against Ollie’s cheek instead, thumb brushing over his skin. “I mean it,” he murmured. “Don’t push it. You sound like you’ve been gargling nails.”

Ollie blinked slowly, his lips twitching like he wanted to respond, but he stayed quiet. Maybe he was too exhausted to argue, or maybe he just trusted Kimi to have the answers right now. Either way, Kimi took it as a win.

“Good,” Kimi muttered, giving his cheek a quick pat before pulling his hand away. “See? Listening isn’t that hard.”

Ollie rolled his eyes, the movement sluggish, but his expression softened. He gave Kimi’s hand one last squeeze before finally letting himself relax against the pillows, gaze still locked on him.

The room settled into a heavy quiet, the kind that felt both comforting and fragile. Kimi could feel the weight of it pressing against his ribs, the exhaustion in Ollie’s face mixing with something else—something softer, something expectant.

Ollie shifted slightly, a wince flickering across his face before he looked back at Kimi, a hazy sort of determination behind his tired eyes. His fingers, clumsy and weak, curled around Kimi’s wrist, tugging half-heartedly.

Kimi blinked. “What?”

“Bed,” Ollie murmured, barely above a whisper. His gaze was lidded, but insistent. “Too far away.”

Kimi swallowed. “Ollie, I don’t think—”

Ollie’s fingers weakly tightened, an exhausted pout forming on his lips. “Don’t be mean.”

Kimi exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m not—” But when he saw Ollie’s expression, so open, so unguarded, the words died in his throat.

With a sigh, Kimi glanced at the door before carefully shifting onto the bed, hesitance lingering in his movements. The second he did, Ollie pressed against him, letting out a soft, contented sigh.

“Better,” Ollie mumbled.

Kimi, stiff for only a moment, slowly relaxed, letting his arm settle around Ollie’s shoulders. “…Yeah. Better.”

Ollie looked younger when he was asleep, his usually sharp features softened by exhaustion. The tension he always carried in his brows was gone, replaced by something peaceful—vulnerable, even. Kimi wasn’t sure if it was the dim light or just the quiet of the moment, but Ollie almost looked delicate like this.

Kimi let out a slow breath, barely shifting so he wouldn’t wake him. He should probably move, but Ollie was warm, and the steady rise and fall of his chest was oddly soothing. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but at some point, his body had given in, and now he was here, tangled up with Ollie like they belonged this way.

Ollie made a soft sound in his sleep, shifting slightly, pressing himself closer into Kimi’s hold. Kimi barely held in a chuckle. How had this happened? He was supposed to be keeping an eye on him, not end up wrapped around him like a damn comfort blanket.

He didn't have enough time to register the sound before a sharp inhale cut through the quiet.

“Oh—oh my god.”

Kimi stiffened. Ollie, still asleep, grumbled something unintelligible and burrowed further against him. His grip was loose but insistent, like even in sleep, he wasn’t willing to let go. Kimi barely had time to process the warmth pressed against him before the sound of a sharp inhale shattered the quiet.

Kimi turned his head slowly, already dreading what he was about to see. A nurse stood frozen in the doorway, wide-eyed and visibly fighting the urge to gape. Her gaze darted between them, recognition flickering across her face, as if her brain was still catching up with what her eyes were seeing.

“You’re—” she started, voice caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “You’re Kimi Antonelli.”

Kimi sighed, already bracing himself for the inevitable. “Yeah,” he muttered. 

As the nurse befan to speak, she quickly cut herself off, her excitement dimming slightly as she finally registered the situation properly. Her gaze flickered between Kimi and Ollie, lingering on the way Ollie was still curled up against him, unaware of the intrusion.

Kimi shot her a pained look, subtly shifting his arm like he could shield Ollie from the outside world just a little longer. His eyes dropped to the still-sleeping driver, his expression unreadable.

The nurse cleared her throat, suddenly flustered. “I—uh, I need to check his vitals.”

Kimi shifted slightly, but the second he moved, Ollie instinctively curled closer, his grip weak but stubborn. The nurse hesitated, watching the way Ollie’s fractured hand twitched against Kimi’s side, fingers curling like they refused to let go.

The nurse’s shock softened into something closer to amusement. “You don’t have to get up. Just—maybe let me get to his arm?”

The nurse worked efficiently, though Kimi didn’t miss the way her eyes kept flicking back to him, to Ollie, to the way they were still tangled together despite his half-hearted attempt at putting some space between them. She didn’t say anything, but the curiosity was practically radiating off her. Kimi focused on Ollie instead—his slow, even breathing, the way his face softened in sleep, the faint crease in his brow that hadn’t gone away.

Kimi didn’t have an answer for her. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he had one for himself.

“His vitals are stable,” the nurse finally said, voice softer now, like she was trying not to disturb the moment. “But his throat’s going to take a while to recover. And…” She hesitated, glancing at Ollie’s injured hand. “He’ll need to be careful with that. No strain, no unnecessary movement.” No racing.

Kimi swallowed, nodding stiffly. He hadn’t told Ollie about the fracture yet. He didn’t know how to. The idea of Ollie waking up, fully alert, and realizing he wouldn’t be racing anytime soon—it made Kimi’s stomach twist.

The nurse gave him one last look, something unreadable in her expression, before stepping back. “I’ll be back later,” she said, then, with a knowing glance, added, “Try not to let him cling too much. He’ll use it to move more than he should.”

Kimi huffed, rolling his eyes, but as soon as she left, he felt the warmth of Ollie’s breath against his collarbone, the steady rise and fall of his chest. And the absolute mess in his head—he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

Kimi let out a slow breath, glancing down at the mess of curls pressed against his shoulder. Every now and then, his fractured hand twitched, and Kimi resisted the urge to press his palm over it, as if that could shield Ollie from the pain that would come when he woke up properly.

He knew he should move. Should untangle himself before Ollie stirred and turned this whole thing into something awkward and complicated. But he didn’t. His body felt too heavy, his limbs sinking into the stiff hospital mattress as if the weight of the day had finally caught up with him.

The room was too quiet without the beeping of the machines or the soft shuffle of the nurse’s footsteps. Now, all Kimi could hear was the rhythmic ticking of the clock—tick, tock, tick, tock.

It reminded him of earlier, of the way he had waited outside, hands curled into fists, listening to time drag on while he wasn’t allowed in. He’d wasted so much time waiting, and now that he was finally here, he didn’t want to move.

Kimi exhaled sharply through his nose and, without thinking, dragged his fingers lightly over Ollie’s back, tracing absentminded patterns over the thin hospital gown.

Ollie stilled. Then, after a moment, he sighed—a soft, barely-there sound of relief.

Kimi squeezed his eyes shut. Yeah, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Kimi was barely holding onto consciousness when he felt a shift against his side. It was subtle at first—just a twitch of fingers, the slow rise and fall of steady breathing turning uneven. He might’ve ignored it if not for the sharp inhale that followed, raspy and strained, like it hurt just to exist.

His eyes cracked open just in time to see Ollie stir, brows knitting together, his whole body tensing before he let out a quiet groan. Kimi straightened instinctively, blinking away the haze of sleep.

Ollie’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused and heavy-lidded. His gaze drifted sluggishly around the room before finally settling on Kimi. For a long moment, he just stared, his expression unreadable. Then, with the softest rasp of a voice barely above a whisper, he murmured, “Kimi…?” 

Kimi swallowed, forcing himself to stay steady, to keep his voice level. “Yeah, mate. I’m here.”

Ollie’s brows furrowed, like he was trying to piece something together in his foggy mind. His fingers twitched against Kimi’s shirt, and Kimi barely resisted the urge to grab hold of them properly, to keep them steady.

Ollie’s gaze flickered down, noticing for the first time how close they were—how he was practically curled into Kimi’s side, how Kimi’s arm was still half-draped over him. His lips parted slightly, but instead of pulling away, he just blinked.

“Thought I was dreaming,” Ollie admitted, voice raw and scratchy, like it was being dragged from his throat against its will.

Kimi huffed out a small, tired breath, letting his head rest against the pillow again. “Yeah, well. Guess I’m real.”

Ollie made a small noise—something almost like a laugh, except it barely had the strength to be one. 

A second later, Ollie attempted to lift his hand—the one wrapped tightly in bandages, the one Kimi hadn’t had the heart to tell him was fractured. The effort lasted all of two seconds before he let out a sharp, strangled whine, his head tilting back against the pillow as he squeezed his eyes shut.

Kimi was wide awake in an instant. “Ai?”

“Hurts,” he rasped, voice barely above a whisper but laced with frustration. He tried again, attempting to lift his injured hand, but the second the pain hit, he flinched, his breath catching in his throat before a pathetic, breathy whimper escaped.

Kimi swore under his breath, immediately reaching down to cover Ollie’s hand with his own, stilling the movement. “Hey, hey—don’t,” he murmured, voice softer than he realized it could be. “You’re gonna make it worse.”

Ollie’s lips parted as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Instead, he swallowed, blinking sluggishly before giving Kimi a pointed look, clearly waiting for an explanation.

Kimi hesitated, his grip tightening just slightly over Ollie’s hand. “You—uh.” He exhaled through his nose. “You hurt it pretty bad. It’s fractured.”

Ollie stared at him. Then, slowly, his gaze flickered down to where Kimi was holding his hand. He flexed his fingers weakly, like he didn’t quite believe it—until the pain flared up again, making him wince.

“Shit,” Ollie whispered. His voice cracked on the word, and Kimi had to bite back the instinct to reach up and brush his knuckles over his cheek like he was trying to soothe an upset child.

Instead, he gave Ollie’s hand a careful squeeze, grounding. “Yeah. It’s gonna be a bit shit for a while.”

Ollie’s brows knitted together, frustration creeping into his dazed expression. “Racing?” he asked, like the answer might somehow change if he looked pitiful enough.

Kimi clenched his jaw, willing himself to keep steady. “Let’s… not think about that right now, okay?”

Ollie groaned, turning his head into Kimi’s shoulder with another dramatic whine. “That means no.”

Kimi huffed. “It means stop moving before you actually make it worse, dumbass.”

Ollie grumbled something unintelligible against his shirt, but he stopped struggling, letting himself relax again. Kimi felt the tension in his shoulders ease just slightly.

Ollie let out a slow breath, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. His eyes fluttered open just slightly, unfocused at first, heavy with sleep. 

He blinked sluggishly at Kimi, the haze of exhaustion still clinging to him, but there was something more aware in his gaze now—like his mind was slowly piecing things together, catching up to everything that had happened.

For a moment, he just stared, his expression unreadable. Then, barely above a whisper, he rasped, “Who won?”

His voice was so faint, so scratchy and strained, that Kimi almost didn’t catch it. But the words were unmistakable.

Kimi stiffened, his lips parting slightly. He hadn’t expected that to be the first thing out of Ollie’s mouth. He’d braced himself for a dozen different questions—how bad is the car, what happened—but not this.

“I, uh…” Kimi swallowed. “Me.”

For a second, he considered brushing it off, telling Ollie to rest, to focus on himself. But the way Ollie was looking at him—eyes sluggish but expectant, waiting—made it impossible to avoid.

“Mate,” he breathed, shifting against the pillows, his hand weakly gripping at Kimi’s shirt. “You won.” His eyes widened with pure, unfiltered excitement. “You won!”

Kimi swallowed, shifting slightly. “I, uh…” He hesitated, feeling almost sheepish. “Me.”

Ollie blinked once. Then twice. Kimi watched as his expression slowly shifted, realization creeping in. And then, as if something inside him had finally clicked, his entire face lit up.

“Mate,” Ollie breathed, his voice still hoarse but filled with something light, something bright. He shifted against the pillows, his movements slow and stiff, but his fingers found Kimi’s shirt, weakly gripping at the fabric.

“You won,” he repeated, like he had to hear it again to believe it. His eyes were wide, shining with something raw and unfiltered—excitement, pride, something else Kimi couldn’t quite place. And then, despite how utterly exhausted he looked, Ollie grinned, wide and uninhibited.

“You won!”

Before Kimi could even process what was happening, Ollie surged forward—or, as much as his battered body would allow. His movements were sluggish, almost clumsy, but determined, and before Kimi could react, their noses brushed. The space between them vanished, and suddenly, Ollie was right there, barely a breath away.

He was grinning, all drowsy and unguarded, his eyes hazy but locked onto Kimi’s with something so open, so warm, that it made Kimi’s breath hitch. His heart pounded against his ribs, the weight of the moment settling deep in his chest. He should move. He should. But he couldn’t—because Ollie was close, and Kimi was too busy drowning in the way he was looking at him.

And then, before he could even think to stop it, their lips touched.

It was barely anything at first—just the softest brush, the kind of accidental contact that could be dismissed as nothing. But Kimi felt it. The warmth of Ollie’s breath fanned against his cheek, the chapped texture of his lips a stark contrast to the gentle pressure between them.

A slip of a moment. A breath caught in time.

Ollie didn’t pull away immediately, and neither did Kimi. Instead, they lingered, caught in the fragile space where hesitation met something deeper, something neither of them had dared to name. The air between them buzzed, charged with an energy that made Kimi’s fingers twitch against the sheets.

His heart slammed against his ribs, a frantic, erratic beat that had nothing to do with the adrenaline of a race and everything to do with this.

Kimi should’ve moved. Should’ve broken the moment, shaken it off with a laugh, a muttered sorry, that was stupid, anything to set things back to normal. But he didn’t. Because for the first time, he didn’t want to.

Ollie’s breath hitched, the faintest sound escaping him—something caught between surprise and something softer. Kimi felt it vibrate against his lips, and it sent a shiver down his spine. The space between them felt impossibly small now, as if the universe itself had conspired to press them closer.

And then, just as quickly as it had happened, Ollie finally shifted back, his lips breaking from Kimi’s like the moment had slipped through his fingers.

Kimi was frozen, his brain scrambling to catch up, his breath coming uneven as the ghost of the kiss lingered on his skin. Ollie’s eyes fluttered open, his pupils blown wide, his expression somewhere between dazed and stunned.

It was over. 

Kimi pulled back just enough to break the contact, but not enough to truly leave. His breath was shallow, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm he couldn’t quite control. Ollie was still so close, warm and steady, and Kimi felt utterly frozen in place. His mind was a mess—a tangled, frantic whirlwind of what the hell just happened and why didn’t I stop it—and before he could think better of it, the words slipped out.

“I—” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away, his gaze darting somewhere—anywhere—other than Ollie’s face. “I’m sorry.”

Ollie blinked at him, still smiling, but there was a flicker of confusion behind his dazed expression. His brows furrowed slightly, like he couldn’t quite understand why Kimi would even think to apologize.

“I don’t—I don’t know why I did that,” Kimi admitted, barely above a whisper. His chest felt tight, something raw pressing against his ribs, like he couldn’t quite get enough air. His fingers curled slightly where they still rested over Ollie’s hand, clinging to the warmth there as if it might ground him. “I didn’t mean—”

Before he could spiral any further, Ollie made a soft sound—something close to a hum, something thoughtful. His head tilted just slightly, his tired, hazy eyes flickering over Kimi’s face, as if weighing his options.

And then, just as Kimi braced himself for a response, for something definitive, Ollie leaned in again.

This time, there was no accident, no uncertainty. This time, Ollie kissed him—soft and slow, intentional.

Kimi inhaled sharply, a sharp breath catching in his throat as Ollie’s lips pressed against his again, warm and steady and real. The world around them blurred into nothing, faded into something distant and unimportant. Kimi couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but feel—the faint, chapped texture of Ollie’s mouth, the way he kissed like he meant it, like he wasn’t afraid to hold onto this moment and make it last.

When Ollie finally pulled away, he didn’t move far. Their breaths mingled in the small space between them, and Kimi swore he could still feel the warmth lingering on his lips. Ollie’s thumb brushed absently over his wrist, slow and deliberate, like he wasn’t willing to let the connection fade just yet.

“We can talk about it later,” Ollie murmured, voice quiet but firm, as if he already knew Kimi would try to overthink this. “But right now, I just… I want to kiss you.” He swallowed, his gaze searching Kimi’s face, taking in every flicker of hesitation, every unspoken thought. “And I think you want to kiss me too.”

Kimi opened his mouth, words fumbling at the edge of his mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to argue. Because Ollie was right.

And this time, when Ollie leaned in, Kimi met him halfway.

Chapter Text

They didn’t talk about it. Not really.

They talked around it—through interviews, through casual conversations, through the routine of congratulating each other after races like nothing had changed. And maybe nothing had changed. Maybe they were just friends who happened to kiss, who happened to get a little too close when no one was watching.

Ollie liked to tell himself that Kimi started it. He liked pretending he was innocent, just swept along in something bigger than himself. But deep down, he knew better.

He was the one who’d brushed his thumb across Kimi’s mouth when a smudge of ranch clung to the corner of his lip, slow and deliberate under the guise of being helpful. He was the one who had let his finger drag just a little, tracing the curve of Kimi’s mouth like it was something he had every right to touch. He’d watched, barely breathing, as Kimi’s expression faltered—just for a second—eyes darting to his, lips parting ever so slightly like he was about to say something. But he didn’t.

And then Ollie had gone and licked the ranch off his finger. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to see what Kimi would do. Because he wanted to make Kimi look at him like that again—stunned, caught somewhere between confused and curious, like he didn’t know whether to lean in or run.

Kimi wasn’t fair. Not when he smiled like that afterward, the corners of his lips curling with mischief as he turned and walked away like he hadn’t just taken Ollie’s breath with him. Like he hadn’t left Ollie standing there, flushed and buzzing, trying to remember how to think straight. He liked Kimi better when he was shy, soft-spoken, hesitant—but that version didn’t make him want to slam the door shut behind them make it to the nearest wall.

But even then, even when he was trying to convince himself that he had control over this, Ollie caught himself staring. In the quiet moments, when they weren’t doing anything at all—when Kimi was curled up at the other end of the couch, scrolling through his phone with one leg folded beneath him—Ollie’s eyes always found their way back to him. The way his lashes brushed his cheeks, the furrow in his brow when he concentrated, the curve of his neck where his hoodie slipped too low. It was unfair how easy it was to want him.

Sometimes, when Kimi didn’t notice, Ollie would look at him like he was memorizing something. Like he was afraid it would vanish. His fingers would twitch with the urge to reach out, just to touch, just to hold onto something real. And then Kimi would glance up, meet his eyes, and Ollie would smile like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just been seconds from giving himself away.

There was a moment last night—too late, too quiet—when they had both been brushing their teeth side by side. Kimi’s hand accidentally brushed against Ollie’s, and neither of them moved. Their eyes met in the mirror, and the air between them had shifted, thick with things they weren’t saying. Ollie thought about leaning in. Just a little. Just enough. But he didn’t.

Later, he’d crawl into bed, Kimi already tucked under the blankets, and he’d lie awake for too long, staring at the ceiling while he listened to Kimi’s breathing even out beside him. He thought about what it would be like to close the distance between them, to kiss him without hiding it behind excuses or jokes. But wanting Kimi meant risking everything. And no one could know.

So instead, Ollie stayed where he was—close enough to ache, far enough to deny it.

With his fractured hand keeping him from racing, Ollie found himself drifting more and more into unfamiliar spaces. The Haas garage didn’t feel like his anymore—not when he couldn’t suit up, not when he couldn’t do what he was supposed to. Instead, he lingered on the fringes, a visitor to his own world. The Mercedes paddock welcomed him with more ease than he expected, though it always felt just a little wrong. He wasn’t a Mercedes driver. He shouldn’t be there.

But Kimi made it easier.

Kimi always looked for him when he arrived, always carved out a quiet corner in the chaos where Ollie could sit, rest his healing hand, and feel a little less useless. He didn’t hover, but he was there—offering water bottles, tossing him sideways glances, nudging him gently with his elbow when something funny happened in the garage. He didn’t make it a big deal. That’s what made it better.

After the races, Ollie would stop by Jack’s garage too. Just for a few minutes. Long enough to show face, to make sure Jack knew there were no hard feelings. That he wasn’t mad—not really. It wasn’t Jack’s fault Ollie had crashed. Things just happened. That’s racing.

Jack seemed to understand. He’d smile, clap him on the good shoulder, and give him updates on everything he’d missed. That’s how Ollie found out that Kimi had visited Jack in the hospital.

The news should’ve meant nothing. Kimi was kind, thoughtful in his quiet way. It made perfect sense that he’d visit someone after an accident. It was just… the idea of Kimi sitting next to Jack’s bed, leaning forward in that focused way of his, saying soft things—maybe even joking to make him smile—it made something tight coil in Ollie’s chest.

He shouldn't have been jealous.

He told himself that over and over. That Kimi was allowed to care about other people. That Jack had gotten hurt too. That nothing Kimi did in a hospital room changed what happened between them when no one else was around.

Because last he checked—Kimi kissed him.

Not by accident. Not because of some post-race adrenaline or silly impulse. Kimi had found him after the crash, and kissed him like it was something he’d been thinking about for far too long. And Ollie had kissed him back.

Ollie wasn’t confused about liking a guy. That part was easy. It was the way he liked kissing Kimi that made him feel insane. The way it made his skin buzz, his thoughts scramble, the way it sent something sharp and electric through his chest every time it happened.

That’s why, when Kimi grabbed his wrist and pulled him away from the reporters, Ollie mo kissed him back without hesitation. That’s why, when they found themselves alone, it only took seconds before they were pressed together, hands gripping at fabric, breaths mingling in the space between them.

Neither of them wanted to stop.

So they didn’t.

They kept finding excuses.

Excuses to touch, excuses to linger too close, excuses to brush their hands together just to see if the other would pull away. Neither of them ever did.

Ollie liked to pretend it was just how things were now—like it had always been this way. Like he and Kimi had always hovered on the edge of something dangerous, something exhilarating. But the truth was, it was new, and it was messy, and it was getting harder to ignore.

It wasn’t just the stolen moments after races, the way Kimi would find him in the back halls of the paddock, his fingers curling around Ollie’s wrist, tugging him somewhere quieter, somewhere hidden. It was the way Kimi looked at him, like he was something precious, something worth chasing. It was the way Kimi hesitated before leaving, like he didn’t want to leave at all.

It was the way Ollie wanted to stay.

And when Kimi kissed him, it was never rushed. It was never frantic. It was always intentional, always slow and steady, like he was memorizing every second. Ollie hated how much he loved it. How much he craved it. How much he needed it.

Because Kimi felt like something impossible. Something he was never supposed to have.

And yet, every time they were alone, Kimi was right there, pressing him against walls, whispering his name in the quiet, touching him like he was something worth keeping.

It made Ollie reckless. It made him want things he wasn’t sure he was allowed to have.

And maybe that was why, one night—long after the paddock had emptied, after the celebrations had ended—he found himself tugging Kimi by the collar, his breath warm against his lips as he murmured, “Stay.”

Kimi swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly where they rested against Ollie’s ribs. “Ollie—”

“Just for a little while.” Ollie’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Just—don’t go yet.”

Kimi didn’t move for a long moment, his eyes searching Ollie’s face like he was trying to figure out if this was real, if this was safe.

And then he nodded.

And he stayed.

Kimi knew he was far gone. He had known for a while, really, but it hit him hardest in quiet moments like this—watching Oliver Bearman look so effortlessly pretty in his motorhome.

It was a dangerous thing, letting himself get used to this, to him. Kimi wondered if Ollie even realized how risky it was, being Haas’s golden boy but spending so much time around Mercedes. Around him.

If he did, he didn’t seem to care.

Traces of him were everywhere now, scattered through Kimi’s life like they had always belonged. A half-drunk bottle of water on the counter. A sweatshirt—Ollie’s sweatshirt—thrown over the back of a chair. The lingering scent of Ollie’s shampoo clinging to Kimi’s pillow. It was creeping into everything, unavoidable, inescapable.

And now, Ollie stood in Kimi’s kitchen, practically shirtless, stretching like he had no idea what it did to Kimi. Maybe he did know, and that was the worst part.

Kimi’s eyes traced the bruises that were finally beginning to fade, reminders of the crash, the hospital, the fear that had lodged itself in Kimi’s chest and never quite left. He should be grateful that they were healing, that Ollie was healing. Instead, he felt selfish.

Because despite everything, despite the risks, Kimi liked having him here. Liked knowing that Ollie was safe and close and—if only for these stolen moments—his.

Ollie stretched again, arms lifting above his head as he let out a quiet yawn, completely unaware—or maybe entirely aware—of the way Kimi’s eyes followed the movement. The bruises on his ribs had turned from deep purple to something softer, something almost golden in the dim light of the motorhome. He looked good like this, relaxed and warm in Kimi’s space, like he belonged there.

When Ollie could drive, he would be gone.

Ollie turned, catching Kimi’s gaze with a sleepy smirk. He had to know, Kimi thought. Had to see the way Kimi looked at him, like he was something impossible, something that shouldn’t be his but was.

Kimi swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away.

He was being cruel to himself, letting this happen. Letting Ollie make a home in his space, in his clothes, in his bed. But even as he told himself that, he knew—he wasn’t going to stop.

Everything here reminded him of Ollie now. Even the coffee mugs he collected on the table was one Ollie had claimed as his, and Kimi hadn’t even tried to correct him. He could still hear Ollie’s voice from the first time he’d used it—I like this one. It’s mine now—and Kimi had just… let it be true.

Ollie ran a hand through his hair, the messy waves sticking up in places from sleep, and Kimi had to bite back a sigh. He had never been the kind of person to get attached easily. Never let himself want things too much, because wanting meant vulnerability, and vulnerability meant losing. But Ollie made it impossible not to want.

And maybe that was the problem.

Because Kimi wanted everything. He wanted Ollie in his kitchen, in his motorhome, in his stupid, reckless heart. He wanted the mornings that started with Ollie stealing his clothes and the nights that ended with them tangled together under Kimi’s sheets. He wanted this to be something they didn’t have to keep behind closed doors.

But they weren’t them outside of these walls. Ollie was Haas’s rising star, and Kimi was Mercedes’s next big thing. There were cameras waiting for them around every corner, people who would pick apart their every move, their every glance. And Kimi didn’t know how to live with the idea of having something just to lose it.

Ollie shifted, stepping closer, close enough that Kimi could feel the warmth radiating off of him. "You're thinking too hard," he murmured, voice still heavy with sleep. His fingers brushed over Kimi’s wrist, light, fleeting.

Kimi let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

"I always think too hard," he muttered.

Ollie grinned, tilting his head slightly. "Then stop." And just like that, he closed the distance between them, pressing a soft, barely-there kiss to Kimi’s shoulder, so quick Kimi almost wasn’t sure it had happened at all.

Kimi swooped Ollie into his arms with ease, his laughter warm and unguarded. The moment felt light, effortless, like something that had always belonged between them. "I was wondering if I should’ve gotten a mug for my first F1 win," Kimi mused, tilting his head down to meet Ollie’s gaze. His arms stayed firm around Ollie, like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

Ollie raised a brow, his nose scrunching slightly as he considered it. "Didn’t you say you’d only get one for yourself when you won the drivers’ championship?" he pointed out, voice laced with amusement.

Kimi hummed, pretending to think about it. "That was the plan," he admitted, "but this was my first pole. Feels like it deserves something, don’t you think?"

Ollie rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite to it. His hands settled comfortably on Kimi’s shoulders, fingers pressing lightly into the fabric of his shirt. "Well, it’s already been a week," he reminded him, his voice teasing, "so unless you want to turn around and make a whole scene at the track, we might have to find another way to celebrate."

Kimi grinned at the mental image. "Tempting," he said, his tone playful, "but no. Maybe I’ll just have to get creative."

Ollie tilted his head slightly, considering. "We could print out a photo of you on the podium," he offered, smirking. "Stick it on your fridge or something. Very celebratory."

Kimi chuckled, his eyes flickering over Ollie’s face. It wasn’t the suggestion itself that caught him off guard—it was the way Ollie had said it, like it was already their fridge, their space. It was casual, effortless, like the thought of them being a duo wasn’t even a question anymore.

"You talk like we’re a team," Kimi murmured, his voice softer now, the teasing edge dulled by something warmer, something real.

Ollie blinked, then shrugged, his grip tightening slightly where he held onto Kimi. "Aren’t we?" he said simply.

Kimi felt something settle in his chest, something solid and grounding. He smiled, a small, knowing curve of his lips. "Yeah,"

Kimi let Ollie go, stepping away with a lingering warmth still pressed against his skin. He made his way to the couch without a second thought, already knowing exactly where Ollie would end up.

And sure enough, when Kimi turned back, Ollie had claimed his usual spot—perched in the corner of the couch like a cat, knees pulled up slightly, fingers idly playing with a loose thread on the cushion.

The first few times Ollie had done this, Kimi had wondered if something was wrong, if Ollie was upset or distant. But now? Now, it was expected. Ollie always sat like that, curled up as if the couch wasn’t quite his, like he was making himself smaller.

Kimi didn’t comment, just fully reclined into the couch, pressing his stomach against the cushion with a content sigh. His voice was muffled when he finally spoke. "Rookie dinner today," he reminded, words sinking lazily into the quiet.

Ollie hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t move, his fingers still fidgeting with the thread. The rookie dinners had become a habit after the crash—like an unspoken agreement to stick together, to check in without making it obvious. It was strange, really, how something so terrifying had made them all closer.

"Gabi invited Franco," Kimi added, lifting his head slightly. "Jack was alright with it."

That got Ollie’s attention. His eyes lit up, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was trying to hide a smile. Kimi had always liked that about him—the way he was so easy to read when he wasn’t overthinking.

Jack had impressed everyone after his crash. His recovery had been fast, almost miraculous, but more than that, he hadn’t let it shake him. He had come back stronger, and maybe that was why Ollie wasn’t so intimidated by Franco anymore.

Kimi watched as Ollie stretched his legs out a little, the tension in his shoulders softening. The energy in the room shifted, lighter now, easier.

"Should be fun," Ollie finally said, voice warm, the faintest trace of excitement beneath it. And Kimi, watching him from where he lay, just nodded. Yeah. It would be.

Kimi let his head drop back against the couch, exhaling slowly as he stretched his arms out. "You’re actually looking forward to it, eh?" he mused, the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

Ollie rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. "Jack deserves it," he said simply. "And—" He hesitated for a fraction of a second before shrugging. "It’s nice. Being with everyone like that."

Kimi watched him carefully, noting the way Ollie’s fingers had finally stopped fidgeting. There was something about the way he said everyone, like he hadn’t expected to be part of that group, like he still wasn’t sure he belonged. Kimi knew better.

"It is," Kimi agreed, letting his eyes slip shut for a moment. "Even if it’s mostly just a chance for Gabi to drink and act like he isn’t tipsy."

Ollie snorted. "He does get really chatty after a few glasses," he admitted, shifting so that he was a little more relaxed in his corner of the couch.

Kimi cracked an eye open. "Yeah, and you let him talk your ear off every single time."

"Someone has to," Ollie shot back, grinning now. "Besides, he tells good stories."

Kimi hummed in agreement, though his attention was more on Ollie than anything else. The way he was easing into the conversation, the way the usual guarded edges of him had softened. It was easy to forget sometimes that Ollie had spent months trying to prove he could handle everything alone. That he still had moments where he didn’t realize how much they had chosen him.

"You know," Kimi said, shifting just slightly. "You don’t have to sit over there every time."

Ollie raised an eyebrow. "I’m comfortable."

Kimi’s smirk deepened. "Uh-huh." He let the silence settle for a beat before tilting his head toward the empty space beside him. "Just saying. You could sit here."

Ollie huffed, rolling his eyes again, but Kimi caught the way his lips twitched—like he was considering it. Like maybe, just maybe, next time, he would.

Ollie didn't move immediately. He just sat there, curled in the corner like he always was, arms crossed over his chest, gaze flicking between Kimi and the empty space beside him. Kimi didn’t push, didn’t tease—just watched with quiet patience, as if waiting for Ollie to decide for himself.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Ollie exhaled through his nose and shifted, stretching his legs out before finally, finally, scooting over.

Kimi didn't acknowledge it outright, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he’d won something. Instead of gloating, he merely adjusted himself, shifting slightly to make room, letting Ollie settle in. Their shoulders brushed, and neither of them moved away.

For a moment, they sat in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, not in the way it might’ve been months ago. It was easy now, like muscle memory, like something they didn’t have to think about.

Ollie reached forward, snagging a pillow and hugging it to his chest. “What time are we leaving for dinner?”

Kimi glanced at the clock, humming thoughtfully. “An hour or so.”

Ollie made a face, tilting his head back against the couch. “That’s too long.”

Kimi snorted. “You’re impatient.”

“I’m hungry,” Ollie corrected, glancing at him. “And you’re one to talk. I’ve seen how you get when you want something.”

Kimi turned his head slightly, giving Ollie a slow, knowing look. “Yeah?”

Ollie hesitated, blinking at him like he’d just realized what he’d implied. A slow, creeping flush dusted over his ears, but he covered it up with a scoff, rolling his eyes as he shoved the pillow against Kimi’s side. “Don’t start.”

Kimi just laughed, nudging Ollie’s arm with his elbow. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought it,” Ollie shot back, but he was smiling now, lips twitching against his will.

Kimi stretched, arms lifting over his head before he relaxed back into the cushions, sighing in contentment. “You’re too easy to mess with.”

Ollie huffed but didn’t argue. Instead, he let his head drop slightly to the side, just enough that it nearly rested against Kimi’s shoulder. Close enough to feel the warmth between them.

Neither of them acknowledged it. Just like they never acknowledged the way they always gravitated toward each other, or the way their “friendship” often looked a little too much like something else.

Just friends. Just practically roommates. Just—whatever this was.

Kimi didn’t know if either of them believed it anymore.

Ollie let out a soft sigh, fingers absentmindedly picking at the seams of the pillow he was still clutching. Kimi could feel the warmth of him, the weight of his presence pressed against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world. Neither of them spoke for a while, letting the background hum of the TV fill the quiet space between them.

Ollie shifted slightly, pressing a little closer, like he was trying to steal some of Kimi’s warmth. “Do you think we’ll do this every year? Rookie dinners?”

Kimi tilted his head in thought. “Maybe not every year, but I don’t think we’ll ever stop meeting up.”

Ollie smiled at that, soft and genuine. “Good.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other, neither one moving, neither one saying anything else. There was something thick in the air between them, something unspoken but heavy, something Kimi could feel in his bones.

Then Ollie cleared his throat, breaking the moment, and flopped back dramatically against the couch. “Okay, so, what are we doing until dinner? Because I refuse to sit here and watch you scroll through your phone for an hour.”

Kimi huffed out a laugh. “I wasn’t going to.”

Ollie gave him a pointed look.

“…Okay, maybe I was,” Kimi admitted, smirking when Ollie let out a victorious little noise.

“See? Predictable,” Ollie teased, nudging his knee against Kimi’s.

Kimi rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. “Fine, what do you wanna do?”

Ollie hummed, considering. Then, slowly, he smirked. “Rock, paper, scissors. Loser has to compliment the other for the next ten minutes.”

Kimi scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Ollie only grinned wider. “Scared you’ll lose?”

Kimi narrowed his eyes. “You wish.”

And just like that, whatever tension had been hanging between them melted into playful banter, into something easy, something them. Because that’s what they did. They danced around the obvious, skirted the edges of something neither of them were ready to name.

For now, they could pretend. For now, they were just two friends on a couch, playing a stupid game, waiting for dinner.

like this was the most important game of rock, paper, scissors in history. Kimi huffed, mirroring him, and they both counted under their breath.

One, two, three—

Ollie threw out scissors. Kimi went for rock.

A beat of silence passed before Ollie groaned dramatically, flopping onto his back. “Nooo, I never lose this game!”

Kimi smirked, arms folding over his chest. “Well, you just did.”

Ollie peeked up at him, eyes narrowing. “You cheated.”

Kimi scoffed, leaning back against the couch. “How do you cheat at rock, paper, scissors?”

Ollie opened his mouth, then hesitated, clearly realizing he didn’t have a real argument. Instead, he sighed heavily, throwing an arm over his face. “Fine. You win.”

Kimi nudged him with his knee. “You know what that means.”

Ollie groaned. “I hate you.”

“Doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

Ollie peeked out from under his arm, pouting dramatically. “You have… nice hair.”

Kimi waited.

Ollie sighed again, turning fully onto his side to look at him. “You have really nice hair. Like, annoyingly nice. It’s so… fluffy.”

Kimi smirked, running a hand through it just to be obnoxious. “Go on.”

Ollie’s gaze flickered up to Kimi’s hand for half a second before he rolled his eyes. “Your car control is insane. I don’t know how you do it. You make it look effortless.”

Kimi felt something warm press against his chest at that one. He opened his mouth, but Ollie wasn’t done.

“You’re… annoyingly good at everything,” Ollie continued, eyes softer now, voice quieter. “And you don’t even realize how cool you are. Like, you walk into a room and people just look at you.”

Kimi blinked, suddenly unable to meet Ollie’s gaze. His fingers curled slightly where they rested on his lap. “Ollie—”

“Shh,” Ollie teased, but his voice was still soft. “Ten minutes, remember?”

Kimi huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head, but he let Ollie keep going.

“You’re also…” Ollie trailed off for a second, then smiled. “You’re really good at making people feel safe.”

Kimi’s breath caught in his throat.

Ollie hesitated for half a second before reaching out, tapping a finger against Kimi’s wrist. “Like, I don’t think you even realize it, but just being around you makes things easier. Like, after everything that happened, I—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I just knew that if you were there, it’d be okay.”

Kimi swallowed hard, his chest tight. He forced himself to play it off, to smirk like his heart wasn’t suddenly aching. “You’ve got a lot of feelings, Bearman.”

Ollie rolled his eyes, but there was a warmth there, something real. “Shut up,” he mumbled, nudging him lightly.

Kimi didn’t. Instead, he reached out, just briefly, just enough to squeeze Ollie’s wrist before letting go.

Neither of them said anything after that. They didn’t need to.

They arrived together, as always. No one even questioned it anymore.

Kimi had finally gotten his license, but that didn’t change much—he was still a passenger princess at heart. When Issack called last minute asking for a ride, Ollie agreed without hesitation.

So did Kimi.

Sometimes, Ollie wondered just how obvious they were. The moment they slipped back into the car, they both instinctively reclined their seats, stealing a few quiet seconds to press their lips together, grinning into the kiss like it was their own little secret.

By the time they picked up Isack, Kimi had just started to settle back into his seat. But before he could get comfortable, Isack slid in with a smirk, managing to shove him out of the passenger seat entirely.

Kimi grumbled the whole time, huffing as he climbed into the back, arms crossed. Ollie just shook his head, amused.

Isack stretched out, smug. “Finally. Someone lets me sit up front.”

Kimi shot him a glare through the rearview mirror. “This is temporary.”

Ollie just smirked, already knowing that by the time they drove back, Kimi would find his way back where he belonged.

Ollie barely held back a laugh, throwing the car into park before glancing over. “You could’ve fought for it.”

Kimi crossed his arms, sinking into the back seat with a dramatic huff. “I shouldn’t have to. It’s my seat.”

From the front, Isack snorted. “It’s his car.”

Kimi shot him a look. “Irrelevant.”

Ollie just shook his head, amused. It was ridiculous, really—Kimi had his own car now, could drive himself anywhere, and yet somehow, Ollie still found him in his passenger seat more often than not. Not that he was complaining.

If anything, it was a little embarrassing how much he liked it.

Isack glanced between them, brow raising slightly. “You two are weird.”

Kimi immediately kicked the back of his seat, making him jolt forward with a yelp. “Are not.”

Ollie snickered as Isack turned to him with a betrayed look, rubbing his shoulder like he’d been mortally wounded. “Are too.”

Before Kimi could retaliate again, Ollie sighed dramatically, hands still steady on the wheel. “If anyone else’s feet touch anything besides the floor of my car, I swear I’m kicking you both out.”

Isack grumbled something under his breath but stayed put, while Kimi huffed and slumped back against the seat, arms crossed like a sulking child.

Ollie, meanwhile, kept glancing down at his hand, flexing his fingers slightly. The cast still limited his movement, and the way his fingers were wrapped made them look slightly ridiculous—like he was permanently stuck in some awkward claw formation. The stitches itched every second of the day.

Isack, clearly bored, reached for the radio and flicked it on. A second of tinny, distorted music filled the car before he cringed so hard his whole body flinched, immediately turning it back off.

“How do you even drive with that?” he asked, looking at Ollie like he’d just committed an actual crime.

Ollie shrugged, eyes still on the road. “Talent.”

Kimi scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Talent.” He reached over, barely resisting the urge to poke at Ollie’s fingers just to be annoying. “More like stubbornness.”

Ollie shot him a quick side glance, unimpressed. “And yet, somehow, I’m still the one driving while you get chauffeured around like a prince.”

Kimi smirked, entirely unbothered. “I am a prince. Prince of Mercedes.”

Isack groaned from the front seat, rubbing his temples like just existing in the same space as them was exhausting. “I should’ve called Jack for a ride. At least he pretends to be normal.”

Kimi kicked his seat again, and Isack nearly flung himself out the window. “Stop doing that!”

Ollie chuckled, reaching for the volume knob and turning the radio back on, this time skipping stations until he landed on something tolerable. Kimi hummed along softly, and for a few minutes, the car was actually quiet—comfortable, even.

Then, out of nowhere, Ollie reached over and flicked Kimi’s knee. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Kimi turned his head towards Isack, his expression shifting into something painfully innocent—wide eyes, slightly parted lips, the kind of look that would make anyone feel like they’d just accused a baby deer of a crime. 

Ollie caught the glance in the rearview mirror, but instead of indulging it, he quickly redirected his focus back to the road, choosing to look at Isack instead. It was safer that way.

Isack hummed, clearly unimpressed by the theatrics. “When are you coming back to the track?”

Before Ollie could even open his mouth, Kimi’s foot shot out, delivering a sharp kick to the back of Issack’s seat. The impact sent him jerking forward with a startled yelp, nearly hitting the dashboard. Ollie jumped in his seat, the car swerving slightly before he corrected it.

“Kimi!” Ollie barked, heart lurching from the sudden movement. “Jesus! Feet on the floor or you’re out!”

Isack twisted in his seat, shooting Kimi an incredulous glare. “How is that stupid? He almost died, mate! I think it’s fair to ask when.”

Ollie winced slightly at the phrasing but didn’t interrupt. It wasn’t like he wanted to think about how bad things had been—how much worse they could have been.

Isack groaned, rubbing his shoulder as if he had taken actual damage. “Mate, what the hell was that for?”

Kimi, completely unrepentant, stuck his tongue out, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “You asked a stupid question.”

Isack twisted in his seat, giving him an incredulous look. “Caring is not stupid!”

Ollie sighed, flexing his fingers against the wheel. His cast made everything feel stiff, awkward, and he hated it. He hated how long this was taking, how fragile he still felt, how even standing too fast made his head swim.

“I don’t know,” Ollie muttered finally, lips pouted down. “Whenever they clear me, I guess.”

Kimi scoffed, shooting Isack a glare. “See? Stupid question.”

Isack huffed. “Mate, you spent a week in the hospital. That’s not nothing.”

Kimi rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and now he’s fine.”

Ollie sighed. “I wouldn’t say fine.”

Isack gestured toward him like he’d proven his point. “Exactly.”

Kimi waved a dismissive hand. “Okay, but ‘not fine’ and ‘not dead’ are basically the same thing.”

Isack groaned loudly, dropping his head against the seat. “I hate you.”

Kimi grinned, unfazed. “No.”

Ollie exhaled through his nose, gripping the wheel a little tighter as Kimi and Issack bickered like children. His head was already aching—whether from the lingering concussion or just their sheer volume, he wasn’t sure.

“Can you two not?” he muttered, glancing at Kimi through the mirror. “I already have a headache.”

That earned a guilty pause, but only for about half a second.

Kimi, instead of apologizing like a normal person, leaned forward between the seats, resting his chin on Ollie’s shoulder like he belonged there. Ollie stiffened slightly, but Kimi just grinned, voice dropping into something soft.

“I’ll be quiet if you let me drive.”

Ollie let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, no chance.”

“Why not?” Kimi whined, still draped over his shoulder.

Isack, ever the instigator, snorted. “Because…he said so.”

Ollie resisted the urge to shove him off, mostly because his stupid, fractured hand made even that feel like too much effort. Instead, he sighed heavily, adjusting his grip. “You’re not driving my car.”

“Then let me shift for you,” Kimi tried, nudging Ollie’s good hand with his own.

Isack groaned. “Oh my God. If one of you was a girl I would think you guys are about to kiss.”

Ollie fought a laugh, finally reaching over and shoving Kimi back toward his seat. “Go sit down before I actually pull over and make you walk.”

Kimi pouted but didn’t push it further. He did, however, curl himself up in the seat like some kind of oversized cat, knees tucked to his chest, eyes still watching Ollie like he was up to something.

Isack eyed them both warily before shaking his head. “You two are ridiculous.”

Ollie, despite himself, smiled. “Yeah. I know.”

When they pulled up to the restaurant, Ollie barely had time to put the car in park before Kimi was unbuckling his seatbelt.

Isack groaned. “Can you wait like a normal person?”

“No,” Kimi said simply, already halfway out the door.

Ollie rolled his eyes, but there was no real frustration behind it. He watched as Kimi stretched his arms over his head, his shirt riding up just slightly, before shutting the car door behind him. Isack muttered something. Ollie thinks Kimi would be jealous just how cute he finds his accent.

The restaurant was one of those cozy, dimly lit places—nice but not too nice, casual enough that a bunch of rowdy drivers wouldn’t feel out of place. Through the windows, Ollie could already see Jack and Gabi inside, deep in conversation, while Franco scrolled through his phone beside them.

Kimi turned to him, hands shoved in his pockets. “Ready?”

Ollie nodded, even as he caught himself adjusting the sleeve of his jacket—making sure it covered the brace on his hand. He didn’t want tonight to be about that. About the crash. He just wanted to sit down, eat some good food, and laugh with the rest of them like everything was normal.

Issack finally caught up, shoving past them with a dramatic sigh. “You two are so weird.”

Kimi shot Ollie a quick glance, something teasing flickering in his eyes. But he didn’t say anything, just bumped their shoulders together before following Issack inside.

Ollie let out a slow breath, then smiled to himself before heading in after them.

The moment they stepped inside, Jack waved them over, already grinning. “Took you long enough.”

Kimi rolled his eyes, but Ollie just laughed. “Blame Isack.”

“I thought carpool would be fun,” Isack muttered, shaking his head as he slid into the booth beside Gabi.

Ollie went to follow him, already expecting Kimi to slip in right beside him like always, but before he could, Jack shifted, patting the empty space next to him. “Oi, sit here. I need to talk to you about something.”

Ollie hesitated for only a second before shrugging and taking the seat. He glanced up just in time to see Kimi stop short, staring at the now-full side of the booth before realization dawned on his face.

Franco, completely oblivious, gestured to the open spot across from Ollie. “Looks like you’re with me, mate.”

Kimi didn’t say anything, just let out a slow, put-upon sigh as he slid into the seat. His knee barely knocked against Ollie’s under the table, but that was the only contact between them. It felt weird.

Ollie wasn’t used to not having Kimi right next to him, not used to there being an entire table between them. Normally, Kimi would be leaning into him, muttering commentary under his breath, occasionally reaching over to steal food off his plate. But now, they were apart—forced to act like just friends.

The thought shouldn’t have sent a weird knot through Ollie’s stomach.

Across from him, Kimi slouched in his seat, arms crossed, and met his gaze with a look that was way too dramatic. Ollie barely held back a smirk, shaking his head.

Jack, once again oblivious, just clapped his hands together. “Alright, what’s everyone ordering?”

Ollie listened in to Kimi’s conversation. 

Gabriel leaned in, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Okay, but did you see that one move in quali? That was so smooth, I swear, it was like—”

“Like poetry in motion,” Franco finished, grinning as he gestured with his hands. “I mean, almost as good as my moves last year, but yeah, not bad.”

Kimi snorted, resting his chin on his hand. “Right, because you would have handled it better.”

Franco smirked. “Obviously.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “God, you two are insufferable.”

Kimi just grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “And yet, here you are, stuck with us.”

“Unfortunately,” Gabriel sighed, though there was nothing but warmth in his tone.

Ollie watched them with an easy smile, propping his chin in his hand as he listened. Kimi was different like this—still sharp, still quick with his words, but softer around the edges, more relaxed. It was nice to see him like this.

Gabriel was still going on about the quali lap, Franco arguing just for the sake of it, and Kimi—ever sharp, ever effortlessly charming—was playing right into it, feeding the debate with his own perfectly timed quips. He was grinning, teasing, but softer than usual, more open.

Ollie knew this version of him, the one that let his guard slip just enough to let people think they had him figured out. It was an illusion, Ollie saw straight through.

And Ollie had to pretend he wasn’t staring.

He shifted in his seat, turning his focus to Issack on his left and Jack on his right. Safer options. No landmines there.

Issack nudged him. “Mate, you good? You’ve been spacing out all night.”

Jack smirked, leaning in slightly. “Yeah, you’ve been looking at Kimi like he’s dessert.”

Ollie forced out a laugh, shaking his head. “I was not.”

Jack hummed, unconvinced. Isack, still blissfully unaware, just snorted. “If you say so, man. I still think you’re just tired.”

Ollie seized the excuse immediately. “Exactly. Long day.”

Jack’s gaze lingered, but he let it drop, turning his attention to whatever Isack was complaining about now. Ollie exhaled slowly, forcing himself to focus on something—anything—other than the man sitting across from him.

Because no one could know.

It wasn’t just about keeping things private—it was about survival. About keeping things untangled. The second people knew, it would become something else. Something neither of them were ready to deal with.

It was just for fun. 

Ollie let out a breath and forced himself to focus, shifting his attention fully to Isack and Jack. They were already deep into some conversation about the last race, their words overlapping in a way that made it clear they’d been debating this for a while.

“I’m just saying,” Isack's voice rose just slightly over the soft clatter of cutlery and conversation around the table. He pointed his fork toward Jack, like it was a weapon in their debate. “If they hadn’t boxed him so early, he would’ve had the pace to fight for the podium. Easy.” His tone was matter-of-fact, like he couldn’t believe they were still arguing about this.

“You’re forgetting about tire degradation. He would’ve been a sitting duck by the end, and everyone knows it.” He gave a quick, smug shake of his head before digging back into his food, like the discussion was already settled.

Ollie, grateful for the distraction, hummed thoughtfully. “Who are we even talking about?”

Issack froze mid-chew and gave Ollie a look of absolute betrayal. “Have you not been listening at all?” he demanded, nearly dropping his fork. “Osc, people want the Mclaren civil war. It could benefit us all.” His tone was a mix of exasperation and disbelief, like he couldn’t believe Ollie could miss something so important.

Ollie gave a sheepish smile and shrugged, playing it off like he hadn’t been completely consumed by his own thoughts. “Right, right. Okay,” he said, nodding slowly. “I mean, I get your point. But Jack’s right. He would’ve been eaten alive at the end if they left him out any longer. His tires were already done.” He tried to sound convincing, like he’d been more tuned in than he really had been.

Jack let out a triumphant laugh, grinning as he shot Issack a victorious glance. “Thank you! Someone with sense,” he said, elbowing Ollie gently under the table.

Issack groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. “You’re both wrong, and I’m never talking to either of you again,” he muttered, though his grin gave him away.

Ollie just laughed, leaning back in his chair. The conversation was easy, familiar. A grounding force in the middle of all the chaos in his head.

Jack, a little quieter now, nudged Ollie’s arm with his elbow again. “You doing okay?” he asked, keeping his voice low so only Ollie could hear him. There was concern in his eyes, genuine and unfiltered.

Ollie hesitated, his smile faltering for just a second before he nodded. “Yeah. Just tired,” he said, and it wasn’t a lie, not exactly. But it wasn’t the whole truth either. He was tired. Bone-deep. He missed racing, missed the adrenaline, the rhythm. He wanted to be back on the track so badly it made his chest ache.

Jack didn’t look entirely convinced, but he let it slide. Isack, still too caught up in their argument, was already launching into another point.