summary: other capitol citizens wanted you as a trophy, something to show off at parties. charles saw someone who shared his passion for music
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Snow falls as you drag yourself across the city. Right now you’d rather be back in your small apartment in the training center, a gift from President Snow so you have somewhere to stay during your frequent visits.
The training center part isn’t all bad other than being a constant reminder of your trauma. It allows you to sort of keep up with the strict training drilled into you from District One. You may not get reaped again, or have the need to volunteer anymore, but it is nice to have a routine.
Everything is more extravagant here, impressive considering that your district is known for providing such luxuries. Such extravagance should be a right for all Capitol citizens, at least that’s what those around you seem to think. Including the illustrious President Snow. The one who makes you pay in blood then forces you to put on a show for his citizens. As if you didn’t do enough of it already three years ago.
“I’m surprised you haven’t turned to alcohol or morphling,” Finnick said to you one night during a commiserating session when your visits overlapped. You finished your glass of wine in one go as a response.
“You are nearly late,” a woman spits as you near the grand entrance to your employment for the night. Her pink wig is an offense to the color. It’s far too large for her head and clashes with the bright yellow of her eye makeup and dress. But what would you know?
“I’m here aren’t I?” you shrug off your winter jacket and politely hand it to the avox waiting beside the door. As you press forward into the party, people immediately step back. You can see the fear and wonder in their eyes. Victors are their playthings. Deadly, district-scum, yet still the centerpiece that makes the citizens party the best of the rest.
“She is scarier in person,” your eyes train on the voice, lethally staring into their eyes. You are every inch the weapon you appear to be - a fact you cannot deny. You were trained since you could walk to be a victor, but the pride you thought you’d feel after slaying your final opponent never came.
“Yes, I am,” your voice is low as you turn away. Your green dress matches the green of your district and the outfit you donned in the arena. It’s silky fabric lays perfectly against you, highlighting the muscles while showing just the right amount of curves.
The host leads you to a table covered in flowers. Flower arrangement, the easiest ‘talent’ you could pick up after winning. Every victor needs one after all. You couldn’t tell anyone a true thing about them, but your eye for colors compensates.
You carefully survey the table as the music picks up behind you. There are so many varieties that you never saw half of them, but one stack sticks out. Flowers made out of gemstone. They look just like the ones your father makes for the capitol. A spark of rage fills you, the kind that makes you want to smash it to the ground. You don’t. Instead you put on a fake smile and create bespoke arrangements for the partygoers, lying to their faces with compliments.
Just as you have become boring, and few flowers left on the table, a young man carefully approaches. You don’t notice at first, having been caught up in the music and dancing.
“Beautiful, isn’t it? The music.” a smooth voice asks. The first thing you notice are his striking eyes, accompanied by the softest brown hair that makes you want to touch it.
“It is. Can I interest you in a flower?” you select a small bunch of forget-me-nots, matching the blue of his tie. He looks at them appreciatively, like you just offered the shirt of your back.
“They are beautiful,” you pretend not to notice how your heart beats faster as his fingers brush yours. The sensible part of you fights it, knowing that he is a Capitol citizen and nothing could ever happen beyond one of Snow’s services. Districts can’t marry up, and even if you are a favorite victor, you are still beneath them. Like a caged wild animal for entertainment.
“Charles,” he offers his name in what you speculate is an attempt to help bring your guard down.
“Y/n,” you don’t know why you give yours in reply. He knows who you are, everyone knows who you are.
“I heard an interesting fact about this song. It incorporates parts of a former victors song,”
“From the tenth games. Same district as this year’s winners. I’ve heard that too,” you can’t help but crack a small smile, one that your escort drilled into you on the victory tour. You were ‘too intimidating’ and they wanted you to come off like you hadn’t slaughtered other kids your age.
“I don’t often find others who enjoy music like I do,” Charles smiles brighter. Far too trusting. His teeth sparkle under the lights, it seems he isn’t too good for some of the capital specials.
“Well, if you ever want to talk about it, I am only one Snow appointment away. I’ll even give you a discount,” you remind him who you are with a smile that lured others to their deathbed.
“Lucky me,” the song comes to an end. Charles’ smile matches the crinkle in his eyes. He didn’t understand the warning.
“Charles,” someone calls from the crowd, beaconing him away. As quickly as he appeared, he is gone. You are gone soon after, talent services no longer needed.
The warmth of your apartment greets you like a warm hug. Plush blankets drape your couch and the lights automatically set themselves to a dim, warm glow. Just as you get comfortable on the couch, anticipating your weekly call from Finnick, another notification reaches your communicator. Snow whoring you out again. You don’t dare to look at the details, only noting the day. It seems your return to District One is delayed, what a shame.
Charles doesn’t know why he booked your services. He just knows that something about you makes him want to know more. He needs to know more. So when you show up at his door looking like a sex goddess, he’s a little thrown off.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” you plaster a smoldering look onto your face, like you would any other client who books a private one-on-one.
Charles seems startled as he steps aside and you drop your coat, revealing even more of yourself. “Sorry- sorry. I wasn’t expecting this.”
“Honey, you booked it,” you stand close to him as the door clicks shit. Charles’ breath hitches before he takes one giant step away.
“You’re right. Let me, um,” grabbing a blanket, Charles quickly shoves it into your hands, giving you something to cover up with. “I know the services provided by victors, I, uh, didn’t mean to-“ you stare at him as he pauses to collect himself. His eyes meet yours as he begins to speak again, “I wanted to talk.”
“Talk, that’s new,” you gently wrap the blanket around your shoulders. “I should lay down some rules then.” you take a seat on a couch that feels like a cloud. Charles sits a respectable distance beside you.
“Absolutely.”
“I don’t talk about the games. Or anything to do with it,” you know it isn’t healthy to bottle it in, but the horrors shouldn’t be pushed on anyone else.
“I do have one semi-related question that’s been nagging at me. Why do you spend so much time in the Capitol?” Charles asks. You want to tell him the quick truth. That you don’t get a choice. That Snow chooses to exert control over his victors, especially those the public deems beautiful or those who have wronged him by not playing the game how he wanted them to.
“The people want Finnick and I around. The longer our services are required here, the longer we stay. Otherwise we are to be back in our district. If we were allowed to travel elsewhere, maybe I’d visit him, I heard they have nice beaches. The money we get from it doesn’t hurt,” you hum, corners of your mouth showing the smile you try to repress.
“You didn’t answer the question but I will let it slide. Favorite color?” Charles asks, effortlessly making you feel at ease.
It’s a dangerous game you play. But you continue to play and he continues to pay. You find yourself traveling back to the Captiol more often as he books you when you haven’t been around in a week and you visit when in town for other clients. Talking turns to something deeper, something neither of you can speak about.
“Are you okay?” Charles asks one night as you lay in his arms. The spring is giving way to the summer which means one thing. It is time to be a mentor once again. It never gets easier, but this time it’s the quarter quell and you might be a tribute yet again. One thing is for certain, you will not volunteer.
“No,” you have always been honest and you won’t stop now. “It’s torture to know that every year you have to form an attachment only for your tribute to likely die. I trained my whole life to win, so did my,” your throat tightens and you close your eyes tightly. Letting Charles into your mind like this is a more recent development and it’s hard. “It’s not enough most of the time. And when you do survive, they find a way to make you a puppet in the games once again.”
Charles gently strokes your hair, letting you cry, giving you the space to feel everything. He didn’t really watch your games, but he did watch your interviews and some of the victory tour. It’s why you began opening up more to him, he doesn’t know you as a savage. “If you want to talk more, I’m here, and if you don’t, I will still be here for you,” his offer makes you feel safe. Like everything outside your little bubble can’t hurt.
“There’s a reason I hate being home. When I am there, I don’t venture far from the Victor Village. I killed my district-mate. I hated him so much growing up, but when we got in the arena he was the only slice of home. But we are careers and even if we share an alliance, only one of us was going to win. I left on day three, after half the tributes died. That night they hunted me and I killed him without a second thought. When I got home, I couldn’t look his family or friends in the eye. I was the pride of the district but I didn’t feel like it.” Your throat is tight as tears sting your eyes.
“Thank you for sharing that. I know it is hard to speak about and you saw things we didn’t see,” Charles tightens his hold on you, letting you silently cry. His heart breaks at the burden and pain you carry, knowing you have to go home tomorrow for the reaping and there is a very real chance you might be reaped.
You lay together in the cover of darkness. Charles’ woodsy scent grounds you as his arms envelop you with a sense of safety. His apartment is your own slice of heaven, away from the duties and restrictions of Panem, where you can feel the feelings you can never say aloud. You stay awake all night, kissing, talking, wishing that the sun wouldn’t rise.
Charles makes breakfast, trying to hold onto every moment you are here. “Please don’t go,” his voice breaks. His eyes are filled with desperation, just as scared as you are at the coming events. You cup his face with your hand, holding back your own fear.
“I have to. If I get reaped tomorrow,” your eyes dart away not able to finish your sentence.
“I know,” Charles pulls you in for one more kiss. “I’ll find my way into the training center if I have to,” he vows. Then you leave.
Charles is glued to his television the next day, watching the reaping like his life depended on it. Time slows as your escort reaches into the ladies name bowl. She plucks a slip, tearing it open and looking over the pen you stand in.
Your heart races, knowing that there is a very good chance your name is to be selected. Gloss stands beside you, head held high and hand gripping yours. As her name is called, you give it a tight squeeze and say nothing. Another friend sent to their death.
On the train, you should be talking strategy and discussing the other tributes, but you find your mind drifting to the Capitol and the piece of you that was left there. Thankfully for you, the ride is short and you have time to kill before the parade.
Charles answers his door after a single knock, sweeping you into a tight hug. “I was so scared you were getting reaped,” he whispers, holding you like you might disappear when he lets go.
“I didn’t,” you close his door and step further inside. “I need to tell you something,” Charles sits on the couch and pulls you onto his lap, willing to listen but not let you go. “I’ve heard rumblings of rebellion,” you say lowly trying read his reaction. You heard a lot back in District One, and only some of it you can share. Well, you shouldn’t be saying anything, but you trust Charles with your life.
“Rebellion? Why?” Charles’ brow furrows. He knows life outside the Capitol is hard, but he doesn’t know the extent like you do. Finnick brought you in a long time ago, but you had dismissed it in your mind as something in the far future, but being home for the reaping changed that.
“Life in the districts is hard and it’s only getting worse. The people are tired. There is a plan and I need to know, will you escape with me if the time comes?” you stare him in the eyes. He looks conflicted and confused, but makes his mind up all the same.
“I’d follow you anywhere just to be with you,” Charles lifts one of your hands to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the knuckles. He may not know what all is happening outside the city, but he isn’t stupid. If you were to stay here with him, you’d be hunted and killed. Leaving here will be hard, harder on him than you, but the risk is worth being together.
“I love you,” the sun fills the room, a warm glow wrapping around you.
“I love you too,” his lips meet yours with fervor. You don’t have too long together before you have to part, but you leave with a spark of hope and a lighter step.
The next few days you spend talking with other mentors and meeting with potential sponsors. Snow still has you making appearances, filling in the Finnick sized hole. Finnick did apologize in the way that only he could, a sugar cube and a direction to Haymitch for information on how to get out of the Capitol when it’s time. When you have a free moment outside the chaos of the games, you are with Charles. It’s is never more than an hour here or there, but you make it count.
When the games start it is only a matter of time before your departure, and you somehow sneak Charles into the training center under the guise of him being a sponsor. Haymitch offers a backhanded compliment and a time to be ready.
“Charles, wake up,” you nudge him awake from the couch where your television is showing the mandatory viewing of the games. Every necessary possession and a few sentimental ones are in your go bag. The team in the arena started their plan and now it’s time for you to get out. “It’s time,” you whisper, grabbing the bags beside the door.
“Wait,” he quickly runs a hand through his hair and straightens his clothes. “Before we go, I just have one question,” Charles reaches into his pocket and pulls out a simple diamond ring. “Will you marry me?” you barely give him time to ask the question before replying.
“Yes,” you drop the bags to the ground and let him slip the ring on your finger before pulling him in for a kiss. “We have to leave now,” you grab the bags once more and lead him to where Haymitch and Plutarch await. Charles slides a wedding ring onto his finger and takes your hand.
“I wasn’t aware we had another person joining us,” Plutarch looks at your hands closely.
“My husband, in every sense but the laws of Panem,” you grip Charles’ hand tighter. He knows you have to pass as married to stick together, so he doesn’t act surprised, just happy.
“Well then, congratulations. We can use this in the rebellion. Cross-district forbidden love. A Capitol socialite and a victor,” Plutarch muses as the hovercraft lifts away and heads for the arena. That’s the exact reason you are even here, it’s how you pitched it to Haymitch. You don’t actually plan on being used as propaganda, but it did secure your safe passage out.
“Where are we going” Charles asks, finally able to ask the questions you are now free to answer.
“The arena, we have to retrieve the Mockingjay before going to District Thirteen,” you explain quietly.
“Thirteen? I thought it was destroyed,” he whispers, still gripping your hand. You can’t imagine how scary it is for him, he’s the enemy in so many people’s eyes.
“No, they are leading the rebellion. I don’t know too much more, but if Plutarch approves then we will be safe,” you aren’t too sure of the last part, but it doesn’t quite matter because you are at the arena.
Both of you are on the brink of exhaustion when you finally reach District Thirteen and the intake. Katniss is well sedated and you just want to collapse on a bed.
“Name and District of origin?” someone asks. You answer quickly but Charles hesitates.
“Charles Leclerc, Capitol,” the lady who asked looks surprised.
“A lot of those today. What is your relation? Are you her district escort for the games? Prep team?” the lady asks, probably deciding what job to give him.
“My husband,” you answer as Plutarch arrives.
“President Coin and I will figure out the legal paperwork for them, but they are legitimate. They’ve been sneaking around with each other for half the year,” Plutarch cuts in. Of course he knows about the relationship, even if he never admitted it. It is his job to know such things.
You are assigned a compartment number and a soldier leads you to it with the reminder that someone would be around in the morning to introduce you to life in Thirteen.
“This wasn’t how I envisioned our first night together as a married couple,” Charles helps unpack the bags you brought.
“No, but at least we can be together openly,” you smile as you poke around the small compartment.
“I honestly thought they wouldn’t let me in,” Charles admits. You later learn that District Thirteen is desperate for bodies, especially couples who can have kids.
“I’m glad they did, and I’m glad we can be here. It’s much better than the alternative,” you slide your shoes off and change into the grey pajama set provided to you.
“They would’ve killed you had you stayed, wouldn’t they?” Charles asks, pausing in the middle of changing.
“Likely. If I were unlucky, I’d probably be taken prisoner and tortured for information,” a shiver runs down your spine thinking of the victors they couldn’t save earlier.
“Well then, no matter how life is here, we have that to hold onto,” Charles finishes changing and slides into the bed beside you.
“Sorry, we should be happy, celebrating, we are married.”
“In what must be the quickest turn around between engagement and marriage,” Charles laughs, the craziness of it settling in.
“Please, there was no one else I would have ever married. It was you since the night you paid for my time just to talk,” you lift your hand and play with his hair, knowing how it relaxes him.
“And it was you since that party. The moment I saw you it was over,” Charles pulls you closer, relishing in the feeling of you in his arms. For the first time you don’t have to hide, you don’t have to rely on the cover of dark. Freedom tastes sweet.
summary: you should’ve known that you’d end up hurt when it all came to an end, but the high of him was too much to resist
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The stench that only comes with a cheap hotel fills your nose as you quietly dart in the back door. The key card was handed to you last night, exchanged in a blink and you’ll miss it way. The perfume you are wearing clashes with your natural scent, but you wear it for him anyway. Three quiet raps on the door let him know it’s you.
“Hey, kid,” Daniel smiles tiredly. It used to be his bright, cheerful one that fans love. That you love.
“How-“ you are cut off by a forceful kiss, one that’s become more normal. Less talking, more sex.
“When will you leave Max?” Daniel asks, arm lazily strewn over your side as you catch your breath.
“When will you leave Heidi?” you retort, eyes meeting his. Daniel sits up, moving to be on top of you, boxing you in. His head deeps down to meet your lips in a fiery kiss.
“I’d go anywhere for you,” Daniel promises. His words fill you with warmth but your head screams that they are hallow. That he doesn’t mean it. That he is only saying it because he is high off of lust.
“Soon,” you used to be so sure. And now? You want to believe him but doubt creeps in more and more.
You leave soon after, immediately showering to get the smell of him off you.
“Hey, how was your run?” Max pops his head into the bathroom mid-shampoo.
“Good. I’m surprised you aren’t on the sim,” you reply, watching his shadow get closer.
“You left so early, I wanted to properly greet you,” his words send a pang of guilt through you. You used to love him so deeply, and you almost wonder what changed.
“Max,” you voice dies in your throat as he strips and joins you in the shower.
“Maybe I should join you on a run next time, I feel like I don’t see you anymore,” he gently takes the soap from your hands and studies you.
“We will make more time then,” you force a smile.
“For now, let me take care of my love,” Max presses a kiss on your shoulder and travels down your body. And all you can think about is Daniel.
The Monaco GP has quickly become your favorite race. Being at home means more time to sneak off with Daniel.
“Max!” Daniel’s face lights up at the sight of his teammate. His gaze drifts over to yours where his smile brightens ever so slightly. The heat of his eyes reminds you of the first time you met him at the club, when you fell. He bought you a drink and you went back to his hotel room that night. A much nicer room than the ones you’ve been meeting in lately. “And my favorite fellow Australian.”
“Hi,” you barely look Heidi in the eyes.
“I never noticed that you and Heidi wear the same perfume,” Max mentions.
“What an odd coincidence, you have great taste,” you lie through your teeth. You didn’t like Heidi at all from the moment you met her. She has something you want.
“So do you,” she smiles back, turning to Daniel. “I’m going to meet some friends for lunch,” she tells him, walking off.
The three of you walk to the Red Bull Racing home. Max dominates the conversation as you stop at the espresso bar for a coffee.
“I just wish that we didn’t have so much media to do,” Max complains. You take a small sip of the latte, watching Daniel adjust his collar giving it two tugs. His signal for you to meet in his drivers room.
“Speaking of. It’s time to go do the shoot,” one of the social media managers interrupts to take Max.
“Will you be alright?” Max asks, always concerned about leaving you.
“Yeah, Daniel and I have a new episode to watch,” you lie. Max isn’t really into Australian TV so it’s a good cover story for you and Daniel.
“I’ll take good care of her,” Daniel slides an arm around your shoulders, his proximity and scent sending a bolt of lightning through you. As soon as Max is out of your sight he is pulling you into his drivers room, covering you in a flurry of kisses.
“Daniel,” you moan his name as he presses you against the wall the separates his room from Max’s.
“Shh, baby, don’t want everyone to hear you,” he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. Everything is quick and rushed. It used to be slow, sensual, loving. Now you chase the high of the first time.
You never meant to fall for Daniel. But the first time you looked at him, Max’s hot older teammate, you were smitten. He showed you new things, new colors of life you never saw before.
He does turn on the tv episode on his computer, providing cover for when Max or Heidi inevitably shows up.
“If only we could do this all the time,” Daniel runs his hand down your leg, letting it rest on the inside of your thigh near your knee.
“One day,” you glance at him, his eyes trained on the computer screen.
Max shows up soon after and you feel Daniel’s stare as your hand intertwines with Max.
“How was media?” you ask, settling into Max’s driver room.
“Boring, you know I hate it,” Max complains, you hum in response. “I just wish that we could focus on racing. Racing will survive without media,” Max sits down beside you, pulling you into his arms.
“Yeah,” you whisper, mind wandering to the man on the other side of the wall.
The secrecy continues through the season. Stolen glances, brushing hands, clandestine meetings, shitty hotel rooms, and lies upon lies. By the end of the season, you’ve had enough.
“There is something bothering you. I’ve noticed it for a week now,” Max confronts you on the couch after the FIA Awards Ceremony.
“I’m fine,” you lie. Max pretends he hasn’t noticed how you don’t leave your things in his apartment anymore. How you’ve slowly started removing your things from his apartment until the only things that remain are what you bring on that day. How you spend more nights in your own apartment than you do his. How you stopped any mentions of moving in and brush off his efforts to get you to move in with him.
“No, you are distant and I don’t know why,” Max’s voice raises.
“I’m going home,” you throw the blanket off, reaching for your keys on the coffee table.
“No, we need to talk about this,” Max insists, and despite being checked out of the relationship, your heart breaks at the thought of what comes next. Hurting Max. The one thing you didn’t want to do.
“Max,” your voice breaks slightly as you gather the confidence to do what you’ve said you’d do for months. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Why?” his eyes plead with you to tell him it’s a joke. Like his suspicion of what is coming next is wrong.
“I don’t love you anymore. I haven’t for a while. I’m really sorry,” your eyes are focused on your feet, your hands, anywhere but Max.
“What happened? What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I messed up, and I’m so sorry,” you stand.
“Who?” Max’s voice breaks, knowing the meaning behind your words as you look for the nearest exit.
“Daniel,” your words land like a dagger to his heart. Max looks away from you, rage and sadness beginning to consume him. “I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this. Max, you’ve only ever been good to me, and I will cherish that forever. That’s why I’m leaving,” you make your way to the door, not wanting to hurt him anymore.
“One last thing. How long?” Max asks as your hand brushes the door knob.
“Austin,” you lie, knowing that that was the first time Max recognized something was off. “I’ll return your key and hoodies. I really am sorry,” you take Max in one last time, both of your hearts hurting, and close the door.
The walk to your car is a numb one. You fight every urge to run to Daniel as your world begins to crumble. You never expected it to be so hard.
Daniel calls you an hour later.
“Dan, I’m not in the mood-“
“You told Max.” he cuts you off. You are quiet for a moment, gathering your thoughts. That’s all he cares about? Not that you sound like you’ve spent the past hour crying. You have. Not the words you answered the call with.
“He deserved to know why I ended things with him. I didn’t even tell him how long this has been going on,” you argue, sniffling the remnants of your tears.
“A little warning would’ve been nice. If Heidi had been home-“ this time it’s your turn to cut him off.
“Why would that matter if you are leaving her?” you ask, dumbfounded at his words.
“Why would you assume that?” he asks and you feel your sadness turn into anger.
“Because you told me you would. I left Max for you.”
“And you can still be with me,” Daniel states. It is lucky for him that he didn’t show up at your doorstep.
“I don’t want to hide anymore. I’m tired of being your illicit secret. You promised to leave her,”
“I never promised that.” Daniel says and your mind replays every moment as pieces click. Every time he asked you to leave Max. Every time you asked when he’s leave Heidi, he never answered. He never planned on leaving her, he only wanted you for himself. That night at the bar he gave you the drink, you never saw the bartender make it. He never planned on seeing you after that night, but being Max’s girlfriend made it so convenient. He knew how to manipulate you from the start. He could read you like a book.
“We are done. I feel so stupid. I wish I never saw you in the club that night. Fuck you.”
“Kid. Baby, don’t-“
As you hang up your phone, the world around you crumbles. Everything you ever had, you lost. The thing that hurts the most is that you’d do it all again if it meant you’d end up with him. And he knows it. You throw your phone across the room, wanting him to hear you scream at him, but all you can do is cry.
You move out of Monaco shortly after. The news of your breakup from Max is short and sweet, neither of you comment on it. You get the final word, telling Heidi the whole truth, the truth you never told Max out of the last bit of love you held for him. The media does notice how Max and Daniel don’t interact as much anymore, that they aren’t friends anymore.
Max reached out months later, asking to meet for lunch and to hear everything from your side. So you do. You tell him how you suspect Daniel drugged you the first night you met him, and how he pulled on every string just right so you fell into his trap. But you do acknowledge your part in hurting Max, how you could’ve stopped but continued to see Daniel. You tell him how you ended it with Daniel shortly after breaking up with him.
Max doesn’t say much. He just listens. Sitting in the corner of your favorite restaurant. It’s like nothing changed from before, but everything has.
“I don’t know why you wanted to hear all this, but I do hope you get closure from it,” you gently reach across the table and squeeze his hand. Max looks down at your hand on his, like he’s remembering a time when you seemed to be happy, but can’t trust those memories anymore.
“Did you ever love me?” Max asks quietly, still watching your hand on his.
“I did. More than I realized at the time. Hurting you is something I will regret all my life. But I’m not here to try to win you back, I know that I crossed a line that is never forgiven,” you carefully remove your hand. Therapy did a lot and you want to show you can acknowledge your mistakes.
“What if I did?” Max asks, eyes a little watery as he looks at you.
“You’d second guess everything in the relationship. While I will never cheat on anyone again, I don’t want you to go through that pain. I want you to find someone who you will trust completely, who will love you more than I could. You deserve that Max.” you know he only wants the idea of you and you love him too much to hurt him again.
“You aren’t the villain you make yourself out to be,” Max leans in closer. He wants to help you find your closure too.
“Maybe not, but I still share blame in hurting you. You may forgive me down the road, but I’ll never forgive myself. I hope you found your closure,” you stand from the table. Max’s emotions are clouding his judgement and you need to leave while you still have a clear head. You pause beside Max and give him a light kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you, I hope in the future we can be friends again,” Max says, watching you leave. He feels lighter in a way he didn’t expect. The truth was easier to hear than he had assumed, maybe it was because he saw how you changed after.
His last image of you is you walking out the restaurant door, leaving him at the table alone.
summary: if anyone could break throug your superstitions and that seven year curse you accidentally got on tour, it’s the man who knows how to love you- in more ways than one
masterlist request open
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You’ve always been a little superstitious. Never walking under a ladder, extreme caution around mirrors, pouring some of your first drink to the ground before drinking alcohol outside, never walking across a grave, salt over your shoulder, salt lines, knocking on wood. You never schedule anything on Friday the 13th. Black cats are okay though, you haven’t had any bad luck with your fur baby.
Your fans know that about you and they make fun of how you act in concerts when something superstitious happens, and one clip went viral with them of you jumping over a crack in the stage mid choreography.
Your superstition was driven further after you broke a mirror on stage and haven’t had any luck with dating in the six years since. But something, more like someone, recently changed that.
Oscar lays on the bed beside you, softly snoring into the pillow as he takes an afternoon nap. A quiet scratching noice fills the room as you scribble lines of potential lyrics into your notebook. A black furry blob catches your eye as it makes its way towards you, aggressively nudging your arm.
“You are so spoiled,” you quietly whisper, setting the notebook aside to give your full attention to the needy cat. You got her after stepping on a crack in the sidewalk. She darted out of an alley and wouldn’t leave you alone. You were terrified of the bad luck, but you couldn’t just leave her.
“You never stop writing when I want cuddles,” Oscar pouts, voice raspy.
“I’ve had Onyx for thirteen years, what she wants is what she gets,” you pull her down onto your chest in a hug. She’s not a fan when you do it, but you’re her mom and she tolerates it.
“But I’m your husband. I’m surprised you chose a black cat,” his lips quirk up, moving closer to you so he can get his desired cuddles. It’s crazy that you used to pick the petals off of daisies to see if he loved you.
“Fiancé. She’s like you - an exception. With my seven years of bad luck, you shouldn’t have found me,” you gently stroke your cats spine, enjoying the motorboat purrs.
“Every rule does have one or two,” Oscar’s eyes fight to stay open, far too comfortable to not fall asleep. You don’t say anything. You just reach up with your unoccupied hand and run your fingers through his fluffy brown hair, lulling him to sleep.
When he wakes up, he finds you in the kitchen making dinner. You are caught mid throwing salt over your shoulder. Oscar assumes you spilled some so he quietly grabs to broom and cleans behind you, careful to not sweep beneath you. You offhandedly told him once that means you won’t get married - and he wants to marry you. Desperately. Good news for him, you feel the same. It’s why your ring finger carries the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen.
He knew he wanted to marry you since you took him as your date to a wedding very early in the relationship. You didn’t try to catch the bouquet, feeling confident in the relationship and reluctant to rush anything that didn’t need to be. You told your friends and family as much right after the toss. Not to mention, you were mid conversation with him and you didn’t want to interrupt Oscar’s story. Since then, Oscar’s life when not racing was spent planning a proposal.
He had a big romantic evening planned until you woke up ill. Like, can’t leave the bed with a concerningly high fever ill. Funnily enough, that moment solidified the fact that you were the one. He didn’t mind cleaning your puke and helping change your clothes. He didn’t mind force feeding you because you couldn’t keep anything down but needed to eat something to gain strength. He didn’t mind doing everything in the shower for you while you just stood there.
Oscar proposed the next day over breakfast in bed but promised that you’d take really cute engagement photos to make up for the lack of romantic atmosphere. You told him that it was the most romantic proposal you could imagine anyway.
“When did you wake up?” you notice him return to the kitchen. He takes the spoon you hold out to him, happily accepting the taste test.
“That’s really good. I woke up a few minutes ago,” Oscar dutifully takes his place as your sous chef, setting the table and finishing little things you started.
“Do you want to come to the studio with me tomorrow?” you ask as you turn off burners and plate the food. Oscar moves in step with you, taking the plates to your dinner table where he already poured wine and has your chair pulled out for you. It’s cute watching him scramble around to give you the princess treatment, despite your attempts to do some things on your own.
“I can’t. It’s bad luck if I’m in the studio,” Oscar shakes his head as he pushes in your chair. He hasn’t been in the studio at any of your sessions in the past month and he certainly doesn’t intend on starting.
“I’ll send you voice memos after recording then,” you smile. You love that he lets you be superstitious and respects your quirks. Every other boyfriend found it silly, and if Oscar does he would never dare mention it.
“I look forward to hearing everything. I might not get to it right away though, I have the haircut with Charles’ mom in the afternoon,” Oscar tries not to down his food but he didn’t eat after training earlier, he just showered and crawled into bed beside you.
“Do you think she’d do my hair too? Maybe I should just tag along, the studio session is early tomorrow. What time is the hair appointment?” you ask, using Oscar as your sounding board.
“Late afternoon, I’ll check the exact time after dinner and let Charles know,” Oscar promises.
After dinner he teaches you a new track in his sim so you can race him - aka he holds back lets you win occasionally just because he likes it when you think you beat him. A month into dating you begged Oscar to teach you and he lit up like a kid in a candy store, so much so he invested in a second one just for you. You have yet to try karting, but it’s on the list.
You leave before Oscar is awake. Some poor intern at the studio has coffee and pastries waiting for you and your producers. This studio in Monaco is your favorite. It’s cozy, has a fully stocked fridge and snack cabinet, and lets you book most of the day to finish writing.
“Show us what you’ve got so far,” you do as instructed after settling in. One producer is at the piano and another scribbles as the notepad as you show them melodies and lyrics you’ve come up with. You save your most recent writing for last.
“This one I started yesterday. I’ve got the first and second verse, the first pre-chorus, and chorus figured out, but it definitely isn’t complete. Osc is really cute about my superstitions and I like to think he’s my exemption from bad luck. Like I don’t need to knock on wood when I say that he’s the one,” you explain, playing parts that you’ve started and different melodies that might work.
As you pass around your notebook, sharing your favorite stories, trying new lines and verses, things spiral a bit away from your intended theme. In your defense, the producers led you down that path as you messed with the chorus, second pre-chorus, and post-chorus. What started as little superstitions you’ve done like plucking flower petals and coins being tails up turned into something much more… risqué.
“Okay, I’m recording. This track is tentatively titled Wood,” you get a count in and start the song.
“We really strayed from the innocent path didn’t we,” your producers laugh.
“It sounds great, I love how it turned out,” you grin as you save the file, knowing that it is the first thing you are sending Oscar.
“This album will be great. A few more songs and sessions to record and mix and it will be mostly done.”
“I’m so excited. I think that’s all for today too,” you quickly send it off to Oscar who is just arriving to his hair appointment.
———————
Oscar steps into Pascale’s home, following after Charles. His phone buzzes slightly in his pocket, meaning someone important texted him. A quick glance shows the voice memo you sent along with a text telling him you are on your way.
“Y/n just finished in the studio,” he tells Charles who peers at Oscar’s phone.
“Play the song,” Charles encourages, hoping it’s something slow that he can collaborate on.
“What song?” Pascale greets the two men, startling them.
“One that Y/n just recorded, Maman,” Charles answers as Oscar presses play. As the song progresses, Charles wishes he has a camera filming Oscar. When the song takes the sudden turn from superstition to talking about Oscar’s… endowment… he turns bright red. Even Pascale fights a laugh as Oscar fumbles to stop it from playing again.
“It sounds like you should put ring on it,” Pascale winks, avoiding the main reason of Oscar’s embarrassment.
“He already did. Congratulations,” Charles fails at hiding his laugh.
“When you boys compose yourselves, I’m ready,” Pascale walks away to her little home salon studio.
“Be grateful someone loves you enough to sing about how you defy superstition and have a big dick all in one song,” Charles tries to ease Oscar but only succeeds in embarrassing him further. Oscar follows Pascale, still red faced, leaving Charles waiting in the entryway.
————
You arrive near the end of Oscar’s haircut, bringing leftover pastries and a bottle of wine.
“You should’ve seen his face,” Charles says immediately upon seeing you.
“Oh god. I swear it was completely innocent when I started writing it and then when I got into the studio and we fleshed it out it just spiraled,” your cheeks tinge pink as you follow Charles through the house.
“Ah, there is the satisfied woman. Let me see the ring,” Pascale greets you. You and Oscar immediately flush with embarrassment as Pascale grabs your hand. You quickly repeat the same story you just told Charles like it will make a difference.
“It’s a good song,” Oscar admits as Pascale runs a hand through his hair to check length.
“Do you need someone to play the piano?” Charles asks and you shake your head.
“That one is being prepared to be recorded next time, but I do have one that I want to be mainly on the piano. Why don’t we find a time to meet at the studio?” you offer. You don’t want to make a habit of collaborating with the musicians of the grid, but you do like Charles’ compositions.
“Your song is wonderful sweetheart, now let’s get you into the chair,” Pascale quickly boots Oscar out and carefully inspects your hair. “It only needs a small trim if you want to keep the length and remove the dead ends,” she hums.
“I usually change my hair every release, it’s my little superstition, but I think I want to keep this one. A trim is perfect,” your voice doesn’t waver. Oscar looks at you, a little surprised. He was ready for you to cut it all off or change the color, not leave it.
“Of course,” Pascale works her magic. “Will you be staying for dinner?” She says is like a question, but you know you can’t refuse.
After dinner, you and Oscar go straight home. Despite having high profile careers, your social batteries are small and it is high time for silence. You grab your notebook and head out to the balcony overlooking the city. Oscar follows you out a few moments later, balancing mugs of hot chocolate and the book he’s been reading. You gratefully wrap your hands around one of the mugs before he takes a seat beside you.
“If you don’t want me to release that song, I will delete any recording and burn the lyrics. You know that, right?” you break the cozy silence a few minutes later between sips of hot chocolate.
“I know, but it’s been stuck in my head since and I do like the overall message. We do make our own luck, even when you are superstitious,” Oscar slides his hand onto yours. His touch always seems to calm you, the simple reassurance that he is there. You stare out at the sky, watching the stars. As a shooting star flies past, you make a quick wish.
“What did you wish for,” Oscar’s thumb rubs your knuckles absentmindedly.
“I can’t tell you, it wouldn’t come true. It usually doesn’t, but you never know,” you smile, turning to look at Oscar. His sleepy eyes crinkle as he smiles in amusement. “I used to really take those wishes seriously. I’d complain about something and wish for it to be magically resolved,” you shake your head as if you are erasing the memory.
“They never came true?”
“One did. You are here and I know I wished for you more than once.”
“So I’m your dream man?” Oscar smiles wider, eager to hear your confirmation as if you didn’t just write a song about how much you love him.
“I’d say so. At least I would hope so, your ring is on my finger.”
The song stays on the album. You didn’t mean to schedule the album release during Monaco weekend, but you did. To make matters more complicated it’s your first time in the paddock.
“I’m so excited. If our song doesn’t go number one I don’t know what I’ll do with myself,” Charles says as you enter the paddock on Friday. Oscar follows close behind, getting held up by his credential not scanning.
“It will be a hit,” you cross your fingers. Oscar gently brushes his hand against yours. You uncross your fingers and slide your hand into his, sure you didn’t jinx anything. Your engagement ring is safely on the necklace hidden below the neckline of your flowy dress.
“Y/n! How does it feel to be in the paddock for the first time, especially when you release your new album tonight?” someone yells. Oscar flinches slightly at the loud interruption.
“I’m excited to see Oscar in the car and support him. The album is exciting and I can’t wait for everyone to hear it, but my focus is on Osc right now,”
“Any favorites? Maybe the song you feature Charles on?” the press sucks up to the Monegasque beside you.
“Oh there is a great one! She has a song about how much she loves Oscar’s-“ You nearly tackle Charles as you cover his mouth. Oscar seems torn between blushing, laughing, and asking for the video. You carefully remove your hand from Charles’ mouth, glaring at his dimples from the shit-eating grin on his face.
“Kindness. I love how kind he is. Sorry, other than that, no spoilers. I can’t say that I have a favorite song right now. I love them equally,”
“That one is my favorite though. I am very… generous,” Oscar smiles making you flush from embarrassment and flattery. You barely pick up on the innuendo as you try not to die of embarrassment.
“We should go before I accidentally spoil more,” you quickly walk away, no clue on where you are supposed to go.
Charles mutters a quick apology and runs off to a meeting.
“How about I go demonstrate what you love so much about the song,” Oscar whispers into your ear and if you weren’t red before, you certainly are now.
“Can you get into your race suit first?” your eyes rake across him. Oscar pulls you a little closer and makes a beeline for his drivers room.
Oscar loves nothing more than the sight of you breathless. Hair and lipstick messed up, that tired but extremely satisfied look in your eye, clinging to him like you might disappear off the face of the earth. It means he did his job right and he did it very well. He takes it personally if you don’t look that way every time.
“I have a team meeting,” Oscar presses a quick kiss to your lips before reaching for his team polo. You carefully wipe your lipstick from his face and help fix his hair.
“I am going to take a nap,” you fight a yawn.
“I’ll bring a coffee back with me,” Oscar grabs a hoodie and throws it over you to act as a blanket.
“Love you,” you snuggle underneath the hoodie as Oscar repeats your words. The door gently clicks shut, leaving you alone. It doesn’t take too long to fall asleep, especially since the hoodie smells like Oscar. You will be wearing it if you get cold in the motor home.
Oscar returns from the meeting with a latte and plate of food.
“I have to change and go get ready for FP1, but I brought some snacks. You are more than welcome to watch from the garage or you can stay in hospitality,” Oscar rushes around the room, throwing on his race suit and fireproofs and tossing his other clothes onto the small desk.
“Kiss for good luck?”
“We are superstitious,” Oscar smiles as he pulls back from the kiss.
“We are. Have fun out there.” you smile like an idiot while watching him leave. Something about him embracing part of you as himself just made you melt.
Between sessions and after some briefings, Oscar gives you the garage tour and introductions. You soak everything up, every bit of technical detail and team member name he throws at you. It’s hot watching him do his thing and even more so when he shows you it. You watch closely as Oscar explains some data to you, the way his eyes narrow slightly and his brows furrow when he tries to translate it from the screen to the track.
When you leave the track, the two of you aren’t quite ready for what is waiting for you the next day.
You didn’t check social media in the morning, choosing to stay fully focused on Oscar and the day ahead. You know you have a lot of congratulatory texts and notifications, but you can clear them out later. Oscar didn’t mention anything other than a few funny texts from his sisters, and you received similar texts from them too.
Being famous, you are used to the stares and whispers, but the paddock was a new beast. Girls seem to blush and stare more, guys look at Oscar in a different way.
When the girls aren’t eyeing up your boyfriend, they look at you jealously. Like they are plotting how to secure him in the case that you separate. As if that would ever happen. You lift your left hand up and brush a strand of hair back, making sure they see the glittering ring on your fourth finger that you didn’t bother to hide today.
“My man,” Lando claps Oscar on the back, offering a smile to both of you before walking away.
“I think people really like the song,” Oscar leans into you slightly, lowering his voice. You fight the urge to laugh while you nod in agreement.
“Almost as much as I love what it’s about,” out of the corner of your eye you catch his face turn pink. “You. Obviously I mean you.”
as a bostonian i hate when f1 spaces are like “hating on drivers is weird”. that’s the point. what is sport if there’s no behemoth superiority complex and burning rage.
exactly, like what’s the point? if i can’t cite decades worth of rivalry and hate a team or person bc of one specific thing i don’t want it. my team/driver/player is always the best 😤
all i’m saying is that i listened to the Italian national anthem more than some of the songs on my Spotify Wrapped 2025 playlist says i listened to other songs
summary: you should’ve known that you’d end up hurt when it all came to an end, but the high of him was too much to resist
masterlist requests open
———————————
The stench that only comes with a cheap hotel fills your nose as you quietly dart in the back door. The key card was handed to you last night, exchanged in a blink and you’ll miss it way. The perfume you are wearing clashes with your natural scent, but you wear it for him anyway. Three quiet raps on the door let him know it’s you.
“Hey, kid,” Daniel smiles tiredly. It used to be his bright, cheerful one that fans love. That you love.
“How-“ you are cut off by a forceful kiss, one that’s become more normal. Less talking, more sex.
“When will you leave Max?” Daniel asks, arm lazily strewn over your side as you catch your breath.
“When will you leave Heidi?” you retort, eyes meeting his. Daniel sits up, moving to be on top of you, boxing you in. His head deeps down to meet your lips in a fiery kiss.
“I’d go anywhere for you,” Daniel promises. His words fill you with warmth but your head screams that they are hallow. That he doesn’t mean it. That he is only saying it because he is high off of lust.
“Soon,” you used to be so sure. And now? You want to believe him but doubt creeps in more and more.
You leave soon after, immediately showering to get the smell of him off you.
“Hey, how was your run?” Max pops his head into the bathroom mid-shampoo.
“Good. I’m surprised you aren’t on the sim,” you reply, watching his shadow get closer.
“You left so early, I wanted to properly greet you,” his words send a pang of guilt through you. You used to love him so deeply, and you almost wonder what changed.
“Max,” you voice dies in your throat as he strips and joins you in the shower.
“Maybe I should join you on a run next time, I feel like I don’t see you anymore,” he gently takes the soap from your hands and studies you.
“We will make more time then,” you force a smile.
“For now, let me take care of my love,” Max presses a kiss on your shoulder and travels down your body. And all you can think about is Daniel.
The Monaco GP has quickly become your favorite race. Being at home means more time to sneak off with Daniel.
“Max!” Daniel’s face lights up at the sight of his teammate. His gaze drifts over to yours where his smile brightens ever so slightly. The heat of his eyes reminds you of the first time you met him at the club, when you fell. He bought you a drink and you went back to his hotel room that night. A much nicer room than the ones you’ve been meeting in lately. “And my favorite fellow Australian.”
“Hi,” you barely look Heidi in the eyes.
“I never noticed that you and Heidi wear the same perfume,” Max mentions.
“What an odd coincidence, you have great taste,” you lie through your teeth. You didn’t like Heidi at all from the moment you met her. She has something you want.
“So do you,” she smiles back, turning to Daniel. “I’m going to meet some friends for lunch,” she tells him, walking off.
The three of you walk to the Red Bull Racing home. Max dominates the conversation as you stop at the espresso bar for a coffee.
“I just wish that we didn’t have so much media to do,” Max complains. You take a small sip of the latte, watching Daniel adjust his collar giving it two tugs. His signal for you to meet in his drivers room.
“Speaking of. It’s time to go do the shoot,” one of the social media managers interrupts to take Max.
“Will you be alright?” Max asks, always concerned about leaving you.
“Yeah, Daniel and I have a new episode to watch,” you lie. Max isn’t really into Australian TV so it’s a good cover story for you and Daniel.
“I’ll take good care of her,” Daniel slides an arm around your shoulders, his proximity and scent sending a bolt of lightning through you. As soon as Max is out of your sight he is pulling you into his drivers room, covering you in a flurry of kisses.
“Daniel,” you moan his name as he presses you against the wall the separates his room from Max’s.
“Shh, baby, don’t want everyone to hear you,” he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. Everything is quick and rushed. It used to be slow, sensual, loving. Now you chase the high of the first time.
You never meant to fall for Daniel. But the first time you looked at him, Max’s hot older teammate, you were smitten. He showed you new things, new colors of life you never saw before.
He does turn on the tv episode on his computer, providing cover for when Max or Heidi inevitably shows up.
“If only we could do this all the time,” Daniel runs his hand down your leg, letting it rest on the inside of your thigh near your knee.
“One day,” you glance at him, his eyes trained on the computer screen.
Max shows up soon after and you feel Daniel’s stare as your hand intertwines with Max.
“How was media?” you ask, settling into Max’s driver room.
“Boring, you know I hate it,” Max complains, you hum in response. “I just wish that we could focus on racing. Racing will survive without media,” Max sits down beside you, pulling you into his arms.
“Yeah,” you whisper, mind wandering to the man on the other side of the wall.
The secrecy continues through the season. Stolen glances, brushing hands, clandestine meetings, shitty hotel rooms, and lies upon lies. By the end of the season, you’ve had enough.
“There is something bothering you. I’ve noticed it for a week now,” Max confronts you on the couch after the FIA Awards Ceremony.
“I’m fine,” you lie. Max pretends he hasn’t noticed how you don’t leave your things in his apartment anymore. How you’ve slowly started removing your things from his apartment until the only things that remain are what you bring on that day. How you spend more nights in your own apartment than you do his. How you stopped any mentions of moving in and brush off his efforts to get you to move in with him.
“No, you are distant and I don’t know why,” Max’s voice raises.
“I’m going home,” you throw the blanket off, reaching for your keys on the coffee table.
“No, we need to talk about this,” Max insists, and despite being checked out of the relationship, your heart breaks at the thought of what comes next. Hurting Max. The one thing you didn’t want to do.
“Max,” your voice breaks slightly as you gather the confidence to do what you’ve said you’d do for months. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Why?” his eyes plead with you to tell him it’s a joke. Like his suspicion of what is coming next is wrong.
“I don’t love you anymore. I haven’t for a while. I’m really sorry,” your eyes are focused on your feet, your hands, anywhere but Max.
“What happened? What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I messed up, and I’m so sorry,” you stand.
“Who?” Max’s voice breaks, knowing the meaning behind your words as you look for the nearest exit.
“Daniel,” your words land like a dagger to his heart. Max looks away from you, rage and sadness beginning to consume him. “I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this. Max, you’ve only ever been good to me, and I will cherish that forever. That’s why I’m leaving,” you make your way to the door, not wanting to hurt him anymore.
“One last thing. How long?” Max asks as your hand brushes the door knob.
“Austin,” you lie, knowing that that was the first time Max recognized something was off. “I’ll return your key and hoodies. I really am sorry,” you take Max in one last time, both of your hearts hurting, and close the door.
The walk to your car is a numb one. You fight every urge to run to Daniel as your world begins to crumble. You never expected it to be so hard.
Daniel calls you an hour later.
“Dan, I’m not in the mood-“
“You told Max.” he cuts you off. You are quiet for a moment, gathering your thoughts. That’s all he cares about? Not that you sound like you’ve spent the past hour crying. You have. Not the words you answered the call with.
“He deserved to know why I ended things with him. I didn’t even tell him how long this has been going on,” you argue, sniffling the remnants of your tears.
“A little warning would’ve been nice. If Heidi had been home-“ this time it’s your turn to cut him off.
“Why would that matter if you are leaving her?” you ask, dumbfounded at his words.
“Why would you assume that?” he asks and you feel your sadness turn into anger.
“Because you told me you would. I left Max for you.”
“And you can still be with me,” Daniel states. It is lucky for him that he didn’t show up at your doorstep.
“I don’t want to hide anymore. I’m tired of being your illicit secret. You promised to leave her,”
“I never promised that.” Daniel says and your mind replays every moment as pieces click. Every time he asked you to leave Max. Every time you asked when he’s leave Heidi, he never answered. He never planned on leaving her, he only wanted you for himself. That night at the bar he gave you the drink, you never saw the bartender make it. He never planned on seeing you after that night, but being Max’s girlfriend made it so convenient. He knew how to manipulate you from the start. He could read you like a book.
“We are done. I feel so stupid. I wish I never saw you in the club that night. Fuck you.”
“Kid. Baby, don’t-“
As you hang up your phone, the world around you crumbles. Everything you ever had, you lost. The thing that hurts the most is that you’d do it all again if it meant you’d end up with him. And he knows it. You throw your phone across the room, wanting him to hear you scream at him, but all you can do is cry.
You move out of Monaco shortly after. The news of your breakup from Max is short and sweet, neither of you comment on it. You get the final word, telling Heidi the whole truth, the truth you never told Max out of the last bit of love you held for him. The media does notice how Max and Daniel don’t interact as much anymore, that they aren’t friends anymore.
Max reached out months later, asking to meet for lunch and to hear everything from your side. So you do. You tell him how you suspect Daniel drugged you the first night you met him, and how he pulled on every string just right so you fell into his trap. But you do acknowledge your part in hurting Max, how you could’ve stopped but continued to see Daniel. You tell him how you ended it with Daniel shortly after breaking up with him.
Max doesn’t say much. He just listens. Sitting in the corner of your favorite restaurant. It’s like nothing changed from before, but everything has.
“I don’t know why you wanted to hear all this, but I do hope you get closure from it,” you gently reach across the table and squeeze his hand. Max looks down at your hand on his, like he’s remembering a time when you seemed to be happy, but can’t trust those memories anymore.
“Did you ever love me?” Max asks quietly, still watching your hand on his.
“I did. More than I realized at the time. Hurting you is something I will regret all my life. But I’m not here to try to win you back, I know that I crossed a line that is never forgiven,” you carefully remove your hand. Therapy did a lot and you want to show you can acknowledge your mistakes.
“What if I did?” Max asks, eyes a little watery as he looks at you.
“You’d second guess everything in the relationship. While I will never cheat on anyone again, I don’t want you to go through that pain. I want you to find someone who you will trust completely, who will love you more than I could. You deserve that Max.” you know he only wants the idea of you and you love him too much to hurt him again.
“You aren’t the villain you make yourself out to be,” Max leans in closer. He wants to help you find your closure too.
“Maybe not, but I still share blame in hurting you. You may forgive me down the road, but I’ll never forgive myself. I hope you found your closure,” you stand from the table. Max’s emotions are clouding his judgement and you need to leave while you still have a clear head. You pause beside Max and give him a light kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you, I hope in the future we can be friends again,” Max says, watching you leave. He feels lighter in a way he didn’t expect. The truth was easier to hear than he had assumed, maybe it was because he saw how you changed after.
His last image of you is you walking out the restaurant door, leaving him at the table alone.
summary: you were my crown, now I'm in exile seeing you out
pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader, Lando Norris x ex!reader
contains: angst, pining, infidelity, sl-t shaming,
word count: 2.5k
radio check: big shoutout to @coco-loco-nut for giving me this idea. ive been struggling with writers block and its not fun
masterlist
You shouldn’t have been surprised to see him. You were at his place of work, after all.
But he had every right to be shocked when you walked into the garage, with his teammate’s hand interlocked with yours.
The breakup had been anything except clean. On and off again, nights where your instinct screamed he wasn’t just yours. Stumbling back into your apartment, the smell of another woman lingered on his collar.
And it wasn’t a one off. Mornings came where second, third, and hundredth chances were given out. Until you couldn’t give anymore.
As the nights of infidelity lingered on, you found yourself slowly leaving signs. Signs that Lando’s behavior wasn’t okay. Fewer texts answered. Weekends avoiding the racetrack because you were “busy with friends”. You stopped waiting for him. You stopped asking where he was. And he never noticed
It took everything in you, but after weeks of that, you finally left. Quietly, like you were a shadow slipping out the side door as the morning sun crept through.
You didn’t expect to find solace in the one man who everyone assumed would be on Lando’s side - Oscar. But once he heard the news, he reached out. He knew Lando was less than an ideal partner, and offered a shoulder when you needed it most.
What he didn’t expect was for that comfort to shift, to grow into something neither of you planned. Late night calls became morning coffees. Friendly check-ins turned into lingering touches. And before either of you could name it, it was there. Something that Lando never gave you.
Oscar was careful with you. Slow in the way he spoke, in the way he touched, as if afraid a single wrong move would reopen wounds he hadn’t made. The idea of fixing the heart his teammate had broken terrified him. But it was worth it to see you whole again.
He wanted you to be in the paddock with him since the day you made it official. He wanted to show you off, to love you loudly, but he respected your boundaries. Oscar waited until you brought the idea up yourself. And lucky for him, it came earlier than he thought.
“Your next race is in the Netherlands, right?” you asked, plopping on the lounge chair next to his. For summer break, the two of you had rented out a yacht in the French Riviera.
Oscar turned to you, his eyes puzzled behind his sunglasses, “Uh, yeah. Why?” He asked, a hopeful grin peeked through his lips.
“Well, um,” your stomach began to flip as you talked, “I wanted to see if I could come too. I'd like to come support you.”
Oscar blinked, caught off guard for a moment before that soft smile fully broke across his face. “You want to come to a race?”
You nodded, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “If that’s okay. I know it’s… his world.”
His grin faltered just slightly, but he reached over, brushing his thumb along the back of your hand. “It’s my world, too,” he said quietly. “And you’re always welcome in it.”
Your chest tightened, not with doubt, but with something close to relief. Oscar always had a way of saying exactly what you needed, without making it sound rehearsed or heavy.
The morning of qualifying was bright, the kind of golden haze that made everything look deceptively peaceful. You clutched your credential lanyard in one hand and Oscar’s fingers in the other, the smell of gasoline already lingering in the air.
The breath you didn’t even realize you were holding left your lungs as you walked into Oscar’s side of the garage to see no signs of Lando. Your eyes wandered the area as your boyfriend droned on to one of his engineers about the brake pedal angle.
It was comforting, the way Oscar carried himself there - grounded, steady, like the world couldn’t shake him. As he got whisked away by another one of his engineers, you found a quiet spot against the wall, watching the team move around him with easy efficiency. His space was much more organized than the one on the other side of the wall.
The hum of tools and chatter filled the air, but it wasn’t overwhelming. It was rhythm, control, purpose. Everything your last relationship had lacked. This was his space, and for the first time, you didn’t feel out of place in a garage.
Once Oscar had finished finding the perfect front wing angle with his team, he found you. Out of pure instinct, his arms wrapped around your body, pulling you close, for the world to see. His head rested on your shoulder.
“Are you doing alright?” he murmured quietly in your ear
To anyone else, the question would’ve been about adjusting to the loud, chaotic nature of the garage. But the second the words came out, you knew he meant about being back around the team, being probably close to him.
You nodded slightly, as best you could when you had Oscar around you. “Yeah, I’m doing well. Haven’t really worried about him yet.”
“And you shouldn’t worry about him at all,” Oscar reassured, his voice soft but sure. Then, a small grin tugged at his lips. “You’re on my side of things, with me. The better side.”
You laughed under your breath, shaking your head. “Better, huh?”
He shrugged, “Well, someone has to set the example.”
“Pretty sure that’s debatable.”
You froze.
The words weren’t loud, but they carried. Smooth, edged with amusement. You turned your head slowly, and there he was. Lando stood a few feet away, arms crossed loosely over his chest, gloves dangling from his fingertips, a smirk ghosting over his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Oscar’s arm stiffened around you. “Didn’t see you there, mate,” he said evenly, though his tone was noticeably cooler than usual.
“Yeah, I figured,” Lando replied, his gaze flicking between you and Oscar, lingering just a second too long on your joined hands. “Didn’t mean to interrupt the… bonding.”
You swallowed hard, pulse hammering. Every instinct told you to look away, but you didn’t. Not this time.
Oscar’s voice was calmer, steady. “No interruption. Just catching a moment before I go in for the briefing.”
Lando nodded, his smirk deepening, practiced, familiar, defensive. One you had seen too many times. “Right. Well… don’t let me get in the way of your example setting.”
The moment hung there, taut and silent, until Oscar finally turned to you and murmured, “Come on. We can chill over here.”
You followed his lead without looking back, but you could feel Lando’s eyes on you the whole way. Heavy, unspoken and too late.
The moment you had disappeared deeper into Oscar’s side of the garage, Lando exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
He tossed his gloves onto the counter a little harder than necessary, the sound of leather slapping the granite earned a brief look from one of his mechanics. He ignored it, rubbing a hand over his jaw as if that could wipe away the image burned into his head - your hand in Oscar’s, the quiet laugh that used to be his favorite sound.
It shouldn’t have hit him like that. He’d told himself he was fine. That he’d moved on. Hell, he’d been the one who messed it all up. He knew that better than anyone. But seeing you there, smiling like that, looking happy - it stung in a way he didn’t have a name for.
He leaned against the workbench, eyes flicking toward the wall that separated the two sides of the garage. He could still hear the faint traces of your voice, soft, warm, familiar, and Oscar’s in reply, calm as ever.
Of course it was Oscar. The one person who never got caught in any drama. The one who always said the right thing, did the right thing, stayed out of trouble. The golden boy.
He reached for his water bottle, fiddling with the straw and taking a long drink just to stay busy with his hands. It didn’t help. The back of his neck still burned.
As the morning continued, you found yourself fading into the background of the garage chaos, and you didn’t mind. Attention was the last thing you needed.
But still, when Oscar was able to sneak a quiet moment with you, you could see Lando staring. The piercing gaze was hard to ignore.
But what caught you off guard was that he wasn’t looking at you. No.
His attention was on Oscar.
Oscar hadn’t noticed it first. He was too focused on the conversation, on keeping his voice low and easy for your sake. But you could see it over his shoulder, that locked expression on Lando’s face. As if he was an actor watching his understudy finally get his chance in the leading role.
It made your stomach twist. You weren’t sure what you expected from him - indifference, maybe, or even bitterness - but the look he gave Oscar wasn’t either. It was quiet recognition. The kind that said you knew.
Oscar caught your change in posture, following your line of sight, and when his gaze met Lando’s across the garage, something wordless passed between them. At first it was charged, like bloody knuckles were soon to occur. But the tension fizzled. It wasn’t quite a challenge, and not quite an apology. Just two people who suddenly understood they were standing on opposite sides of a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.
You squeezed Oscar’s hand without realizing it, your pulse thrumming in your ears.
He exhaled slowly and leaned down, his voice still steady, but softer than before. “Ignore him,” he murmured, thumb brushing the side of your wrist. “He’ll get over it.”
You wanted to believe that. You wanted to believe it would all blow over, that the past wasn’t glaring at you from ten feet away. But as Lando’s jaw tightened and his eyes flicked between you both once more, you knew better.
When free practice three finally got underway, you found a small corner of the garage to stay in, team-issued headphones on, eyes glued to Oscar’s telemetry.
Every so often, though, your gaze drifted. You didn’t mean to, but you caught glimpses of papaya moving on the other side of the garage. Lando’s car. You were thankful the radio feed was separate. You didn’t know how you’d react to dealing with more Lando than needed.
Oscar’s engineer leaned along his desk, mumbling something about tyre temps or car stuff, you didn’t really understand it all. Shortly after though, Oscar’s voice came through your headset, steady and professional as ever.
“Copy, balance feels good. The car's solid this week.”
You smiled, proud and maybe a little too soft about it.
The session soon ended, lunch followed, and before you knew it you were alone again. Oscar had been whisked away for some meetings to debrief the session and prepare for qualifying, leaving you in the hospitality suite.
You sat at one of the corner tables, half-finished plate in front of you, scrolling absently through your phone just to keep from looking up. The low hum of chatter filled the room - engineers trading notes, marketing staff darting between tables, the clink of cutlery.
Your gaze drifted toward the window overlooking part of the paddock. From your seat, you could just make out Oscar walking with his race engineer into the garage, animatedly discussing something, hands moving as he spoke. You smiled faintly. He looked at ease, in his element.
The gazing from a distance was cut short by a faintly familiar voice pipping up in front of you.
“Didn’t think I’d ever see you here again.”
You turned to face the voice, startled, to see one of the McLaren PR staff members, someone who’d been around long enough to witness the slow, messy unraveling between you and Lando.
“Surprise,” you replied, a sheepish grin lacing your lips. “Oscar invited me this time.”
He crossed his arms at the news, his smirk thinned. “Guess you’re just making your way through the paddock, huh?”
The words hit harder than you wanted to admit. You froze, throat tight. You’d expected whispers - people always talk - but hearing it said out loud, like that, knocked the air out of you.
“What?” was all you were able to get out.
“Don’t play stupid,” he scoffed. “You were with Lando last year, now with Oscar. It’s clear you’re just being passed from driver to driver.”
Before you could even think of a response, another voice cut through the space - low, edged, and dangerous.
“Watch your mouth.”
Lando.
He was still in his fireproofs, his racesuit resting at his hips, eyes burning with something far sharper than you remembered. The staff member turned toward him, taken aback, but he didn’t let up.
“She’s not your business,” he said evenly, stepping forward. “Or anyone else’s. So maybe keep the gossip to yourself before it gets ugly.”
The man’s face flushed, his confidence faltering. He mumbled something about “just joking” and scurried off toward the comms area.
You sat there, stunned. The whole exchange felt unreal - Lando supporting you wasn’t something you thought you’d ever see again.
Lando’s gaze lingered on you for a second too long, a flicker of the boy you used to know, buried under everything that went wrong.
“You didn’t need to do that,” was the first thing that fell from your lips.
He sighed, running a hand through his curls. “I know,” he acknowledged. “But you don’t deserve that. Not from anyone.”
“I know,” you repeated, standing up and taking your half-eaten plate in your hands. “But I can handle myself. I’m not your problem anymore.”
Lando’s jaw tightened just slightly, the muscle ticking as if he wanted to say something but bit it back. His eyes dropped to the plate in your hands, then back to your face, as if searching, maybe, for something you weren’t willing to give.
“Didn’t say you were,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, stripped of its earlier edge. “Just, old habits, I guess.”
You huffed out a breath, somewhere between disbelief and exhaustion. “Yeah,” you muttered. “That’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?”
For a moment, it almost felt like the old days. The two of you circling each other in half-truths and almost-apologies, tension thick enough to choke on. But then you stepped back, forcing a polite smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.
“Really, I should go,” you said softly
You turned toward the trays by the catering station, trying to focus on the clatter of dishes instead of the way you could feel him watching you leave.
“Hey,” Lando called after a beat.
You paused, glancing back over your shoulder. He looked… lost, somehow, despite standing in a room he knew better than anyone.
“I meant what I said,” he said, tone even softer than before. “You didn’t deserve any of it.”
You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat. “Yeah,” you murmured. “I know.”
And before either of you could say anything else, you slipped out of the hospitality suite, just as Oscar appeared at the far end of the hall, freshly out of his debrief.
He spotted you instantly, his expression softening before shifting to quiet concern. “Everything okay?”
You nodded, forcing a steadier smile this time. “Yeah, just needed some air.”
summary: you should’ve known that you’d end up hurt when it all came to an end, but the high of him was too much to resist
masterlist requests open
———————————
The stench that only comes with a cheap hotel fills your nose as you quietly dart in the back door. The key card was handed to you last night, exchanged in a blink and you’ll miss it way. The perfume you are wearing clashes with your natural scent, but you wear it for him anyway. Three quiet raps on the door let him know it’s you.
“Hey, kid,” Daniel smiles tiredly. It used to be his bright, cheerful one that fans love. That you love.
“How-“ you are cut off by a forceful kiss, one that’s become more normal. Less talking, more sex.
“When will you leave Max?” Daniel asks, arm lazily strewn over your side as you catch your breath.
“When will you leave Heidi?” you retort, eyes meeting his. Daniel sits up, moving to be on top of you, boxing you in. His head deeps down to meet your lips in a fiery kiss.
“I’d go anywhere for you,” Daniel promises. His words fill you with warmth but your head screams that they are hallow. That he doesn’t mean it. That he is only saying it because he is high off of lust.
“Soon,” you used to be so sure. And now? You want to believe him but doubt creeps in more and more.
You leave soon after, immediately showering to get the smell of him off you.
“Hey, how was your run?” Max pops his head into the bathroom mid-shampoo.
“Good. I’m surprised you aren’t on the sim,” you reply, watching his shadow get closer.
“You left so early, I wanted to properly greet you,” his words send a pang of guilt through you. You used to love him so deeply, and you almost wonder what changed.
“Max,” you voice dies in your throat as he strips and joins you in the shower.
“Maybe I should join you on a run next time, I feel like I don’t see you anymore,” he gently takes the soap from your hands and studies you.
“We will make more time then,” you force a smile.
“For now, let me take care of my love,” Max presses a kiss on your shoulder and travels down your body. And all you can think about is Daniel.
The Monaco GP has quickly become your favorite race. Being at home means more time to sneak off with Daniel.
“Max!” Daniel’s face lights up at the sight of his teammate. His gaze drifts over to yours where his smile brightens ever so slightly. The heat of his eyes reminds you of the first time you met him at the club, when you fell. He bought you a drink and you went back to his hotel room that night. A much nicer room than the ones you’ve been meeting in lately. “And my favorite fellow Australian.”
“Hi,” you barely look Heidi in the eyes.
“I never noticed that you and Heidi wear the same perfume,” Max mentions.
“What an odd coincidence, you have great taste,” you lie through your teeth. You didn’t like Heidi at all from the moment you met her. She has something you want.
“So do you,” she smiles back, turning to Daniel. “I’m going to meet some friends for lunch,” she tells him, walking off.
The three of you walk to the Red Bull Racing home. Max dominates the conversation as you stop at the espresso bar for a coffee.
“I just wish that we didn’t have so much media to do,” Max complains. You take a small sip of the latte, watching Daniel adjust his collar giving it two tugs. His signal for you to meet in his drivers room.
“Speaking of. It’s time to go do the shoot,” one of the social media managers interrupts to take Max.
“Will you be alright?” Max asks, always concerned about leaving you.
“Yeah, Daniel and I have a new episode to watch,” you lie. Max isn’t really into Australian TV so it’s a good cover story for you and Daniel.
“I’ll take good care of her,” Daniel slides an arm around your shoulders, his proximity and scent sending a bolt of lightning through you. As soon as Max is out of your sight he is pulling you into his drivers room, covering you in a flurry of kisses.
“Daniel,” you moan his name as he presses you against the wall the separates his room from Max’s.
“Shh, baby, don’t want everyone to hear you,” he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. Everything is quick and rushed. It used to be slow, sensual, loving. Now you chase the high of the first time.
You never meant to fall for Daniel. But the first time you looked at him, Max’s hot older teammate, you were smitten. He showed you new things, new colors of life you never saw before.
He does turn on the tv episode on his computer, providing cover for when Max or Heidi inevitably shows up.
“If only we could do this all the time,” Daniel runs his hand down your leg, letting it rest on the inside of your thigh near your knee.
“One day,” you glance at him, his eyes trained on the computer screen.
Max shows up soon after and you feel Daniel’s stare as your hand intertwines with Max.
“How was media?” you ask, settling into Max’s driver room.
“Boring, you know I hate it,” Max complains, you hum in response. “I just wish that we could focus on racing. Racing will survive without media,” Max sits down beside you, pulling you into his arms.
“Yeah,” you whisper, mind wandering to the man on the other side of the wall.
The secrecy continues through the season. Stolen glances, brushing hands, clandestine meetings, shitty hotel rooms, and lies upon lies. By the end of the season, you’ve had enough.
“There is something bothering you. I’ve noticed it for a week now,” Max confronts you on the couch after the FIA Awards Ceremony.
“I’m fine,” you lie. Max pretends he hasn’t noticed how you don’t leave your things in his apartment anymore. How you’ve slowly started removing your things from his apartment until the only things that remain are what you bring on that day. How you spend more nights in your own apartment than you do his. How you stopped any mentions of moving in and brush off his efforts to get you to move in with him.
“No, you are distant and I don’t know why,” Max’s voice raises.
“I’m going home,” you throw the blanket off, reaching for your keys on the coffee table.
“No, we need to talk about this,” Max insists, and despite being checked out of the relationship, your heart breaks at the thought of what comes next. Hurting Max. The one thing you didn’t want to do.
“Max,” your voice breaks slightly as you gather the confidence to do what you’ve said you’d do for months. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Why?” his eyes plead with you to tell him it’s a joke. Like his suspicion of what is coming next is wrong.
“I don’t love you anymore. I haven’t for a while. I’m really sorry,” your eyes are focused on your feet, your hands, anywhere but Max.
“What happened? What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I messed up, and I’m so sorry,” you stand.
“Who?” Max’s voice breaks, knowing the meaning behind your words as you look for the nearest exit.
“Daniel,” your words land like a dagger to his heart. Max looks away from you, rage and sadness beginning to consume him. “I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this. Max, you’ve only ever been good to me, and I will cherish that forever. That’s why I’m leaving,” you make your way to the door, not wanting to hurt him anymore.
“One last thing. How long?” Max asks as your hand brushes the door knob.
“Austin,” you lie, knowing that that was the first time Max recognized something was off. “I’ll return your key and hoodies. I really am sorry,” you take Max in one last time, both of your hearts hurting, and close the door.
The walk to your car is a numb one. You fight every urge to run to Daniel as your world begins to crumble. You never expected it to be so hard.
Daniel calls you an hour later.
“Dan, I’m not in the mood-“
“You told Max.” he cuts you off. You are quiet for a moment, gathering your thoughts. That’s all he cares about? Not that you sound like you’ve spent the past hour crying. You have. Not the words you answered the call with.
“He deserved to know why I ended things with him. I didn’t even tell him how long this has been going on,” you argue, sniffling the remnants of your tears.
“A little warning would’ve been nice. If Heidi had been home-“ this time it’s your turn to cut him off.
“Why would that matter if you are leaving her?” you ask, dumbfounded at his words.
“Why would you assume that?” he asks and you feel your sadness turn into anger.
“Because you told me you would. I left Max for you.”
“And you can still be with me,” Daniel states. It is lucky for him that he didn’t show up at your doorstep.
“I don’t want to hide anymore. I’m tired of being your illicit secret. You promised to leave her,”
“I never promised that.” Daniel says and your mind replays every moment as pieces click. Every time he asked you to leave Max. Every time you asked when he’s leave Heidi, he never answered. He never planned on leaving her, he only wanted you for himself. That night at the bar he gave you the drink, you never saw the bartender make it. He never planned on seeing you after that night, but being Max’s girlfriend made it so convenient. He knew how to manipulate you from the start. He could read you like a book.
“We are done. I feel so stupid. I wish I never saw you in the club that night. Fuck you.”
“Kid. Baby, don’t-“
As you hang up your phone, the world around you crumbles. Everything you ever had, you lost. The thing that hurts the most is that you’d do it all again if it meant you’d end up with him. And he knows it. You throw your phone across the room, wanting him to hear you scream at him, but all you can do is cry.
You move out of Monaco shortly after. The news of your breakup from Max is short and sweet, neither of you comment on it. You get the final word, telling Heidi the whole truth, the truth you never told Max out of the last bit of love you held for him. The media does notice how Max and Daniel don’t interact as much anymore, that they aren’t friends anymore.
Max reached out months later, asking to meet for lunch and to hear everything from your side. So you do. You tell him how you suspect Daniel drugged you the first night you met him, and how he pulled on every string just right so you fell into his trap. But you do acknowledge your part in hurting Max, how you could’ve stopped but continued to see Daniel. You tell him how you ended it with Daniel shortly after breaking up with him.
Max doesn’t say much. He just listens. Sitting in the corner of your favorite restaurant. It’s like nothing changed from before, but everything has.
“I don’t know why you wanted to hear all this, but I do hope you get closure from it,” you gently reach across the table and squeeze his hand. Max looks down at your hand on his, like he’s remembering a time when you seemed to be happy, but can’t trust those memories anymore.
“Did you ever love me?” Max asks quietly, still watching your hand on his.
“I did. More than I realized at the time. Hurting you is something I will regret all my life. But I’m not here to try to win you back, I know that I crossed a line that is never forgiven,” you carefully remove your hand. Therapy did a lot and you want to show you can acknowledge your mistakes.
“What if I did?” Max asks, eyes a little watery as he looks at you.
“You’d second guess everything in the relationship. While I will never cheat on anyone again, I don’t want you to go through that pain. I want you to find someone who you will trust completely, who will love you more than I could. You deserve that Max.” you know he only wants the idea of you and you love him too much to hurt him again.
“You aren’t the villain you make yourself out to be,” Max leans in closer. He wants to help you find your closure too.
“Maybe not, but I still share blame in hurting you. You may forgive me down the road, but I’ll never forgive myself. I hope you found your closure,” you stand from the table. Max’s emotions are clouding his judgement and you need to leave while you still have a clear head. You pause beside Max and give him a light kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you, I hope in the future we can be friends again,” Max says, watching you leave. He feels lighter in a way he didn’t expect. The truth was easier to hear than he had assumed, maybe it was because he saw how you changed after.
His last image of you is you walking out the restaurant door, leaving him at the table alone.
In Susie Wolff's memoir she recounts how sponsors basically forced her to drive in a bright pink car that she felt utterly humiliated to drive in at first, until young girls started coming to races calling it the 'Hello Kitty car'
Hello Kitty is now partnering the finale of F1 academy.
summary: falling in love with your best friend was never the plan
tw: depression, suicidal thoughts, mentions of overdose, some verbal abuse
masterlist requests open
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Carlos arrives at your door with arms full of ice cream, chocolate, and other tried and true snacks. His hair is slightly messy and he’s wearing his fuzziest slippers, perfect for the night ahead.
“Hi,” you sniffle, voice cracking as you let him inside. Your feet drag slightly on the ground as you follow him into your living room where he dumps everything onto the coffee table and floor, nearly knocking over your overfilled glass of wine.
“Are you alright?” he asks, voice soft while he pulls you into a hug.
“No,” hot tears stream down your cheeks and into Carlos’ shirt. After a few moments he lets you go and pours himself a glass of wine. You grabbed the cheapest and largest bottle you could find in your kitchen, but he doesn’t mind.
“Tell me what happened,” his eyes look deeply into yours, begging for the truth - as if you wouldn’t tell everything to your childhood best friend.
“It’s the same thing every time. I fall in love,” too fast, always too fast, “and it doesn’t last. He said he didn’t love me anymore, that he couldn’t handle dating me anymore.” There is more to it, but you couldn’t tell Carlos, it would crush him.
Carlos knows you are leaving something out, but you are his best friend since childhood, he trusts you. He will always be your shoulder to cry on.
“Well you are not the problem, he just doesn’t deserve you,” Carlos wraps an arm around your shoulder.
“Thank you,” you rest your head on his shoulders and think the words you couldn’t tell him. You are the reason, they don’t trust you, but I will never choose them over you.
Your phone buzzes and it’s a text from your publicist, a headline paired with a photo of your public breakup. It’s paired with a message saying ‘another one? really?’. You throw your phone across the room instead of looking further.
“I’m tired of this. Of being expected to bounce back right away and be perfectly fine. I’m so tired of everything. I don’t want to do this anymore,” you sob. What did your therapist used to tell you before your stopped going? It only hurts this much right now, it’ll be better in a week. And don’t forget your breathing exercises. Right. Breathe in through the nose deeply, out fully through the mouth. Breathe in. Breathe through. Breathe deep. Breathe out.
Alarm bells ring in Carlos’ mind. When was the last time you saw your therapist? You should have an appointment in a couple days. Have you taken your antidepressants?
“No, we are nothing going down that path. The public doesn’t get to control you,” Carlos holds you tighter, rubbing his hand up and down your back in a soothing motion while you slowly stop crying.
“Maybe I need to disappear for a bit,” you sniffle and reach out and grab a pint of ice cream.
“You can tag along with me for some races, take a break from the business,” Carlos offers, heart racing slightly as you subconsciously move closer.
“I can’t take a break completely, but I can work remotely,” you agree, tears forgotten about.
“Alright, well let’s watch a movie and forget he who shall not be named,” Carlos grabs the remote while you take another heavy sip of wine.
You do end up tagging along to a single race with Carlos, and while he tries to be present with you during others, he misses signs of your downward spiral. The way you frequent the bar a lot more than usual, the bags under your eyes before covering them in makeup, the way your pants don’t fit the same because of the weight you are losing, when you hide your notifications from him, how most days you skip your meds and when you remember you take one too many as if it’ll compensate for missed time. It’s only during a week off that Carlos gets tipped off via a call from your number but the voice of a stranger.
“She’s over here, mate. Probably had one too many,” the stranger who took your phone says. Carlos is your only emergency contact, probably not the best choice seeing as how he’s halfway across the world most of the time.
You are slightly slumped over the bar, drinking a cup of ginger ale that the bartender swears is a moscow mule. You are only five drinks deep but you’ve barely eaten all week and you can’t really stand anymore. The worst part? You don’t want to stop.
“Hey, what happened?” Carlos slides beside you, part of his mind wondering if he needs to ask for a bag so you don’t puke on him.
“Nothing happened,” you slur, motioning for another round to the bartender.
“It’s the new normal these past two months. Her ex is across the room. He said something to her and she’s been like this since. I hate that guy,” the bartender slides a water to both of you.
“Fuck you,” you start to turn around to yell at your ex but Carlos grabs your shoulders and makes you face him instead.
“Hey, what did he say?” Carlos asks another question, praying you are drunk enough to tell him everything.
“Called me a whore. Said he knew I’d go crying into your arms and he saw me at the races with you,” you hiccup and take a moment to breathe, “He said he knew that I secretly loved you and was waiting got him to break it off so I could get in your pants,” you try to stand but your foot slides off the barstool rail and you fall back onto it. “He is right about one thing, I do love you.”
Carlos’ brain feels like it’s rebooting after your words, your drunken rambling. And he visually takes you in again. Your hair is a bit messy, you aren’t wearing any makeup showing off your month of no sleep, your once tailored clothes are too big, and yet you look beautiful.
“He had no right to say those things to you, but you need to get home and we need to get you help first thing tomorrow. You aren’t doing okay and I’m sorry I didn’t notice before.”
“You are the only reason I didn’t,” you stop yourself short, not ready to admit the darkest thoughts that have filled your head lately. It’s like you have been trapped inside a maze inside your mind, but instead of finding the way out you only go deeper.
“Why don’t we get you back to my apartment, it’s closer,” Carlos gently wraps an arm around your waist, providing crucial support for you to leave the bar and walk the two blocks to his apartment.
You don’t really speak as you stumble through the cool nighttime air. Carlos is so focused on keeping you upright and walking straight, you are just trying to stay awake. He seems to breathe a sigh of relief as you reach the building entrance. The silence rings louder in the deserted lobby as you approach the sets of elevators.
“No, no elevators. Hate them. They never last, it falls too fast,” you slur in a drunken and tired stupor. Carlos can barely understand you, it’s like trying to decipher someone through water.
“I know, but we aren’t going up that many levels,” the elevator softly dings and Carlos almost has to drag you inside. You don’t remember the ride up to his apartment or how you ended up sitting on the toilet as he washes the makeup off your face. He tells you some funny joke that would normally make you smile at the very least, but your eyes barely flicker in recognition.
Face clean, hair brushed, and wearing clothes that aren’t yours, Carlos leads you to his bed, soft light from the nightstand lamp lighting up the room. He seems scared of how fragile he found you, like watching a plane go down and being helpless to stop it. He made you puke, brush your teeth, chug water, eat some bread, everything a good friend does when the other is beyond taking care of themselves. Carlos watches you curl into a ball as he climbs under the covers beside you. With a click the nightstand light is turned off.
“I can’t lose you, not when you mean everything to me. I love you,” Carlos whispers into the darkness, so sure you are asleep. You aren’t, but you don’t reply. You will your brain to hold onto the memory as you drift off.
The sun beams through the curtains punishingly bright. You fight to keep your eyes shut, but the sudden nausea wakes you up like cold water. Barely having time to sprint to the bathroom, you empty whatever was in your stomach. As you sit back on your heels, you take in the clothes you are wearing and the fact that you are in Carlos’ apartment. You remember stumbling through the darkness, his arms wrapped around you.
“Where’s my phone?” your voice is hoarse as you whisper to yourself.
“I have it. Get changed, we leave in twenty,” Carlos walks in, gently setting a pile of clothes beside you.
“What?” your eyes meet his as you look up at him, resolved in his plans.
“I called your therapist, we are going together. I refuse to lose you because your brain won’t let you get the help you need,” Carlos hesitates before closing the door and leaving you alone.
Your head pounds, the bright lights not helping. You raid the medicine stash, searching for the pain killers. Not even looking at the bottle you toss back what is most definitely more than the recommended dose. Anything for relief and to numb yourself. As you change clothes, more memories of the last night come back to you. The insult. The liquor. Carlos. Carlos- the confession.
“Carlos?” you call out tentatively, a bit wobbly as you stand.
“Everything okay?” his panicked voice asks, slamming the door open. Carlos notices your wobble and quickly reaches out to steady you.
“I remember last night. Everything isn’t okay,” Carlos takes a careful step forward, wrapping you in a hug.
“We will figure it out together. Right now we need to focus on getting you back, fixing the spiral.”
“No. We need to talk first. I need to talk,” you sit back down on the floor of his bathroom. Carlos awkwardly lowers to the floor across from you, unsure what he is getting himself into.
“You can tell me anything, you know that,” his voice wavers against all best efforts to be your rock. You spill everything about the last two months, your inner darkness, your mental health, the over medication.
“And I wasn’t totally honest about why my past relationships ended. My exes all hated you, they’ve always been jealous. Since the breakup, the most recent one, I have been getting these texts from my ex. Saying pretty much the same things as he said last night,” you wrap your arms around your knees, compacting yourself for comfort.
“None of what he said is true,” Carlos quickly interjects, arguing against the painful words.
“No, they are. Carlos, I do love you, and I think I always have. There’s a reason I always prioritized you first, why every time I’m near you my heart races. Unlike every other relationship of mine, I didn’t fall fast. This -you- have been steady,” you feel vulnerable, like one small touch could hurt you.
“An elevator that falls too fast can’t last,” Carlos recites your words from the night before and many times before.
“It was never an elevator, well it was but not all the time. A psychic told me the phrase when I was a kid, never really understood what she meant until a couple years ago,” you shake your head. “Last night you said you loved me,” your eyes carefully watch Carlos’ reaction. He seems conflicted, almost waiting for you to continue. “I love you too. It’s the only thing that’s kept me going all this time,” the words don’t lift the weight off your chest like you thought they would. Saying it doesn’t change what is about to happen.
Carlos moves closer, taking your hands in his as he meets your eyes, a new resolve in them.
“We are figuring this, us, out. But first we need to get you help,” he releases one of your hands and moves it to gently cup your cheek. You both lean in, a bit scared to take the leap. Your first kiss is quiet, soft, over too quick for either of your liking.
Carlos takes you to your therapist where you agree to what rich people call a month long retreat. He visits once a week minimum, more if he is allowed, but he writes too. It’s an incentive for you to commit to getting better, to the long term healing, to a future with him. But this part you have to do mostly on your own. You don’t pretend that everything is sunshine and rainbows after the month. The wounds you gained are deep and it will take years for them to heal - if they ever do. But seeing Carlos waiting for you as you leave makes it worth it.
“Congratulations, I’m so proud of you,” his arms wrapped around you in a hug you desperately missed.
“I love you, Carlos,” you squeeze him tighter, like he’s going to disappear.
