The annual staff party is in full swing, the cramped staff room of the restaurant buzzing with laughter, clinking glasses, and the faint thump of a playlist Richie threw together at the last minute.
You’re leaning against a counter, nursing a soda water with lime, watching the chaos unfold.
The kitchen staff, usually a tightly wound crew, is letting loose tonight, and it’s a sight. Sydney’s debating pizza toppings with Marcus, Tina’s dancing with Ebra, and Richie’s trying to convince everyone he’s got the best karaoke voice in Chicago.
But your eyes keep drifting to Carmen—your Carmen—whose usual sharp focus has been replaced by a tipsy, lopsided grin.
He’s three whiskeys deep, maybe four, and it shows. Carmy’s not a big drinker, but tonight he’s leaning into it, his shoulders relaxed for once, his anxiety tucked away under the warm haze of alcohol. He’s standing by the drinks table, laughing too loud at something Fak said, but when he spots you across the room, his whole face lights up like you’re the only person here.
“Babe,” he calls, voice slurring just enough to make Sydney snicker. He weaves through the crowd, nearly tripping over a chair, and before you can say anything, he’s at your side, wrapping his arms around your waist like you’re his lifeline. “There you are,” he mumbles, burying his face in your neck. His breath is warm, smelling of whiskey and that faint, familiar scent of the kitchen—olive oil, smoke, and him.
“Carm, you good?” you ask, patting his back, trying not to laugh as he nuzzles closer. His curls tickle your cheek, and you can feel the heat of his skin through his thin T-shirt.
“M’great,” he slurs, pulling back just enough to look at you with heavy-lidded eyes. “You’re so pretty, y’know that? Like… stupid pretty.” His hands slide up your sides, lingering a little too long, and you catch Richie raising an eyebrow from across the room, smirking like he’s enjoying the show.
“Thanks, babe,” you say, gently steering his hands back to safer territory. “You’re having fun, huh?”
“Only ‘cause you’re here,” he says, earnest in that way only a drunk Carmy can be. He leans in, trying to kiss you, but it’s messy, his aim off, landing somewhere near your jaw. You laugh, guiding his face back, and he pouts, looking like a kicked puppy. “C’mon, kiss me,” he whines, tugging you closer.
“Carmy, you’re drunk,” you say, keeping your tone light but firm. The others are watching now, Tina stifling a giggle behind her hand, Marcus pretending to focus on his drink but clearly eavesdropping.
Carmy’s usually so tightly wound, all sharp edges and nervous energy, that seeing him like this, soft, clingy, practically draping himself over you—is comedy gold to them.
“Don’t care,” he mumbles, pressing himself against you, his hands wandering again. “You’re my girl, right? Lemme… lemme take you home.” His voice drops, low and suggestive, and you feel your cheeks heat up as Richie lets out a loud “Oh, shit!” and claps like he’s at a stand-up show.
“Carmen Anthony Berzatto,” you say, grabbing his face with both hands, forcing him to meet your eyes with an amused grin. “You are way too drunk for that.”
He blinks at you, slow and confused, then grins like he’s got a secret. “But I want you,” he says, loud enough that Sydney chokes on her drink and Fak lets out a “Yo, Carm, chill!”
You’re torn between embarrassment and amusement, because this is Carmy, the guy who can barely say “I love you” without blushing sober, trying to get frisky in front of his entire staff.
“Nope,” you say, shaking your head, but you can’t help smiling. “You’re going to bed, chef. Alone. With water and some aspirin.”
He groans, dramatically, and slumps against you, his head on your shoulder. “You’re no fun,” he mumbles, but he’s still clinging to you, arms tight around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.
You catch Tina’s eye, and she mouths “cute” with a grin, clearly loving this rare glimpse of Carmy’s softer side.
“Alright, party’s over for you,” you say, gently prying him off. “Say goodnight, Carm.”
“Goodnight, Carm,” he echoes, giggling to himself, then waves sloppily at the room. “Night, losers!”
The crew erupts in laughter, Richie yelling, “Get his ass home, Sweetheart!” as you steer Carmy toward the door.
The drive to his apartment is an adventure. Carmy’s in the passenger seat, still touchy, reaching for your hand at every red light, muttering about how you’re “the best thing that’s ever happened” to him. You keep one hand on the wheel, the other gently batting his away when he gets too bold, reminding him you’re not crossing that line while he’s hammered.
At his place, you manage to get him inside, the two of you pressed together, all sloppy kisses and whispered promises. You're giving him this much as you walk him to bed. “C’mon, babe, just stay,” he pleads, flopping onto the mattress, tugging at your wrist.
“Not tonight, Carm,” you say, firm but gentle, pulling the blanket over him. You set a glass of water and two aspirin on the nightstand, brushing his hair back from his forehead.
He’s already half-asleep, eyes fluttering shut, but he grabs your hand one last time, holding it against his chest.
“Love you,” he mumbles, barely coherent, and your heart does a little flip despite yourself.
“Love you too,” you whisper, kissing his forehead. He’s out cold before you even turn off the light.
As you lock up and head home, you can’t help but smile, thinking about the teasing you’ll both get from the crew tomorrow. Clingy, drunk Carmy might be a handful, but he’s your handful, and that’s more than enough.
limerence | chapter one | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x reader x chef luca
angst. angst. angst. w/ a love triangle.
You've been in a relationship with Carmy for years, but before there was Carmy, there was Luca. Well, sort of. There was sort of Luca. You were never actually really together, but still. Luca's moving back to Chicago, and Carmy's burning out. Will your relationship survive, or will old flames be reignited? Well, let's find out.
a/n: hey thanks for reading, u should know this is part of a 50k+ word fic that isn't finished yet but i thought i should start posting in installments, and thank u so much in general for the response to my fics im so excited ive had most of these saved for a while now and was just afraid to get back to posting bc i used to write on a different account but burnt out and was writing but afraid to return so thank u for making me feel good about this it means everything. There will eventually be a sydney x oc insert, i repeat, this story WILL contain an oc at some point bc one was needed as a plot device for stuff prior to chicago. fic playlist
The restaurant industry isn’t for the weak.
Long hours.
Typically thankless.
High rates of alcoholism, high rates of chronic anger, high blood pressure.
He always came home smelling like smoke, which he had sworn he had quit.
He swore a lot of things.
Swore he’d come home on time, swore you’d do something this week on his day off, swore that you’d spend more time together at all, swore that he’d at least talk to you…nothing.
You knew you had to leave maybe about a year ago. But you stayed regardless. How come? You couldn’t be certain. Maybe it was because you liked his family, or because you liked the people he worked with. Maybe it was because of how good everything was when you had first started seeing each other, when you first met he made you feel as if you had hung the stars in the sky yourself…these days he doesn’t look at you much at all.
Maybe it was because you couldn’t handle seeing him all alone with everything he was always going through.
You heard the door unlock from the couch and then it opening, stirring you from your light sleep which you had accidentally fallen into while watching some show on Netflix waiting up for Carmy to come home, the “Are you still watching?” prompt had long disappeared, replaced with a dark, empty screen.
You could hear him step inside, but you felt a little awkward tonight for reasons which you weren’t entirely certain of, opting to keep your head down and hidden behind the couch, you hear Carmen drop his keys and other belongings at the door before approaching the bedroom.
About halfway into the doorframe of the bedroom, you got up from the couch and started towards him,
“Carm…”
Carmen startles every-so-slightly, then turning towards you,
“Jesus Christ…You trying to give me a heart attack?”
You give him a genuine and apologetic look, “I’m sorry…”
He runs a hand through his hair, he looks exhausted.
“Fuck…” sliding his hand down his face, he turns his whole body back towards you,
“Where were you?”
You look at him perplexed,
“Where-...Where was I?”
“Yea, I mean, shit, did you just materialize out of thin air?”
“No.”
“Yea, so, where were you?”
“The couch.”
“The couch?”
“Yea, I,” you shift your feet, that self-conscious feeling which you had first felt when you heard him coming in returning to you, “I guess I fell asleep or something…” you mumbled, trailing off, looking down at the floor.
“Ah, shit,” Carmen puts his hand over his head, a silent facepalm, “I forgot, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Carm.”
“Really?”
“Yea, it’s okay.”
He nods at you, seemingly satisfied with the end of the interaction, but something in you hopes for more.
You wait for it. Some sort of follow up to it, maybe a deeper apology. But he just walks past you, into the bedroom, pulling off his shirt and letting it fall into the laundry basket by the door of the room. You say nothing more, following him a minute later, brushing your teeth in the dim light of the bathroom, looking up at the middle light over the sink which Carmen had promised to change after the lightbulb had gone out weeks before.
He’s already asleep by the time you crawl into bed.
You lay down beside him, staring at the ceiling for a while, and you’re not entirely sure why, but you begin to cry.
When you woke up the next morning, Carmen was gone, turning and looking over at the clock it read a big bright red 7:30AM, you rolled back over and pulled the sheets over your head, grabbing your phone from off the bedside table and clicking it open in the process.
You opened the calendar app, reading off the events of the day,
Meeting at 1pm, dinner at 7pm…
You couldn’t help but flip back to the day beforehand, looking at the screen, you could feel your heart shatter a little, the screen read,
All day- Anniversary,
at the very top of the day.
You knew he hadn’t forgotten, not completely, opening your text chain from yesterday a brief and to the point, ‘happy anniversary babe, love you, see you tn x,’ staring back at you, sent at 5:12PM the day before.
He wasn’t lying, he had seen you last night, just not as early as you had initially planned.
Last week standing in the kitchen, him on the couch just across the way, you called over,
“Hey- Carm?”
Looking up from his phone he called back, “What’s up?”
“So, like, next week…”
“Next week?”
“Yea, so like, for next week, our anni-”
“Oh shit, yea, sorry, our anniversary next week,”
“Yea, what do you want to do?”
“I mean- I dunno, babe, whatever you want to do.”
“You sure?”
“Yea,”
“Do you want to maybe just,” you think for a moment, knowing he was incredibly busy with work and everything, you reconsider what you had initially been thinking of suggesting and opt for something more simplistic instead…less demanding, “How about we just…stay in?”
“Really?”
“Yea, really, when you come home from work-” you pause for a moment thinking again, “maybe you can pick something up and we can watch a movie or something like that?”
“Yea, okay, sounds good,” he pauses, thinking for a moment, before looking you in the eye, “If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
“Okay, sounds good,” he looks back down at his phone, eyes moving side to side, reading, before furiously texting someone back.
“Sounds good…” you mutter to yourself, going back to spreading some jelly on a piece of bread.
So yea, he hadn’t forgotten, per say, he had just…he was just too late.
-
You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t miss him.
Him in general.
Him in the beginning of the relationship.
When you had first gotten together, everything seemed really good, like you were unstoppable together, like you could do anything. And you did…sort of, he got what he wanted, and so did you, in a way.
You did have to move over to where Carmen was located pretty abruptly, and you got swept up in the rush of it all and everything that opening a restaurant entailed, but it’s not like you uprooted your entire life for him, no. You had your own things, and he had his, and it was good, it is good.
When you had first met, it was when he was still working at noma.
You had gone to Denmark to visit your friend, Luca, who you had known from an exchange program which you had done in undergraduate school, it was during that time that you had met Luca and immediately hit it off with him.
It was also there in Denmark, during one of your many visits during your third year of law school, where you had decided to attend a small party with him,
“Are you sure you want to go to this thing- I mean, we really don’t have to, it’ll probably be kind of fucking, you know, kind of boring anyways. It’ll just be mainly people from work and…Yea, I’m just saying, you really don’t have to go if you don’t want to. Just say the word and we both get to get out of it.”
You laughed at him, appreciating how much he cared for you (or how much he really wanted to get out of going to this party, it could’ve been either one).
“No- Luca- stop it. I really do.”
“Do what?”
“Want to go!”
“Fuck- really?”
“C’mon, it’ll be fun!”
“I don’t know if I can fully agree with that…”
“Oh, I get it,” you recoil in mock offense, “You just don’t want to have to introduce me to your friends-”
“What? No that’s not-”
“-You’re embarrassed!”
“No-”
“You’re embarrassed of me! Ashamed!”
Luca shot you an annoyed expression before smiling at you.
“Fuck you.”
You grin back at him, “Fuck you too,” you tossed him the keys to his apartment, “Now let’s go! Let’s get to this party thing- I don’t want to be the last person there, gotta make a good first impression.”
“Okay sure- but you don’t want to be like, the first person there.”
“I’ll just make you walk in first.”
Frowning at you, “Oh so you just have an answer for everything, don’t you?”
“Obviously.”
A moment of silence passed between the two of you, looking at each other just in front of the door, neither of you moving to reach for the handle, just looking at each other in comfortable silence, expectantly, like something was going to happen.
“...Are you sure you want to go?” Luca broke the silence, making you laugh again.
“Oh my god, Luca, yes, do you?”
“Well obviously fucking not.”
“Well too bad, I do.”
“Fuck you.”
And that’s how you and Luca ended up going to the party that night.
He wasn’t entirely wrong.
It was a little lame, there weren’t a lot of people there, but there were just enough to make it more crowded than you were comfortable with. You stood towards the corner of a room which you presumed to be a living room area of sorts, it was an open floor plan type of place with a spacious kitchen and a nice dining room which were all sort of part of the same area, a table with scattered plates of food and a large variety of drinks sat just to your left. Luca stood uncomfortably behind you.
“Who are these people?” you asked, looking behind you to Luca.
“Mostly people from noma- and then the friends of the people at noma, I told you- No, warned you, it would be lame, and you didn’t listen.”
“Yea, well-”
“Luca.”
You heard a voice in front of you, turning your head back forwards, this was when you first officially laid eyes on Carmen.
He was shorter than Luca with longer curly hair and, much like Luca, quite the collection of tattoos scattered about his arms and hands.
You immediately liked him.
“Carmen.”
“I thought you weren’t gonna come?”
“Well- Call it a change of heart.”
“I see, well, glad you’re here.”
“Yea.”
“And who is this?” Carmen asked, motioning to you, face stoic in a way that made you nervous.
“Why don’t you ask them yourself?”
Carmen turned his gaze to you, making the hardest eye contact that you had ever experienced in your life.
“And who are you?”
You could feel your face heat up.
“I’m (y/n).”
“Carmen,” he said, sticking his hand out for you to shake, you took it, awkwardly intertwining hands and shaking them twice before letting go and retracting your hand, wiping it on your leg, suddenly very self-conscious about whether there might be sweat on them or not.
“Yea, I- I know.”
“You know?”
“Yea.”
He lifted a skeptical eyebrow at you, crossing his arms over his chest, “How?”
You twisted the hem of your shirt, looking down at it, “How what?”
“How did you know my name?”
You looked back up to meet his eyes, “Um- Luca like, just said it.”
“Oh,” a noticeable red flush made its way across the bridge of his nose to his cheeks, “I’m sorry,” he shook his head, “I’m all fucked up tonight, a lot to drink.”
“That’s okay,” you said, “I’m also a forgetful drunk.”
“Is that right?”
“Yea.”
“Speaking of drunk- can I get you a drink?”
You looked back towards Luca, who you now realized had been silent for a while, “Do you want one Luca?”
He looked at Carmen, and then you, back at Carmen, and then returning his gaze to you again-
“Nah, that’s okay,” he crossed his arms and leaned his back against the wall, “I think I’m gonna stay here and keep being all brooding and mysterious and sexy.”
You laughed in response,
“Sexy?”
“What- You don’t think I am?”
“I-”
Carmen cleared his throat in front of you, not in a rude way, just sort of quietly and awkwardly, nervously shifting his feet, you turned back towards him.
“Yes- sorry, Carm, uh- drinks?”
He gave you a small smile, “Yea.”
You followed him over to the other side of the room, towards a sliding glass door which you presumed led to a back patio of some sort, you shot one last glance at Luca who motioned to you with his hand to ‘go on,’ while he wiggled his eyebrows at you once, twice, and then took out his phone, leaning back against the wall, and you turned back to Carmen.
“Oh- fuck,” you said, stepping out of the door and onto a back patio.
“Hm?” Carmen hummed in response, reaching down to what appeared to be some type of cooler and fishing his hand around in it.
“The air- it’s so much better outside.”
Carmen gave you a small snort, looking up at you, “Beer? Seltzer? Questionable wine cooler?”
“Alcohol.”
“They’re all alcohol, dear,”
Dear, you remembered how much that had made you blush, how badly it had tripped you up in that moment.
You didn’t have a mirror, or any other reflective surface on you for that matter, but you already knew that you turned red as a beet, immediately regretting saying anything as you repeated the word before you could give a second thought to it-
“Dear?” You echoed back to him, blinking.
“Yes?”
“What?”
“I thought you were asking me somethin’,”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought you were calling me dear,”
“What- no, I mean, I would, but I was just repeating what you said, because it- It caught me off guard,” you looked down, taking a beer from his hand as he passed you one and cracked open one for himself, “I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.”
“What- dear?”
“Yea, dear…And also babe, honey, darling, or anything else for that matter.”
He gave you a shocked look, taking a swig of his drink before turning to you again.
“What- so you’ve never been flirted with or something?”
“What, flirt-Oh my god, dude, are you flirting with me?”
“Ouch, dude.”
“Sorry.”
“Yea, dude, I’m flirting with you.”
Later that night he asked you to go back to his place, and you did, Luca giving you the go-ahead and making sure you were safe, promising to come pick you up the next day to take you back to his place.
You ended up spending a lot of time with Carmen during that trip, Luca always promising to you that it was “totally okay,” and that there was “always next time,” to do one thing or another together, and something about how if this was truly someone who might be the one that he felt it was entirely necessary for you to pursue that. You were incredibly grateful for his leniency and understanding, Luca was truly always a great friend.
After your meeting you ended up spending a lot of time texting, calling, and visiting each other back and forth, racking up what could only be described as record breaking numbers of miles on your respective credit card rewards programs as you flew to one another multiple times over the course of just a month sometimes.
You truly felt like if love was real, that this was surely it.
This being said, you definitely have been wrong before.
But he made you feel so…alive, alive in ways which you had never felt before, the whole thing was too exciting and too intoxicating to stop.
So when Carm had asked you to move in with him, uprooting your life completely from where you had lived previously to come to Chicago, you did.
When he asked for help setting up the restaurant and for patience while it happened, of course you were happy to help and happy to wait.
You were always happy to wait.
Or at least that’s what you allowed him to believe.
-
You aren’t a clueless person. Things had been falling apart, or at least aren’t quite what they used to be. But it’s not as if things were all falling apart at once. They almost never do.
There were still good days. Really good days, even. There were still those mornings where you’d wake up to a coffee cup from the shop on the corner of your block, on the bedside table, a heart haphazardly scribbled on the side of it in black sharpie. Even if he had left before saying goodbye. Even if it had gone cold. There were still times in the middle of the night when you were both awake, restless, unable to sleep, next to one another staring at the ceiling and he’d lean closer to you and mumble something like, “You’re the only thing keeping me sane in this world, you’re all that makes sense to me.”
But more often than not, you felt more like a ghost than a person. Like you were just something that was lingering in the apartment longer than it ever should have been.
You liked to leave notes on his things with little post-its, his shoe, his keys, his jacket pocket; bad jokes, a doodle of your cat, a reminder that you loved him. So much.
Sometime he’d text back,
‘thnx babe’
But other times you’d catch them in the trash, or under a table. Crumpled. Stained with oil. Looking like he had never even read them.
The worst part was, you didn’t know which one hurt more.
-
One night, his shift seemed to bleed from late night into early morning, he came home and found you still awake. Sitting on the couch, blanket pulled up to your chin, face dimly lit by your laptop which was resting on your thighs.
He sat down next to you, quiet, exhausted, his leg touching yours, he leaned his head on your shoulder.
Smoke.
You smelt it on him.
You decided not to say anything.
“Hi Carmy,” you said quietly, you shut your laptop and placed it on the ground in front of you.
“Hey,” he responded back to you, quiet, reserved, exhausted.
“How was your day?”
“It was…” it’s like you can hear the gears in his head, turning, uncertain if he should let you in or not, “It was busy.”
You nod into his hair in response and he puts his head in your lap, you both sat in silence like that for a while, until you noticed the sun peaking through the blinds,
“Can we go to bed?” Carm whispers it softly into your lap.
“Yes Carm, we can go to bed.”
-
You wake up the next morning with a start, it was later in the day, and the room was scattered with clear remnants of Carmen having had done the same. A dresser drawer half opened with one of his many white t-shirts sticking out, boxers on the floor next to the hamper just missing it, the door to the bedroom still slightly ajar, you rub your eyes and open your phone.
The time is 12:30PM, it’s Saturday. Opening your notifications, you find a text:
Sent at 10:16AM
LUCA
You smile at the screen, clicking the text message open it reads,
‘hey so ik u prob already know but im moving to chicago this week, was wondering if u wanted to help me move in? (dinner will be provided)’
You think on it for a moment before texting back.
‘when u need me by?’
‘today too soon?’
‘not at all’
He texted you his new address, close enough to walk over in no more than twenty minutes, you shower, get ready, throw on your coat, a pair of shoes, and you’re out the door.
-
When you get to his place, Luca’s already outside, seemingly waiting for you. He’s sitting on the steps up to his front door, leaning back, a peaceful expression on his face, a pair of headphones cover his ears,
“Luca!” you call out to him still a few houses down, but you feel your stomach flip at the sight of him, and pick up your pace, despite the headphones Luca still seems to have heard you through whatever he was listening to because he quickly looks your way, flips them from his head to drape around his neck and calls out back to you.
“(y/n)!” He gets up from his steps, moving towards you, meeting you in the middle, you embrace, and then pulling away-
“I feel like it’s been forever,” you say,
“Yea, right?” he responds before narrowing his eyes at you and playfully adding, “-And whose fault is that?”
You roll your eyes, looking down to your shoes.
“Me,” you mumble under your breath.
“Sorry what was that again- didn’t quite hear you?”
You look back at him, smiling.
“Me! You asshole, me, it’s my fault.”
“That’s what I thought,” he shoots you a smile, “You ready to unpack some boxes, or what?”
“Born ready.”
You both step inside to his place, you immediately clock how good it smells in there, like vanilla and baking bread, a touch of smoke, the type that rose out of a pan, not a cigarette. Luca helps you with your jacket as you pull it off, he hangs it up on a stray hook on the wall by the door, and you start to take off your shoes.
“You know,” he starts while moving over to a pile of boxes in the center of the room, the entryway opening up into a living room, kitchen, dining room area, another open floor plan similar to his last place in Denmark, and the house that that party was at, the place it had all started, “I’m a little surprised you didn’t text me first.”
You finish taking your shoes off, moving towards him and the pile of boxes.
“What do you mean?”
“I dunno, I mean, I mean nothing bad by it or anything, I just thought you might text me first when you heard I was moving here.”
You looked at him, perplexed.
“I’m sorry Luca, I’m not really sure what you mean.”
“Oh,” he raises a brow at you while picking up a lamp out of a box marked ‘FRAGILE’ across the top in big red lettering, “You mean Carmen didn’t tell you I was coming here?”
You blinked at him, couldn’t say anything for a moment, shocked.
“No?”
“No?” he blinks back at you, “Really?”
“Yea.”
Luca and you just stand there looking at each other for a moment before he breaks the silence, shrugging.
“That’s weird.”
You nod slowly, still unmoving, while Luca moves to put the lamp down on a small table in the living room area right next to a vase balanced on a small stack of books, dessert-based books, by the looks of it. Luca then moves back to the pile of boxes, starting to unwrap something else wrapped up in bubble wrap,
“That’s…weird.” you echo back at him quietly.
Luca looks up at you, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards, pitiful gaze on his face which you can tell he’s trying to hide while he says:
“I mean, maybe he just forgot.”
“Yea, maybe,” you respond, but the words feel sour in your mouth, you can’t help but wonder, ‘how does someone just forget about something like this?’
You think it, but you don’t say it.
You crouch down beside Luca, grabbing at the edges of a taped up box in an attempt to open it, just to have something to do with your hands.
“It’s not like we haven’t been talking,” you add quickly and maybe just a bit too defensively,
Luca made a soft noise in response, not an agreement or disagreement, just a confirmation that he had heard you.
You keep pulling at the edges of the box, and picking at the edges of the packing tape, you just can’t seem to be able to get it off, you run a hand over your face, starting to get very frustrated with this box which is seemingly refusing to open up.
Luca stands over you, reaching over your shoulder, prying the box open with ease, revealing even more books,
“Thanks,” you mumble, picking up a few, and turning to shelve them on a bookcase in the living room, before turning to him playfully, “I loosened it for you.”
“Yea,” he smiles at you, “Sure, you can tell yourself that.”
“I will,” you quip back, you drag the box over the floor over to the shelf, reaching down to pick up another small stack and turning to line them up on the shelves.
You can feel him watching you as you move.
Luca clears his throat.
“Hey (y/n),”
“Mhm?” you respond, not turning around to meet his eye.
“I don’t mean to pry but like-,” Luca was never one to be awkward but suddenly it felt like he was, “Are you okay?”
You paused, book halfway onto the shelf, accidentally pausing just long enough for it to be suspicious, and just long enough to make it feel worse.
“Yea, of course, I mean-” you motion around the room, “I’m helping you move in, it’s a good day!”
You smile at him for extra measure before returning to your unpacking activities.
“Are you sure?” Luca raises a meaningful eyebrow at you.
“Sure about what?”
“I mean,” he started before pausing, and then starting again, “You don’t have to lie to me.”
You freeze with your hand still on the spine of a book.
“I’m not.”
Luca says nothing in response to you, he just sits back on his heels in front of a box, forearms resting on his thighs, watching you like he’s trying to give you space to tell the truth if you decide that you want to.
You clear your throat, “So, what’s the job?”
“Hm?”
“Like, what brought you here?”
“Oh yea,” he leans back from a box, “My sister lives here…And Marcus and Carm said they could use a hand with the new menu…” he hesitates before continuing on, “And it just all aligned…it ended up feeling like the right time to leave, I was stagnating.”
You nodded in response, running a finger along the shelf.
He carefully adds, “I was also just feeling…really tired of having to watch people I love fall apart from far away, and not being able to do a single fucking thing about it.”
By the look on his face, you can tell that it landed heavier than he had meant for it to.
You didn’t respond to him, instead, you made your way back over to the boxes, kneeled beside him, and began opening another box.
“Tell me where this one goes?”
Luca watches you as you reach for a pair of scissors which he had fished out of another box while you were shelving the books, thank God.
“Bedroom.”
-
A few hours later you had both decided you were done for the day, with the living room unpacked, most of the kitchen, and having had just finished the bedroom, you both slid down, sitting at the foot of his bed next to one another, his hands on his knees, your legs splayed out straight in front of you, you let out a long exacerbated breath.
“Dinner?”
You look to him, and then pick up your phone from beside you, quickly clicking on the homescreen just in case Carm might've texted you anything, nothing.
“Sounds good,” you say, smiling lightly.
“Fantastic, tell me the shittiest takeout place in this city,” Luca joked, standing up, grinning, stretching his hands above his head, the bottom hem of his shirt lifting slightly in the process revealing the ‘Calvin Klein’ band of his boxers around his waist, you averted your gaze quickly.
“Shittiest, huh? You’re really testing me here.”
He pulled out his phone, clicking open a text chain, he scrolls upwards, finally landing on what looked to be a long list-like message from someone,
“Well- It looks like there’s a place called The Golden Duck, and apparently it’s the most MSG riddled food in the city.”
“Oh well, that means it’s delicious.”
“Exactly.”
He ordered for both of you on his phone, tossed it onto his bed, and then himself, his top half on the bed with him staring at the ceiling from his mattress, while his legs hanging off the side,
“So, what’s it been like?”
“What’s what been like?” You turn towards Luca, sitting up on your knees, resting your forearms on the bed and resting your head on them, you and Luca looking directly at one another, his head turned to you from his laying down position, you looking at him from your position at the very end of the mattress,
“What was it like, and how has it been like moving here? I mean, starting over.”
You hesitated for a moment.
“I mean, I guess it’s kinda weird. Like it’s all familiar, I know how to get around without Google Maps, and I know where everything in my place-, sorry, me and Carm’s- our place, is…Like, it’s all familiar, but at the same time, to be honest? Nothing feels completely right yet.”
He grins at you, “You do know you moved here like three years ago, right?”
You roll your eyes at him, “Shutup, you asked, now do you want to hear my answer or not?”
“By all means.”
You continue.
“I’m just, it’s like I’m still waiting for something to like, click. I feel like I’m just holding my breath, waiting for it.”
Luca nodded slowly at you.
“Yea I can get that, it can feel like being kinda, trapped between two worlds. Like, me, personally, I thought Chicago might feel like home when I got back, because you know, I’ve been here before, my sister is here, but it’s more like a pause than anything.”
You looked away, and then back, noticing how the street lights coming in from the window fell across his face in a way that made it extravagantly clear that he was incredibly handsome, like the type of handsome that snuck up and pounced on you, you looked away again, pretending not to have noticed, worried he might be able to read your mind or something.
“Yeah.”
There was a silence, comfortable and charged all at once, until Luca finally broke it, peering at his phone.
“Oh shit- it’s here.”
You watch as Luca gets up from the bed, stretching his back out and rubbing the back of his neck, heading for the door. You follow him down the hall, both of you barefoot, you could feel the hardwood cool under the soles of your feet.
He opens the door, trading a few words with the delivery guy, making him laugh and smile in only a few lines. Luca had always had that type of affect on people, you had always envied him for this ability. He had a kind of voice that made you trust him immediately without even really knowing why. He slips the guy two ten dollar bills, (and as if he wasn’t already extremely likable, he was a damn good tipper too), and then he shuts the door and you trail behind him, watching him unpack food onto the kitchen counter. Styrofoam containers, paper boxes, plastic utensils and two pairs of wooden chopsticks wrapped in red paper, two sweating cans of soda.
“God, it smells like regret,” you say peeking over his shoulder.
“Best kind of dinner, five dollar noodles, what could go wrong?” he responds, “Tonight, we feast like royalty.”
He motions to the barstools at the counter, telling you to sit down, you do.
The food is exactly what was on paper. Five dollar noodles. Objectively questionable, but also, somehow something which you would order again and again. It was perfect.
Halfway through eating, Luca turns to you, a bit more serious than before.
“Hey,” he starts, “Not to be weird or anything, but thanks, like seriously, for helping me out…For showing up. It means a lot.”
You sip your soda, meeting his eyes over the top of the can, bringing it down from your mouth.
“Oh my god, Luca, of course, literally anytime,” you say while placing the can down on the counter, “That’s what friends are for.”
He nods, his smile shifting slightly, a look you don’t quite recognize flashing in his eyes, not sad, not amused, something like disbelief. Something you hadn’t seen in a while.
“I still owe you though- Tonight’s dinner doesn’t count.”
You raise an eyebrow at him, your chopsticks dangling in between your fingers.
“What, you want an invoice for manual labor or something?”
“No,” he grins at you, “I mean, I wanna cook something for you. Like actually, once I get my whole kitchen all set up and in order, like…I need someone to try some stuff I’m been trying to make for a new menu, and I think it could be fun to have you be like…You know, the test taster or something.”
“Ah, I see,” you say, “So you just want more free unpaid labor?”
“Exactly.”
“Mover, interior designer-”
“Well, I would hardly call you that-”
“Taste tester…What’s next? Electrician? Plumber?”
“Well, actually, now that you mention it, I do have a lightbulb that needs changing and I do need help figuring out how to use the weird portal thing my landlord has to pay the electric bil-”
“Woah, I’m gonna stop you right there,”
“What?”
“That’s one thing I don’t know how to do?”
“What do you mean? You don’t know how to pay an electric bill?”
“No, I do, I mean, even if it’s a new weird portal system thing I could definitely figure it out, it’s just, that’s kind of…That’s kind of Carm’s one thing, you know?”
“His one thing? No, I don’t know. What do you mean?”
“You know, it’s like his…chore?”
“His chore?”
“Yea, like I do stuff, he does stuff, he makes sure the electric bill gets in on time.”
Luca stares at you, an eyebrow raised, a frown on his face.
“Okay…”
“What? It’s not like I can’t, I don’t-”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant.”
“So, what do you mean?”
“I mean like…,” he looks up, thinking before speaking again, “No offense but like, what do you mean his ‘one thing’ like, surely, he does more…things?”
“Oh no- He like, he definitely does, like…He just has a lot on his plate, and he does a lot for everything outside the apartment, you know what I mean?”
“Yea, I guess, I mean, I get what you’re saying but like…”
“Like what?”
“Like no offense to anyone, I truly mean that, but aren’t you like a lawyer or something (y/n)?”
“Well I- Yes, I mean, I am, but I’m like, I’m okay.”
Luca raises an eyebrow at you,
“I am!” you protest, “I’m good!”
“(y/n), aren’t you like a public defender and a pro bono immigration lawyer?”
“...yes…”
“And that’s his one job?”
“Listen,” you say defensively before softening your tone, “It’s more complicated than it sounds okay? There’s a lot of dimensions to it that you just don’t get.”
“Okay, heard,” he says, putting his hands up in surrender, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply anything.”
“No, no, you didn’t…It’s okay.”
“Okay.”
A long moment passes between you before you speak again,
“So this taste testing thing…Are you gonna like, feed me weird zest foam or like a spinach goo or something?”
“Well first of all, I’m offended,” he laughs, and goes on, “And second off, what the fuck is a ‘zest foam’ or a ‘spinach goo’?”
“I don’t know! I’m just wondering.”
“I’m gonna feed you carbohydrates and love, don’t insult me.”
You try to not let your expression betray how that statement makes you feel.
Luca stretches over you, grabbing your empty container.
“Alright, you’ve helped, you’ve eaten, and now I’m kicking you out.”
You grin at him, getting off of your stool, “You wish.”
You’re both walking towards the door when he says your name, softly, and you turn around to face him.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
His eyes flick upwards to look at you, and you find yourself hesitating yet again, not quite sure how you wanted to respond or if you even knew how to, then nod.
“I will be.”
He looks at you, perhaps a second longer than he should have, and you’re quite certain that he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. He just reaches past you, opening the door.
“Text me when you get home?” he asks, not quite meeting your eye.
“Yeah. I will.”
“You promise?”
“Promise.”
With that you stepped outside into the night, and you didn’t look back until about halfway down the block when something in you told you that you should, and when you do he’s still standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching you go, until you reach the very end of the street and you turn around to see his door just closing.
-
When you get home the time is 10:15PM. The apartment is still, quiet. You shut the door behind you and start toward the hallway, only to pause when you notice movement on the couch; Carmen, half-asleep, or maybe lost in thought. You hadn’t seen him at first, hadn’t really expected to see him. He usually got home much later than this, and the sight of him catches you off guard.
You take a step towards him and he shifts, turning his head slightly.
“You’re back,” he says, his voice is gravely and strained from work.
“Yea,” you respond, a pause stretches out between the two of you, so long that you start to feel awkward about standing, “I didn’t think you’d be home,” you added.
“I left early,” he stops for a moment and then continues on, “Wasn’t feeling very good.”
You nod in response, although he wasn’t looking at you to see it. He runs a hand over his face and he sits up a little straighter. You can see the crease from the couch cushion pressed into his cheek, he must’ve been laying there for a while.
“Where were you?” he asks, and it’s soft, you can tell that he’s trying to sound like he doesn’t care, like he doesn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable and doesn’t want to be accusatory, like he was thinking of you. You sit down next to him.
“I was helping Luca, with his move.”
He nods, quietly repeating what you had just said to himself under his breath, processing it. He must’ve just woken up, he drags his hand slowly down his face like he’s trying to shake off the sleep. Another minute passes, like he was waiting for his brain to boot up, and then,
“That’s good,” he said, “That you helped him.”
Your knee is brushing against his, and you feel tethered to him for the first time in a while, like it was proof that you lived here with someone else and that you weren’t living completely separate lives.
“Carm,” you start, looking at him and then down at his hand, you brush it with yours before continuing, “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says it like he’s brushing it off, like it’s nothing, you know he’s lying, “Like I said, I just…M’not feeling great, I think I’m just…Tired…” he trails off, and you’re both quiet, he puts his arm around you, and you put your head on his shoulder.
“Me too,” you respond and you don’t mean for the next words you say to slip out but they do before you can stop them, “Did you know that Luca was moving here?”
You can feel Carmen go rigid for a moment, his shoulder tensing and then relaxing again.
“Yeah,” he sighs, “I did.”
“Carm,” you start softly, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know, I guess I forgot. I’m sorry I didn’t think it really would matter all that much I guess, it just slipped my mind.”
“Didn’t think-,” you pick your head off his shoulder turning to face him, “Didn’t think it would matter? Carm, he’s my friend…He’s my like, best friend, and he’s your friend and-Why didn’t you think this would matter?”
“I’m sorry, I’m just exhausted, I forgot,” his voice raises a little, defensive, “Jesus, I’m sorry.”
You both fall quiet again, your head finds your way to his shoulder for a third time, and the air feels thin. Fragile. Not angry, just delicate.
Carmen is the one to break the silence again, and it comes out quietly, like he’s trying not to startle you when he speaks.
“I didn’t think it’d be a big deal,” he says, “Didn’t think you two still talked like that, I guess.”
You lift your head. Not accusatory, but confused, “Like what?”
Carmen shrugs, looking at you, his jaw is tight, and his eyes flick away before you can read them.
You think about following up your question with something else, feeling awkward in the silence filling the room, but couldn’t think of anything to say.
“I wasn’t trying to hide anything,” he says his voice flat, “If that’s what you think.”
“Carm, I didn’t think you were.”
He nods, but it’s unconvincing, like he doesn’t really believe you, and something in his facial expression tells you that if you were him, you wouldn’t have either.
You try again.
“It’s not really about Luca.”
He still doesn’t look at you, his shoulder shifts ever so slightly, “Okay.”
“It just would’ve been nice to know.”
He exhales, it’s short and tired, “Yeah.”
There’s something heavy in the air, but you couldn’t name it, it seemed he couldn’t either.
“I’ll tell you next time,” he pauses thinking to himself, the side of his mouth quirking upwards a bit, “Y’know, if there’s ever a next time.”
It makes you giggle a little, and Carmen smiles at it, at you.
You nod in response, and you believe him.
The smile fades slowly from his face, but the softness in it never leaves.
You’re not really sure what to say, a part of you wants to say everything. Everything that you had been feeling, everything that you think he’s been feeling…The other part of you wants you to shutup.
You can’t think of a way that you could even verbalize everything that you’d been feeling without making it feel worse, for either or both of you. Without risking him withdrawing. You want to tell him simply that you’ve just missed him, that it feels like he’s been far away for a really long time…even when he’s here. That sometimes you go whole days without touching or even speaking, that you notice it, ‘Do you notice it too?’ you thought about asking him, but you didn’t. You didn’t want to have to think about whose fault it might be.
You don’t say another word.
Instead, you press your knee in a little closer to his, and he puts his hand on yours in the small space between you on the couch. His palm is rough, warm, and familiar.
“You wanna go to bed?” he asks, and it sounds like more of a peace offering than a genuine question. His way of calling it for the night.
“Yeah,” you say.
Neither of you moves right away.
Eventually you stand up together at the same time, the lights stay on behind you as you walk down the hallway together, to the bathroom brushing your teeth in silence, and then crawling into bed together.
You sling yourself over him in the bed, and he holds you in return.
But you couldn’t help but wish that you had said more, that he had. That something more had occurred.
You drift off to sleep together that night.
-
When you awake the next morning you realize it’s a Monday, and that you have no court hearings today on Zoom or otherwise, no clients, no meetings, that today you don’t have any work which is directly demanding, this makes you smile. When you look to your left you realize that Carmen’s arm is still around you, and that above all, he’s still here.
You begin to poke Carmen, willing him awake, and he starts to stir.
“Carm…Carm…Carm…” you half-whisper his name as you continue to poke at him.
“Huh?” Carmen opens one eye, looking right at you, “What?”
“Are you like, late or something?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“Monday. Closed Mondays.”
“And there’s nothing to be done at the restaurant?”
“I don’t think anyone thought it was a very good idea for me to go back in today, I was uh,” he pauses, yawning, rubbing his eyes, “I got pretty sick last night.”
“Ah, well, I’m sorry…Are you feeling better this morning?”
“Yea,” Carm responds, turning to look up at the ceiling, taking his arm out from under you and stretching both his arms above his head, “Yea, I think I am.”
“That’s good.”
“Yea, yea. And you? Do you have anything today? Any lawyer-ing?”
“No, can’t say that I do.”
“That’s good, I’m glad.”
“Me too.”
“Yea, I think it’s safe to say we’re both pretty burnt out.”
Your heart skipped a beat, it was so small, but, this was the closest he had come to opening up to you at all recently. It felt good.
You roll over onto your back to stare at the ceiling with him, your fingertips brushing his.
“Burnt out,” you echo back to him, “Yea, that’s one way to put it,” letting out a light laugh as you said it.
Carmen doesn’t respond back to you right away, but his fingers curl tightly around yours, and for a few moments you just lie there together, the sun peaking through the window blinds casting warmth in little strips over the bed. Eventually you sit up, pushing the sheets off of your legs.
“I’m making coffee,” you say, “You want eggs or something?”
“I feel like I should be the one asking you if you want eggs or something.”
“Okay, so ask me then,” you say giggling at the exchange, how long had it been since you had last talked like this? You couldn’t remember, you just knew that you missed it.
“Do you want eggs or something?”
You tap your point finger on your bottom lip, looking up, pretending to think.
“Pancakes,” you both say it in unison.
Your eyes light up as you look at him.
“How’d you know?”
Carmen’s lips twitch into a small smile, the kind that doesn’t reach your eyes, but it’s genuine,
“Because pancakes are the only things that make life bearable.”
You laugh softly and Carmen goes on,
“-And I made pancakes for you that first morning we spent together.”
That makes you pause, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth.
“That was a long time ago,” you say softly.
He shrugs, sitting up in the bed, playful but exhausted.
“Feels like yesterday.”
You grin as you watch him work. You love seeing him like this. Not stressed, pulling his hair out, in some fancy restaurant, calling out orders, but in his element. Calm, at work, just doing something that he loves without it demanding anything back from him.
He moves with ease around the kitchen, flipping pancakes with a certain suaveness to him that made him look incredibly cool, in your opinion.
“Wow, Carm, you’re really showing off right now, huh?”
“At what? Flipping pancakes?”
“Mhm, it’s hot.”
“Jesus,” he mutters, grinning, “Well, I’m glad you like it because it’s basically the only thing I can do.”
You shake your head at him,
“Nuh-uh, I saw you make eggs a few weeks ago.”
“Well- yes and that.”
“And,” you go on, “You made me a mean grilled cheese the other week. You’re really good.”
He grins at you, still looking down, focusing on the pancake flipping.
“Yea well..I’m glad you think so, because if I wasn’t, I’d be committing some serious fraud.”
It makes you both laugh, and for once things feel normal. Like they’re stable, like there were no problems at all.
The moment lingers, and the air smells sweet and a bit like melted butter, you rest your chin on your palm, continuing to watch him, wondering how much longer things could go on like this.
“I’ve got court this week,” you say after a moment, keeping your tone light,
Carmen glances over at you, “Like court-court?”
“Zoom court,” you clarify for him, “But yes, big one. Wednesday morning. I’ve been preparing for like weeks, honestly, just kinda excited for it to be over.”
He nods, thoughtful, and he flips the last pancake onto a stack. “Anything I can do?”
“Just- don’t be too rowdy in here,” you joke, “No big house parties.”
Carmen laughs through his nose, “Heard counselor, no noise. I’ll cancel the huge blow out I had planned, but it is a shame, I’ll need to reach out to all 300 people now to tell them not to come.”
He picks up two plates, swinging around to your side of the counter, kissing you on the head in the process, he places them down with exaggerated flourish. You raise your eyebrows at him.
“I’m joking of course, I’ll probably be at the restaurant at that point.”
“Right,” you say nodding and looking down at your small stack, “What, no parsley garnish?”
“Jesus,” he mutters again, pulling out the stool to sit beside you, but he’s smiling and there’s a light blush playing along his cheeks.
And for that moment. Things felt alright.
That night the two of you sat curled up on the couch next to one another, laundry piled around you. Carmen was flipping through a sketchbook, thinking about new dishes, reviewing old ones, you were typing away on your laptop, writing up some papers. Your eyes drifted upwards to stare at the pile of Carmen’s t-shirts.
“Weren’t we doing something?”
“Hm?” Carmen responds, pencil in his mouth,
“Weren’t we like folding the laundry?”
“Oh-oh yea,” Carmen puts his sketchbook on the table, sticks the pencil behind his ear, “How did we even get sidetracked?”
“To be honest with you, I don’t remember.”
He shrugs at you, “Restaurant brain.”
You nod in response, you want to laugh at his joke, but honestly you had heard it as an excuse so many times at this point that you don’t think you could find it funny if you tried, but you keep a neutral smile on your face, careful not to tune Carmen into this in fear of making him feel too bad. Motioning to the pile of t-shirts in front of you-
“Jeez Carm, how many white shirts do you have?”
He starts to answer you, but gets cut off by a light buzzing noise as the lights flickered off for a moment and then back on. Carmen draws his gaze back to you from the ceiling.
“Old wiring,” he gives you a half shrug, “Old building, it used to do it a lot more before you moved in…I think the apartment likes you better or something.”
He gives you a smile as he begins to tackle folding a pile of laundry.
By Tuesday morning, the apartment smelled like Dawn dish soap and a light smell of garlic leftover from last night’s dinner. Carmen was in the kitchen, washing dishes, some light music could be heard coming out of his headphones, knowing him he probably had them turned up all the way.
There was something very comforting about this, very ordinary, but in the best way.
Still a little tired, you sit down at the counter, startling Carmen for a moment, before he shoots you a small smile, and hands you a cup of coffee, which you sip gratefully.
“Morning,” he says, flipping one headphone half off his ear, he looked as if he had been up for a while, hair messy and slightly damp from a shower, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, suds scattered about his forearms.
“You didn’t have to do all that,” you say motioning towards the sink and then the stack of clean dishes piled neatly on the rack.
“I wanted to,” he says it simply, like there was nothing else in the world that would have made more sense to him than this, “I figured that especially with your hearing tomorrow, you just really shouldn’t have to worry about shit like the dishes.”
“Thank you,” you smile at him warmly, “Wait- what about the restaurant, are you-”
“Chill, I’m going in a few hours, they’ll live without me for a bit.”
“Oh, okay.”
After finishing the dishes, Carmen sits down on the couch, his phone in one hand, computer on the table, and a giant stack of mail splayed out next to it. You watch him quietly from over your laptop screen, as he pulls out a crumpled envelope, flipping it open, he holds up a bill, squinting at the details.
He glances over to his phone screen in his other hand, quickly clicking on something, checking something, online, letting out a faint sigh.
“Water bill’s all good now too,” you hear him mutter to himself from across the room, he stuffs a bunch of papers back into a larger envelope and then sets it down, the stove timer going off.
You glance back down at your laptop, the quiet hum of the apartment and muted drone of the world outside filling the air, the weight on your chest feels like it’s been lifted, even if just a little. Carmen’s calm and suddenly steady presence, the way he was handling things without it being too complicated, it was all very grounding.
He reaches over towards you and flicks on the small kitchen lamp, the warm glow lighting up his face, and you look up again, catching him watching you with a faint smile, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. Like he feels it too.
“I got it,” he says to you, meeting your eyes, “Everything.”
You nod, your words caught somewhere between relief and gratitude.
The timer behind him goes off and he jumps, and he heads back to the oven.
There’s no tension, no unfinished business hanging in the air. Just a quiet, steady, pulse of the two of you moving through life together.
It was a good two days, but deep down, you knew you couldn’t trust it.
After all, two good days didn’t erase a year of being overlooked.
Carmen had long since left for work when you heard your text tone go off, pulling your eyes away from the array of documents that you had scattered across your table, you picked up your phone and opened up your messages.
LUCA
‘hey i just got all my kitchen shit in and i took a trip to some expensive ass market, u down to come over tmrw night?’
You smile at the text fondly, responding back.
‘i’ll be there,’ you type out before playfully adding, ‘better be good,’ and pressing send.
You get another message back almost immediately.
‘or else?’
‘don’t be a smartass’
‘heard’
You laughed to yourself, starting to return back to your work but then your phone goes off again.
‘r u doing ok btw’
It makes you pause.
‘im’ You start to type out a response but if you were honest with yourself, you weren’t sure how you were, you settle on-
‘im doing alright def scared tho’
‘scared?’
‘big case tmrw’
‘how big we talkin’
‘like huge very high stakes’
‘how huge’
‘omg stfu’
‘srry’ A pause before another text message from him came through,
‘ur the best lawyer out there u cant lose’
You clicked your phone off, grinning.
-
Wednesday morning started out unkind.
When you woke up, Carmen was already gone, but that wasn’t the unfortunate part. The unfortunate part came after you had finished getting ready, put on your ‘courtroom’ suit, and walked into the kitchen, only to immediately feel a wet squish through your socks. You bent your knee and lifted your foot up to look at the bottom.
“Ew,” you said softly to yourself, your eyes dropping to a small sticky puddle on the floor. Carmen must’ve spilled coffee and had forgotten to clean it up before leaving. It was such a small thing, but maybe that was the point. A small thing, and yet it was still there. A small mess, lingering anyway.
Peeling off your socks, you grabbed paper towels to clean up the spill. Then you noticed it, sitting on the kitchen counter, the same envelope from the day before. Smudged with greasy fingerprints, probably from where Carmen had absentmindedly set down a plate or a pan at some point before picking it up again.
You remembered him mentioning the water bill being all sorted or something to that effect the day before, but you now realized that he hadn't actually sent it. Not yet.
It was all too familiar. This quiet letting down.
You sighed softly but resolved to handle it yourself after your meeting, you really couldn’t afford to have your mind on anything else right now.
Just as you were settling into your morning routine, with thirty minutes left before your Zoom court hearing, you were sitting at the counter flipping through your client’s files, getting your arguments in order, then your phone buzzed against the marble surface of the kitchen counter. Glancing down, you were met with a message from Luca-
‘look outside’
Curious, you opened the door to your apartment. There, waiting on your doorstep, was a neatly packed breakfast, a croissant, somehow still warm, a small container of fruit, and a note stuck on top of it in Luca’s familiar handwriting:
Good luck today. And tell Carmen that Luca says to do more than just the electric bill.
You chuckled softly to yourself, the small gesture easing some of the tension building inside of your chest. For a moment, the day felt a little less daunting. But then your smile faltered, the hard truth of it all settling in: In one week, Luca had shown up for you more than Carmen had in a whole year.
You tuck the note into your backpocket, your mind haunted by thoughts of comparison that you hadn’t meant to have but couldn’t quite shake. Luca. Carmen. You tried not to go there.
You flipped your phone over in your hand, checking the clock on it. Almost time. You took a long, deep breath, closing the door behind you, and headed back inside to set up your laptop for the hearing.
Your phone vibrates on the desk, clicking it open you see a message from your client where you had been secretly hoping to see a message from Carmen, you shoot them a text back, reassuring them that today was going to be just fine, also reassuring yourself in the process.
You line your papers up. Your notes. All of the necessary documents to defend your client today. You feel your stomach flip as you try to hype yourself up, rehearsing your opening statement just under your breath.
The Zoom opens, the screen lighting up. The familiar ping of incoming Zoom participants. The screen begins to fill with familiar faces, colleagues, the judge, your client’s name blinking in the corner as they join the call.
You double-check your notes again, just once more in your head.
The apartment is still and quiet.
You’re mid-sentence and about half-way through the hearing when it happens.
No flicker of the screen, no warning, just frozen. Completely still.
Everyone’s face vanishes in a blink.
The little red “No internet,” icon flashes up in the corner of your computer screen, and your stomach drops so fast that it knocks the air out of you.
It must be a mistake. You wait one second, two…Nothing.
You stand up in an instant, you can hear your heart pounding in your chest, you rush toward the router like that actually ever does anything.
The router is dark, and that’s when you realize that everything was dark. No lights.
The lamp beside it, off.
You paused and listened, expecting to hear the humming of the fridge, but instead, silence.
The power was out. Entirely.
You spin back towards your desk, already pulling your phone out of your pocket, opening your settings, you try to open up a hotspot.
Nothing.
You toggle it on and off again, still nothing.
“No Service.”
The apartment’s oddly thick concrete walls had always been an issue.
You had once joked with Carmy that it was built like a bunker, that you’d be safe in an apocalypse. It was insulated as fuck, and nearly impossible to get a signal through.
Suddenly, this was all a lot less funny to you.
You held your phone up towards the window, still nothing. You lowered your phone slowly, your hands were shaking so hard you thought you might drop it, you could hear blood rushing in your ears.
No Wi-Fi.
No service.
No power.
Staring out the window blankly, unsure of what to do, trying to grapple with how unfortunate the timing of this power-outage was, that’s when you noticed it.
Across the street.
The bodega’s neon “OPEN” sign, still glowing.
The laundromat that was two doors down from it, lights on, machines still spinning.
Even the traffic light at the corner was ticking normally, green to yellow to red, and back to green.
You press your head against the window, waiting for an explanation to just appear, but it doesn’t. It just confirms what you already know, but don’t want to admit.
The power isn’t out.
Not in the city.
Not on the block.
Not even in your apartment building.
Just here. Just in your unit.
It clicks.
Carmen hadn’t paid the electric bill.
Not because he couldn’t. But because he hadn’t thought.
Because he hadn’t remembered to.
And it wasn’t just the power.
It was your work. Your case. Your client. Your trust.
Your mouth went completely dry, your tongue sticking to your teeth, you’re not just standing in the dark…You had been left in it.
You don’t really remember changing out of your clothes and into new ones, or grabbing your keys, or opening up your phone to turn on the ‘do not disturb’ mode.
But the next thing you know, you’re standing outside of Luca’s door.
when I see you dancing (I think I need a drink) (18+)
summary: You go to Tiffany and Frank's wedding!
title from: "Secret" by Kristin Sesselja
word count: 6.2k
content warnings: smut MDNI!!! ✨️Claire✨️, fingering, unprotected P in V, afab reader genitalia, alcohol consumption (reader does get drunk), reader flirts with another man (blasphemy!!), carmclaire dance <//3, loosely described panic attack,
side note: tiffrank wedding chapter wahoo!!!
series masterlist!
Light from the street slants through Carmy's curtains. It gives the room a soft orange glow as you both lie in silence. You can't see the clock from where you lie on the bed, but it must be near one or two in the morning.
Carmy had picked you up after another bumpy dinner service, hair brushed out of his face and smelling of smoke and cinnamon. You asked him about the service and he told you much of the same before he asked, "How was work?"
You give him a simple, "Good. Not nearly as eventful as yours."
It makes him huff, navigating through the city easily. He listens as you tell him about the episodes of your show you'd watched since you last saw him, asking for clarification when he gets something mixed up. Carmy lets you talk until he gets upstairs, unlocking the door and letting you both in.
He spends what could have been hours making you come undone with his head between your legs, keeping you perfectly perched on his counter. You swear it's become his new favorite way to fuck you, only just beaten by actually being inside of you. Carmy moves you to his bedroom easily, where he takes you apart with his fingers. You practically have to beg him to fuck you, and he'd be lying if he said that wasn't his plan.
You don't think he ever seems to tire, even now. He's got an arm wrapped around you, hand tucked under the hem of your shirt to trace patterns. Your head rests against his shoulder, eyes shut as you listen to Carmy breathe and the sound of the other building residents.
"What do you do?" Carmy's question is a whisper. Any quieter and you wouldn't be able to hear him over the city noise.
"Hmm?" You hum softly, shifting to look up at him. One of Carmy's arm is tucked behind his head, and you'd be lying if you said it didn't catch your eye.
"I don't know what you do for work," He says softly. The revelation makes your stomach twist, and your gaze wanders to the ceiling.
"I'm a secretary," you tell him, preparing for the routine questions when you say it. You don't have to see his face to know his eyebrows are raised.
"A secretary?" He asks, there's new lilt in his voice that you've already braced for.
You hum in response, nodding a little. "Phone calls, emails, and appointment making. The works."
Carmy's quiet for a little bit before he speaks again. "So is there like... A direct line to your phone or..?"
"Carmen!" You smack his chest. You don't have to ask why he wants to know.
"Ow! What?" You know you didn't hit him hard enough for it to hurt.
"You know what."
"No, I don't. What- What if I need to like- What if there's an accident and I need to get to you at work 'cause you're not pickin' up your phone?" He's brought the arm from behind him to gesture as he talks. It doesn't help his case.
"We are not having phone sex while I'm at work." You say it like it's final.
"I wasn't even gonna-"
"Yeah, sure, Carmen. It's what every guy wants to know when I tell them. You're not smooth." You watch in the corner of your eye as his hand rests against his stomach. He taps his fingers a few times against his skin.
Carmy goes quiet again. Then he pipes up. "You've never tried?"
"No, Carmen! I've never tried. I don't exactly want to lose my job cause you're a pervert," you hiss at him.
"How would they know?" He asks and you're going to shake him. This is going to give you a headache.
"They record the phone calls, dummy-" You turn your back on him, trying to let him know you're done with the conversation.
"Dummy?" He sounds offended.
"You rather I call you dumbass?" You look at him over your shoulder. Carmy's brow is furrowed and there's a frown pulling at his lips, making you roll your eyes before turning back over.
"You need a reminder of who you're calling a dumbass?" He asks as he brings his hands to your hips, tugging you back.
"No, hey, Carmy-" You try and wriggle out of his grip. "You said that was the last one!"
It comes out more of a whine, you've had enough time to recover from the previous orgasms Carmy put you through. You just know how insatiable he gets and he doesn't do things half way.
"Well, seems like someone needs t'be punished f'talking back-" He mutters the words into your skin, one of his hands slipping around to your stomach. His fingers are teasing as they start to inch lower.
"Carmyy-" You whine, knowing he's made up his mind already. It makes you dizzy, how he's already ready to please you again. He hums against your skin, cupping your mound with his hand.
"Makin' a lot of fuss f'someone this wet," he whispers next to your ear. Carmy slips his fingers through the arousal between your legs.
"Fuck-" You sigh as he prods at your entrance. He slips two fingers into you easily, pressing the heel of his hand against your clit. He starts slow, pressing kisses to your neck as you moan.
"Think you can take three?" He asks, not that he expects an answer from you, already slipping out to just the fingertips. The stretch is pleasant in a way that feels natural, bringing a hand to grab his arm.
"There you go, baby," Carmy brings his other hand to grope at your chest, picking up his pace. He huffs softly as you turn your head, eyes trailing after his lips. He appeases you easily, and the kiss is messy.
It's full of tongue, spit, and quiet moans. Your hips rock into his hand, a steady rhythm that he enforces. You let out a soft sigh as he grinds his hips against your ass, grunting softly into your mouth. Your hips stutter when he grinds the heel of his hand against your clit, head falling back to the pillow.
"Carm- Carmy, Carmy-" You can't get much out other than his name, grinding out of rhythm with Carmy.
"What is it? Use your words, baby." He prompts you, slowing his movements until his fingers still. You whine, unable to keep your lower lip from jutting out.
"Mean," You get out, looking back at him with wide eyes. He huffs next to you, sliding his free hand down your chest to your stomach.
"Three fingers deep and you're calling me mean? Not enough, sweetheart?" The thought of anymore makes you dizzy, trying to shake your head. There's a mischief in his eyes and you regret whining at all.
"It's not enough? What, y'need two more? Hmm? Stretch y'out, like my cock never left?"
The hand on your stomach trails down to join his other, two fingers prodding around where he already stretches you.
"You'd like that, huh? Keep you seated on my dick? Keep y'nice and filled all the time, like it belongs there?" His words are making your head hazy, stomach dipping at the idea.
"Fuck-" You hiccup. "Off."
He huffs behind you, bringing those two fingers up to rub slow circles against your clit. "Yeah? Why y'squeezin' so hard then?"
Carmy's words make you whine, hips twisting in his hold. The wiggling makes him groan, slinging one of his legs over yours to keep you in place. Carmy muffles a noise against your skin, rocking gently into you with the new angle.
Your hips follow his lead, rocking into his hand. Carmy lets you fuck yourself on his fingers, listening as you whine and sigh. He lets this carry on for a few minutes, noting your mounting frustration as you move. It's not long before he's slipping his fingers out of you, softly shushing your noise of complaint.
"Hold on, baby," he mutters. Carmy moves behind you, shoving off his boxers the best he can. He inhales sharply behind you as he drags the head of his cock through your folds. You whine as he nudges up against your clit before he pulls back again, coating himself in your arousal. Carmy gives you a moment as he presses against your entrance, kissing and nipping at your neck.
"Oh god," You choke out, inhaling sharply as he pushes his length into you. The stretch isn't uncomfortable, but the speed he fills you with catches you off guard. Carmy always manages to have you choking on your words when he gets you like this.
You whine as he bottoms out, drawing a noise out from him as your walls clench around him.
"Shit, sweetheart.." He sighs, dipping his head to press a kiss to your shoulder. "Just one more f'me, okay? Yeah, you can give me one more..."
And you do.
There's a deep nauseous feeling in your stomach. It's been there all morning, as Claire asks you to do her hair and you leave the apartment. It follows you the whole car ride, watching people pass on the sidewalk as your sister hums to the radio.
It crests when you pass the building and stays that way as Claire parks. Tiffany's house is packed. Or maybe it's Frank's. Either way there's a lot of people.
You and Claire only add to it.
The two of you stick together as you greet some of Tiffany's guests until-
"Oh fuck-" You say when you spot Francie Fak.
"What? Why are you saying that?" Claire looks at you with a furrowed brow.
"Francine." You hiss, already starting to look for Sugar before she can.
Unfortunately, by the time you find Sugar, Francie is already there. The two are arguing in front of Uncle Kalinowski and you give him a pitying look before you duck away. You can't interfere now.
You make your way through the house, slipping past different groups of guests. You spot curly hair and blue eyes... And you're turning in the other direction. Maybe Claire found Tiff already and you can find them both in a different room.
A few guests that you know greet you in passing, sharing pleasantries. A few of the older women manage to hold onto you for awhile, asking about Claire and your parents and work and if there are any prospects you have your eyes on.
You don't find Tiffany.
With nothing to show for your search, you park yourself along the fringes of the event. People chatter around you, many of them catching up and you hear brief regailings of different personal lives. You bring a hand to your pocket, making for your phone to try and find Claire. You don't get a chance to.
You inhale sharply when a hand grabs your wrist, tugging you in a backwards. A door closes after you, and you're in a room you don't recognize. Your eyes dart around, taking in the room as you turn. It looks like an office or some sort of drawing room. Were Tiff and Frank rich enough for a drawing room?
Your eyes land on Carmy, taking in his blue button down and black blazer. The way his curls are styled makes your heart ache, you wish you could have him like this on a different occasion.
"Hi," He says quietly, the softness in his tone makes your stomach dip.
"Hi," You whisper, watching as Carmy smiles gently. He brings a hand to the side of your neck, pulling you towards him. The proximity makes you pliant enough that you lean into him, bumping his nose with yours. He huffs softly, nudging you back.
A laugh outside the door pulls you from the moment. You jerk back, stumbling a few steps away from Carmy. It feels like your heart is going to beat out of your chest, thrumming in your ears and throat. The chatter reminds you where you are again.
"My sister's here-" You whisper harshly, hoping no one saw Carmy drag you into the room.
"What- I know." He says it like that's okay.
"So, we're not doing this right now." You tell him.
"Doing what?" He asks, like he's actually confused.
"This." You gesture between the two of you. "Not with my sister and everyone we know in this fucking building!"
"What- No, I didn't- That's not why I grabbed you." He says it like he wasn't dragging you into a kiss the second the door was closed.
"Because pulling me into a private room isn't suspicious, Carmen? People think one thing when two people sneak off. Especially at weddings."
"We're not sneaking off-"
"Then what are you doing?" Your voice raises slightly.
"Nothing!" He exclaims before realizing he was too loud.
"Nothing." Carmy says quietly. "You're just... Wanted to say you look nice.."
Carmy exhales when he says it, like he's been holding it in. You furrow your brow, frown pulling at your lips.
"What?" The admission catches you off guard.
"You look nice... Been avoiding me since you got here, this was the only way I could tell ya.." His expression softens and it makes everything even more baffling. You flounder for something to say, mouth opening and closing twice before he speaks up again.
"Promise I just wanted to compliment you. Nothin' funny happening..."
You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. "Because being in public has stopped you before."
"I'm not the one who initiated that, if I remember right." There's a teasing tone in his voice. It doesn't help settle your nerves, just frays them a bit more.
"We can't do this so just... Just go back to being Sugar's little brother for the day. Go back to... Go back to ignoring me, Carmy." You tell him softly, looking at the ground. He says your name gently, like he might scare you off.
"What's goin' on? What's wrong?" Carmy brings a hand to your hip. It's supposed to be reassuring.
"Everyone is here.. Claire is here, Carm." You shift uncomfortably, squeezing yourself tight.
"I know, sweetheart. And everything's gonna be okay, okay? No one's gonna find out because I said you look pretty." His voice is low and soothing as he rubs his thumb over your blouse.
"They might," you mutter. He sighs softly and it gnaws at your heart. Like you're being ridiculous for being cautious. He gives your waist a firm squeeze before you exhale shakily.
"I have to go find Tiff, so if we're done..?" You give him a moment to say something. Anything. He doesn't.
You leave the room without a word.
Carmy leaves the room a few minutes after you. No one notices.
Except maybe Chester.
Tiffany is easy to find. Or maybe you're easy for her to find. Either way she brings you into a tight hug when you see her.
She's all smiles as she introduces you to Frank, claiming you as one of her many, many cousins.
"Which side are you on?" Frank asks, and it's an innocent enough question but it makes you laugh. Tiffany glances at you, opening her mouth once and then closing it again.
"The Faks," You supply. It doesn't seem to help Frank's confusion but Tiffany nods like it sounds right.
"I know the Faks, who know the Berzattos, who took in Richie." You amend. You can see the realization in his eyes when you say it and everything falls into place.
"They're also related to Claire." Tiffany states and that gets a more understanding nod from Frank.
"Blood related. She's my sister. Not in the weird Berzatto-Jermovich-Fak relation."
Frank nods again and part of you thinks he's still struggling to wrap his head around the whole family.
"You get used to it," You assure him and Tiffany grins.
Poor guy will never get used to it.
"That fucking asshole," Sugar mutters next to you. She's looking at the other end of the room.
"What?" You turn, following her gaze. She starts for one of the long tables and you trail after her, still confused.
"Are you fucking hiding?" Sugar asks as she lifts up the table cloth and pauses. You duck, lifting your part of the cloth and take in the scene there.
"Hi Sugarbear," Eva greets you and Nat as you peek under.
"Hey Evie," You give her a small smile, glancing at Richie when he ushers you two to join. You wait for Sugar to sit before you kneel down, tucking your legs under you when you sit. You do a quick scan of the group under the table as you settle next Sugar, trying to ignore Claire next to Carmy. You startle slightly when Francie joins the group beside you a moment later. She and Nat start bickering over your head before Claire interrupts and ask Eva what's wrong again.
"I guess I'm pretty sad about my dog dying," Eva says, frowning slightly.
"Honey, he died a couple years ago. And y'didn't even really like him." Richie scrunches his nose at that last part and you have to keep yourself from laughing. Eva hums in agreement and Richie's prompting her for what's really going on.
Before she can say anything, you hear Neil Fak. And then you see him. Neil, Teddy and Kelly all join you under the table. Claire tries to redirect back to Eva, reassuring that everyone gets scared, even her uncle Carmy. Before they can get further, Sydney and Stevie duck under the table next to Francie. You listen as Richie introduces Eva to Sydney and Stevie greets his niece. You hear Tiffany soon after and watch as she joins across from you. Frank gives her the breakdown of what's happening before Claire pipes up about sharing what everyone's afraid of. Claire starts, then Richie down the line to Frank, Neil, Teddy and then Kelly.
From Kelly to Sugar, who bounces it to Francie. Which results in mild bickering. Richie breaks it up and turns the question on Tiff, who shares her fear of losing her loved ones. Your heart aches at that one and you look up when she calls your name.
"What about you?"
"Oh uh.." You trail off. "Yeah, uh, I'm- I'm pretty scared of losing my sister."
You look at Eva with a slight frown before you feel a hand on yours. You turn to see Claire, stretching over Sugar's lap to give your hand a squeeze. You return it, trying to avoid Carmy's gaze over her shoulder.
Tiffany turns the question to Stevie. Who goes to Sydney. Sydney turns the question on Carmy before Pete, Marcus, and Chester join. The three list their fears before Sydney turns it back to Carmy.
"Uh... Math.. Yeah, math," He gives Eva a small smile and you snort, remembering Sugar ranting to you about his poor math skills. It subsides some of the nausea in your stomach.
Once they get to the root of Eva's fear, dancing, Teddy insists on getting a picture. You get in position in front of Sugar, making sure she still has a view of the camera. You watch as Teddy takes a few pictures of the group before you all get out from under the table.
As soon as you're up, Claire's rushing to hug you, holding you tight. You grunt but manage to wrap your arms around her, inhaling shakily. She rocks you side to side gently, squeezing you hard.
Claire pulls away enough to take in your appearance, eyes dancing around your face. "You doing okay?"
"Peachy," You give her a tight smile. Your sister pulls you into another quick hug before parting with you. You're quickly distracted by Sugar, who's followed closely by Francie and Claire slips away. You let her go, being pulled into a frenzy with the other two women.
You let their conversation wash over you, watching the wedding guests. Soon, both of them are pulled away by their respective partners and leaving you on the fringes is. You let your gaze trail to the outskirts of the dance floor, watching the other guests. It's not long before your eyes fall on Claire and Carmy.
Your stomach drops as Claire leads Carmy to the dance floor, that nauseous feeling from the beginning of the day coming back. You think you might actually be sick when you see Claire wrap her arms around his shoulders, pressing her forehead to his.
You turn around quickly, nearly colliding with Uncle Kalinowski.
"Shit- Sorry Unc-"
"Whoa kid, y'okay?" He steadies you with hands at your elbows.
"Perfect, just need to- Jus' need some air?" It comes out sounding like a question and you can tell he doesn't believe you based on the look he gives you.
"What's goin' on? Y'need to sit down? Get somethin' to eat?" His questions are making you more frazzled, if possible.
"No, I just- I-" You can't get the words out and Cicero is leading you to an empty table on the edge of the dance floor.
"Just sit here a second, kid. I'm gonna go getcha a glass of water, okay?" He doesn't wait for an answer before he leaves to go find your water. You inhale sharply, fighting the rising tide of nausea and the dizzy feeling in your brain. Your brow scrunches tight, trying to figure out why you're reacting so poorly. Maybe a reaction to the flowers Tiffany has around.
You press a hand to your chest, trying to steady your breathing. You close your eyes tight, letting the chatter rush over you as you attempt to calm down.
"Hey, kiddo." Richie's voice startles you, eyes fluttering open to look at him. "You doin' okay in there?"
"Been better." Your voice is tight and it makes you cringe softly. Richie nods, hands stuffed in his pockets.
"Y'need a smoke?" His offer makes you laugh. Some of the tension in your shoulders melts away and you can see Richie perk up when he notices. You shake your head slightly and he nods.
"Wanna dance?" He asks and you huff. You watch as he offers his hand to you, looking at it hesitantly.
"I don't know, Rich..." You say softly. You glance up from his hand to his face and he looks offended.
"Come on, kiddo. Just one dance.." His tone has a slight plead to it and you sigh.
"One dance," You tell him firmly, taking his offered hand. He gives you a grin when you do, holding your hand tight.
Richie tugs you onto the dance floor, hands gentle where they rest on your hips. You rest your hands on his shoulders instinctually, falling into a slow rhythm with him.
"When are you going to come by the restaurant again?" Richie prods and it makes you huff.
"Mmm... Last time a Dunlap was at the Bear it didn't go too well for her." You give Richie a look. He already knows what you mean and he's shaking his head.
"Cousin really fucked that up, hmm?"
"I guess he did.." You don't want to think about it too much.
"Maybe one of the days we kick him out we can sneak you in." Richie proposes. The thought makes you laugh, knowing how Carmy would want to spend that day off.
"I'd have to look at my schedule," You tell him. And he takes it, nodding as you both sway.
"When'd you grow up so fast?" He asks softly, and you can see something in his eyes that makes you pause.
"Mmm.. When did you get so old?" You give him a grin when he rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, whatever kid..." His words make you laugh.
You both dance in silence for a moment for Richie speaks up again.
"Eva keeps askin' when you'll babysit again... Told her you're a big kid with a big kid job now and don't have to babysit her anymore," The admission makes your heart melt. Despite Richie's ups and downs, you'd watched his family grow from Sugar's side. You also watched as Richie tried to make everything work out when he had Eva, never relying on a sitter if he could help it.
"I don't have to be her babysitter. What, do you need an excuse to bother your family now?" The jab is soft and it makes Richie perk up. "You've known me forever, Rich. And I've known that little girl as long she's been on this earth. This whole house would do anything for her."
"Hell, half of us just sat under a table to make her feel better. Tell her to pick a day and I'll be there. Just not during Tiff's days, I don't want to piss her off." The last bit makes Richie chuckle and you tap him with your shoe.
"Seriously, Richie. Just cause I'm mostly Sugar's friend doesn't mean you can't bug me from time to time." You pause for a second before adding softly, "I worried about all of you when... You don't need an excuse to bug family, even if it's fuckin' crashing on my couch to bitch about Carmy-"
That startles a laugh from Richie. You give him a small grin before continuing.
"But whatever it is, Richie, you just gotta reach out. Know Claire would be there in a heartbeat."
"Not you, though?" He asks.
"Oh, I'd have to see if I could fit you between meetings." The words make him laugh again before he's pulling you into a hug. You sigh as you wrap your arms around his middle, taking in the smell of his cheap cologne and cigarettes.
"You're a good kid. Both of ya. Keep the both of y'around even if Carmy's a dick." The words make your heart seize. You know there's no way Richie could know but it startles you something fierce.
"We'll make sure to visit you in the nursing home," You tell him solemnly. He squishes you tight to his chest, jostling you slightly.
Richie let's you go after a moment, pulling away to take a look at you. He gives your shoulders a firm squeeze and you want to shrink away from the gentle look in his eye.
"Enough mush," you tell him. "I need a drink."
Richie laughs loudly, taking your hand and leading you both through the crowd to the bar. He flags down the bartender easily.
"One beer, and whatever they're having."
Four glasses deep is when the main room gets a bit warm. You're observing from one of the tables on the outskirts, chatting with your friends who come and go from where you are. You share pleasantries with Michelle, before she's dragged away by Stevie with a grin. Sugar and Claire check in the most, making several attempts to drag you to the dance floor. You let them know you don't have that kind of coordination at the moment and they leave you again.
You've grabbed your fifth one when the music slows again, watching the different couples come together. There's a small tug of bitterness in your stomach.
"Which side are you on?" A man's voice startles you. You turn to look at whoever approached you, surprised by his appearance. Maybe you'd expected a balding middle aged man hoping to chat up a bridesmaid. That's not what greets you.
"That depends," you tell him. "Which side are you from?"
The man laughs, and you'd be lying if you said he didn't have a nice smile. You catch a glimpse of his dimples before looking back at the room.
"The grooms. Went to high school with Frank and he followed me to college." His voice is laced with affection, nothing but happiness for his friend.
"Then I don't have to lie when I say I'm on the brides," you tell him.
"That makes introducing myself less awkward. I'm Scott," He offers you a hand and you take it. You introduce yourself as you shake his hand and he nods.
"How do you know the bride?"
"Cousins," you tell him simply and that's enough. He doesn't ask for clarification, doesn't ask if you're a blood cousin or a "cousin."
You take him in as you both sit quietly. He's tall, easily taller than Richie and probably taller than Frank. Easily taller than Carmen.. His hair is dark, loose waves combed back from his face and a neat scruff does little to hide the line of his jaw.
"Who was the man you were dancing with?" Scott asks, and there sounds like genuine curiosity in his tone.
"Richie. Bride's ex-husband and also my cousin." You words make Scott's brow furrow and you smile.
"I'm not actually related to either and they're not like... Weirdly related. It's a really long story. I've known Richie for forever and he's how I know Tiff."
Realization dawns on Scott and he nods with partial understanding.
"Maybe you can explain the family tree to me some time." It's bold. But it doesn't scare you off.
"Maybe I can," you look over at him and you share a grin.
Conversation with Scott is easy. You trade questions with each other, learning jobs and you trade old stories about Tiffany and Frank. He asks about Richie and if you have any other family, and you tell him about Claire. You forget about the glass on the table, gesturing with your hands as you regal a childhood story about how Claire thought she could mend your broken arm at age 12.
You don't know how long the two of you talk for, guests moving around you like water. It's not until you spot Carmy approaching in your periphery.
You ignore him, even as he makes it to the table. You don't even look at him when he clears his throat.
"Hey.." Carmy gives Scott a once over before he looks back at you. "Can we talk for a second?"
"About what?" Your eyes narrow slightly. You've been keeping up the charade all day, and pretty well you'd say. You're not sure you want to give it up just yet.
"Just... Can you just go to the hallway, please? I'll follow in a sec.." His voice has a slight pleading tone to it. Your brow furrows, giving him a look. He knows what you're thinking.
"Not to... I'm tryin' not to draw attention.." He says quietly.
You let out a huff before you look to Scott. "Excuse me a moment?"
Scott nods before you part from the table, heading towards the hallway off the main room. You don't see the look Carmy gives Scott, sizing the other man up. They don't say anything to each other and Carmy doesn't head for the hallway until he sees you go down it.
You're only waiting a couple minutes before Carmy joins you in the hallway. His curls are a bit disheveled since you last saw him, shirt askew where it looks like he's tugged at the collar. His appearance makes your brain a bit fuzzy, made worse by the wine in your system.
"What are you doing?" Carmy asks quietly. The question confuses you, brow furrowed.
"What are you doing?" You shoot back, crossing your arms over your chest.
Carmy sighs, hands stuffed in his pockets as he glances at the hall entrance again. You watch the tendon in his neck as he clenches his jaw, chewing on his words before he speaks again. You wish you were both in a different place to appreciate it more.
"Do you even know that guy?" He finally asks.
"What's it matter?" You bite back. You don't think it's any of his business who you talk to.
"Because-" He cuts himself off. "Because he could be a- a fucking- I don't know. A fuckin' freak or somethin'."
"He's nice." You tell him defensively. "I think he likes me.."
"That guy's twice your age!" Carmy hisses and you're rolling your eyes. His concern is misplaced.
"You're one to fucking talk-" You tell him. His brow furrows as he looks at you and you're sick of looking at him somehow. "Just fuck off, Carmy."
You draw out the end off his name a little too much that even you notice. You can see how Carmy's jaw clenches, and on any other day it would get to you. You start to turn away, hands falling loose at your sides.
"I'm not fucking off, you're going home. We're finding Claire, and you're going home." Carmy grabs your hand as you start to turn away.
"Fuck you. No." You tell him, almost slipping out of his grip. You try to tug out of it, frowning at him.
"I'm not letting you do something stupid-"
"Two months too late." The words are bitter on your tongue. You don't know where they came from or how long they've been weighing on your chest but they make you grimace.
"What?" Carmy stops, his hand is still firm around your wrist. You give another tug of your arm, keeping your eyes on his hand.
"Go fuckin'... Go dance with fucking Claire again, asshole." You tell him, finally pulling free. You turn away from Carmy, leaving the hallway to look for Scott across the room.
He's right where you left him, next to one of the high tables on the far end. You go to him.
"Who was that?" He asks, probably out of curiosity and maybe defense.
"Some asshole. Used to date my sister." You mutter, hand reaching for your abandoned glass. The man hums when you take a drink, watching you silently.
"He treat her like shit?" He asks.
"Something like that," you supply. You don't mean to be as short as you sound but Carmy's gotten under your skin.
"Seems like there's history.." He says tentatively and you want to laugh.
"That is a word for it..." You rest your arms on the table. He nods and let's you sit in silence for a minute.
"What'd'ya say we go outside? Get some fresh air?" It doesn't sound like a bad offer. You've been in the building all day with the same people. You'd be lying if you didn't say it still felt a little crowded. You open your mouth to answer but you're interrupted by the sound of heels approaching.
"Hi!" Claire's voice makes you want to roll your eyes. "I don't believe we've met."
You tune out their introductions, looking around the room. As if on purpose, you find Carmy. He's already looking at you. Or maybe he's looking at Claire. The idea makes you sick.
You take another long drink from your wine glass, glancing down at the last dregs. Maybe you should get another glass...
Scott and Claire are looking at you expectantly. You blink at them and they must see the lost look on your face.
"Are you ready to go?" Claire chirps and you furrow your brow.
"Go?" You echo.
"Home? Don't you have work tomorrow?" She prods softly, almost like she's trying to get you to agree.
"I took it off just in case..." You trail off, frowning at your sister.
"You're right. I have work tomorrow," She nods. "I got it mixed up. We should head out then."
You open your mouth to say something, but Claire's already telling Scott goodbye and taking your hand to lead you away. You glance back to Scott, making eye contact was you walk away. You wave at him quickly, chest tightening when he waves back.
"Were you going to go outside with him?" Claire asks quickly, once you guys make it out of the main room.
"I don't know, someone interrupted before I could decide." You glare at her. Claire doesn't look back but you can tell when she rolls her eyes. You exit the building in silence and she lets go of your hand, knowing you'll follow.
"I can't believe you were even considering it." She tells you and it wears on your nerves.
"He was nice! So what if I did!?" You exclaim and you know the lecture thats coming.
"Just because he's nice inside-" She starts and you're already over it.
"Just shut the fuck up," you tell her sharply, not intending your tone to be so bitter. "I don't want to hear it tonight."
Claire keeps quiet after that and you can't find it in yourself to feel bad tonight. You climb into the passenger seat and watch as she walks around to the drivers side. It's quiet as she starts the ignition and it stays that way as she pulls out to leave.
Your phone lights up with a message as you rest your head against the window. The glass feels nice against your skin and you didn't realize how flushed you'd been tonight. You ignore the notification, turning your attention to watch the sidewalk as it passes. There's not as many people out at night as when you made the drive out to the wedding.
The ride home isn't a long one, but it feels like it drags with the silence between you and Claire. As soon as she parks in front of the house you're stepping out of the car, not waiting for her to turn off the ignition.
Claire follows you closely up the front steps, keeping an eye on your balance. When you make it up to the landing just fine, Claire slides past you already digging in her purse for her keys. You lean heavily against the side railing, tapping at your phone screen and spotting the notification again. You look at the message as Claire unlocks the door.
finally posting all of what i have wrote. its been a while but im alright with it. & ill keep writing if people like it, or maybe this can be an angsty stand alone:)
excuse any grammar or punctuation errors my writing skills def arent perfect & ive read through this a million times so its all blurred together
anywho enjoy!!!!:)
Home. Home? What did that word mean to you? It was a noisy, dirty, yet charming city. An old house, at least sixty years old. Paint now peeling, gutters full of old leaves and shit. Home, a minute's walk across the road. Inside a warm dish of delicious food awaits. Michael hands you that first plate. There it was, the moment of truth. Determining if you were friend or foe. Not really though, just testing to see if you were a narc. (Later you would argue with Mikey that his logic made no sense whatsoever.)
You found a home in the dysfunctional, crazy ass Berzatto family. They quickly accepted you as one of their own. Having been Carmy’s best (and only) friend. Always so polite and sweet. Until Mikey or Richie pissed you off. They were always picking on you and Carmy. And sometimes they pushed hard enough to set you off. That is exactly why you’re all in this situation now.
“Fucking A. You ain’t gotta hit me that hard asshole! Seriously, it was just a fucking joke man! Lighten the FUCK UP!” Richie yelled. You sat across the island from him. Mikey was digging through the freezer. He was trying to find something to ice Richie’s face. You had given the bastard a black eye and a bloody fucking nose. Mikey was more than impressed. So was Richie, but he wouldn’t be telling you that any fucking time soon.
“I’m sorry Rick,” he scowled as you called him that. “I tried to warn ya that you went too far, but no, you just had to go there.” He just stared at you, deadpan. You sucked in a breath, cheeks puffed out. Head in your hands you let out the breath. Standing up and making your way in front of the man. A hand extended out, an olive branch.
Scoffing he smacked the hand away. Your chest tightened, Richie was basically your older brother. His rejection hurt, a fucking lot in fact. Not wanting him to see the tears starting to well up, you start to turn away. That is when you feel it. Two long, solid arms wrap around you. Twisting around, you rest your chin on his shoulder and grasp the back of his old ass hoodie tight. Fingers clenching the fabric.
“It’s all good Doll. I still love ya, cousin. Even if you broke my goddamn nose.” Richie held you, then after a beat, “I mean shit. My cheekbone feels like a grown man split it, kid.” The tender moment was over for now. Richie is trying to make a joke out of it. You smirk, shoving him by the shoulders into his previous seat.
“ ‘S what ya get asswipe! Quit fucking with her when she says. It’s called ‘boundaries’ cousin? Ever heard of the concept?” Mikey slapped a steak on his eye. The other man groaned.
“FUCK SAKES MIKEY! Please, could ya be a little more considerate or some shit? I already got rocked. Don’t need a worse fucking bruise.” Mumbling as he pushed Mikey’s hand away, holding the slab of meat.
“I am not eating that shit later Mikey, no fucking shot.” Giggling, you give the man a kiss on the cheek. “What’s for dinner anyways?” The dark haired man seemed to think for a moment, then said something similar to what landed Richie his shiner and fucked nose.
“Ask Carmy, I’m sure he has a few ideas for what he wants.” Wagging his eyebrows at you. The smirk was audible. Mikey seemed to be proud of himself for the quip.
“Y-You…motherfucker.. I swear I’ll end you, Berzatto. YOU BITCH, C’MERE.” You took off around the island to where he stood in front of the kitchen sink. Richie was screaming and crawling up onto the counter, “ You two fucks better watch out for me. My shit’s busted enough. Get the fuck outta here!”
The memories of Mikey and the family keep swirling through your head as you stand in front of the funeral home. It had been a year since you physically saw any of the Berzatto clan. Too many years since seeing your best friend. Carmen Anthony Berzatto. A name you desperately wanted to forget. The name felt hollow to say, a distant memory. A smoke show that never existed except only in the dark recesses of your mind. Brought up when you wish to torture yourself even more than usual.
Drinking in the cold Chicago air, you begin the trek up the stairs. One measly step at a time. Hoping to calm your racing heart. It felt like the organ was lodged in your throat, bound to come up in a grisly mess at any second. The walk into the foreboding building felt like it took light years and seconds all at once. Standing before the doors, hand hovering over the knob. Psyching yourself up you finally grasp the knob and starting to pull and-
“Fucking Christ! This is fucking insane.” A familiar voice barks out. The door was quickly and haphazardly thrown open. PANG! Jumping back it only caught your arm a bit. The pain was nice and a needed distraction.
“Oh shit, I am so sorry, I-I didn’t realize anyone…” a small gasp of surprise and a tearful chuckle. Then a slow shaky intake of air, “Doll, is-is that you? Or am I just fucking nuts?” Desperation paints his tone. His words crack and waver with emotion, no, sadness and grief. And a bit of hope.
“Hey cousin, I guess it's only fair. An eye for a, uh- arm, I guess. You never did actually get me back.” Your voice was thick with tears ready to be shed. Before you know it you’re shoved into his warm chest. All you smell is stale cigarettes, and his woodsy, Ed Hardy cologne. The aroma of stale smoke, along with bergamot and amber soothes you. There was a time you despised this fucking scent. It was always too strong and pungent. Telling Richie he smelt like a hooker, wanting to piss him off.
“At least one of us is shaking ass and making some cash Doll.” SMACK! Richie shook his hips at you. It was times like these that made you wonder what the fuck is wrong with him. You always tease Richie about this, he was drunk as a skunk. Shaking his ass in-front of Mikey. The eldest Berzatto was doubled over laughing.
Those memories were some of the best. But they still hurt to remember. Suddenly your’e pulled out of your reminiscing by a voice.
“You made it inside yet? ‘Course not, fuck. I-I’m sorry Doll, my brain is fucking lost. I-I don’t have a goddamn clue about what’s going on.” Apologizing and rubbing his nose roughly.
“Can’t lose something you never had Rick.” You smirk, jabbing him in his ribs.
“Hardy har. You got fucking jokes, eh? Nice, real nice…Shit.” Richie let out a loud sigh and looked at his feet, “Don’t call me fucking Rick man. Shit wasn’t cool when you were a kid, sure as shit ain’t cool now pip squeak.” He smacked you lightly on the back of your head. Reaching into his coat he grabs a cigarette, and swings the pack towards you. You quit smoking a year ago. But, fuck it.
It is a funeral after all. Might as well take the edge off somehow. Being sober was fucking awful at times. You both finished the cigarettes in silence. After stubbing the cherry out, you gestured to the door.
“Think we should, uh, ya know?”
Richie swallowed his nerves and gave a single nod. The man had a hold of the handle before you could even think about it. Walking into one of the absolute worst possible situations in your entire fucking life.
The dinner at The Beef was rough. That is putting it lightly. Donna went home, not wanting to be in the restaurant. Being constantly reminded of her son. Sugar and Pete were only there to visit with everyone. Though Sugar mainly wanted to see you. She had missed you dearly, the whole family had.
“Hey Doll, how’ve ya been sweetie? We missed you.” The bear hug, (pun intended), from the woman was nice. And her feelings were mutual. You should have come home sooner. You should have been back before…before.. Well now you’re here, back with the family. Your family. And God, if it didn’t feel fucking right. You smiled at Nat. Giving her a kiss on her cheek before pulling her back into a hug. “Shit, Sugar. I fucking missed you.” That’s when the flood gates opened and you both started to bawl your eyes out. Mikey was basically a father figure for both of you. The Berzatto’s was a shithead and so was yours.
You may have loved your father, but even you could admit he was a complete and utter asshole. So Mikey stepped in. He raised you with his siblings. Since they knew what it was like to grow up with an alcoholic mother, they sympathized with you. Vincent (L/N) could never be sober. He barely managed to be functional for work. Let alone for his kid. But he had to keep his job, otherwise no booze, and no house. That just wouldn’t do for Mr. Vincent.
Sugar pulled you to a booth, she grilled you about last year. Wondering where all you had traveled for work. What had you written about? Have you ever interviewed actors? Celebrities? Any particular, rising star chefs? Quickly you shut her down.
“We haven’t spoken in years. Carmy hasn’t responded to any of my calls or texts since he went to culinary school. I got nothing,” You were rambling, “nada, zip… It’s all good though, he’s busy I’m sure. I was following his work for a while and he’s been super successful. He won an award for best and upcoming chef. Now that is insane!” Trailing off you start to pick at your nails, “ I’m sure you guys are super proud of him. I am, I guess.”
Nat looked at you with a shared sympathy. Carmy hadn’t spoken to her in a long while, but for him to not speak to you? That is outlandish and makes no fucking sense. Carmy loved you. And everyone could see it. Classic Berzatto self sabotage. Can’t ever have anything nice for themselves.
“Well, I never claimed that my brothers were smart.” Sugar let out a small sad laugh. Then it hit. The silence was long and rough. The slip up, she didn’t mean anything by it, they all just joked like that. ”Nat, I am so fuckin-” You are abruptly cut off.
“Do NOT say it. Please, I know, I know. I just cant hear another ‘I’m sorry’ right now. And I know you actually mean it when you say it. Because things won’t be the same for you either. He was your brother too. Now the bastards left us, and we gotta pick the pieces up. God, I fucking miss him Doll.” Natalie’s head was in her hands, the sniffles only increasing. Shoulders shaking with silent sobs. It pained you to see one of your dearest friends in so much agony.
You two spent another hour talking. At some point Pete had come over and joined the conversation. Looking at the time he asked Nat if she was ready. Reluctantly, she agreed that they should head out. Turning to you, her eyes filled with so much sorrow, and hope. “You’re home for a while, right Doll?” With tearful eyes you give a nod. And engulf her in a hug. Breath shaky, “Course, I’m home now Sugar. I’m not leaving anytime soon. Promise, cross my heart.”
There was no need to finish the childish oath. She knew you wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. The three of you said your goodbyes. You sat in the booth. An old ass picture in your hands. The edges had started to deteriorate, the ink rubbing off in spots. But the image was still clear. The three Berzatto siblings, Richie, and finally you. Mikey and Richie stand on either side of Nat, giving her bunny ears and making dumb faces. Sugar was sticking her tongue out. In front of them you and Carmy stood back to back, making a finger gun and looking all serious. You were all younger. Carmy and you were in middle school.
“I remember when we took that picture. You little assholes took forever to decide what to do. Ended up doing some Charlies Angel’s bullshit.” Richie lit a cigarette. He flopped down into the booth, pulling out his pack of smokes. Grabbing one and throwing the rest onto the table. “Good ole days huh? God. What I wouldn’t do to go back.” Reaching for his hand, stealing his cigarette for a puff.
“Man, Carmy wanted to look badass for the picture,” voice full of smoke, “ And I just watched it and thought it would look cool.” Blowing the smoke out at Richie. “Also fuck you, Charlies Angel’s is a good ass movie. Dickhead.” He rolls his eyes, swiping the smoke back from you.
“You two were nerds. It’s fine to admit Doll, I’ll still love you.” Richie clasped his hands together, feigning a serious attitude. Shoving his hands you laugh at him. “I don’t know about Carm, but I most definitely still am a nerd. I have a wide range of tastes, alright?” You say defensively.
He leans forward, “Speaking of tastes, I gotta mighty big ask of ya cousin. Only if you feel up to it of course. And as long as it doesn’t disrupt your work.” Gesturing for Richie to go on. He takes a puff, deep in thought. Finally exhaling, “I wanna know if you would want to work here at the restaurant, just for a little while. Till we figure something’s out.”
The world seemed to stop. All the air was pushed out of your lungs. There was a faint ringing sound. You didn’t know what to say. As childish as it sounds, it felt wrong. Why? You were supposed to work for Mikey and Carmy when they finally opened their restaurant. Mikey said it was something about wanting only his family working for him, i.e you and Carmy. It wouldn’t be the same.
Not at all. But at least you could still feel close to the oldest Berzatto somehow. You wrestled with the thought of doing it. In a way you would be doing what he wanted. He always wanted you to work there, but you loved writing and being creative. And Mikey would always push you to do what you wanted to do. He was your number one supporter, well he was. After Carmy stopped caring about your career and wellbeing.
”I mean, are you s-sure? Like completely sure? I don’t know the first thing about cooking.” You say quietly, almost scared he would take the offer back.
“Course I’m fucking sure Doll. Mikey always wanted you there, and in a way this is us just doing that. Keeping the business only family. And cooking ain’t an issue, you can do front of house shit. ‘S what I do. And fuck, I can use a hand sometimes.”
Richie looked close to tears now. He was absolutely terrified you would say no. And that would break him. He wanted you to be here, he needed family. Sugar could barely stand him, Carmy didn’t fucking speak to anyone. Mikey was fucking gone. You were his only hope.
Shit.
“Alrighty, Rick. I’ll do it. But I can’t make any promises I’ll actually be of any help, okay?” You tell him slowly. Richie launches himself across the small space of the booth. The hug is so tight you can’t even draw in a breath. Still, you hug him back just as hard.
“I fucking love you Doll. Thank you, thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me. How much it would mean to him…” The feeling of Richie’s unsteady breaths and the sobs get to you. You grab his stupid leather jacket as tight as possible. Not wanting to let go of him. The fear of losing anyone else was slowly getting to you. But you wouldn’t let anything happen. To anyone.
You would make sure of it.
Things had been, well fucking rough. There’s no better way to put it. Mikey had left the place in shambles. Though Richie and you did your absolute best to pick up the pieces. It was fucking hard though. Especially since Richie had forgotten to drop a major bomb that morning.
It was a cold morning in March. Chicago was always fucking freezing. You unlocked and slung the door open, the warm air felt amazing. Stepping in and pulling your jacket off, you made your way to the office. Turning all the lights on, and starting to get things ready. Prepping some items, and pulling out the equipment for everyone. After about an hour of helping as much as possible, (you still had very limited knowledge of how to actually make the food), you returned to the office. Attempting to try and organize a box of old records, which you had been unsuccessful in. It was literally just random paper shoved into a box labeled ‘SHIT WE NEED?’.
There were countless receipts from vendors, and even other restaurants. It looked like Mikey was maybe trying to look at pricing? There were some notes about how he wanted to keep it affordable, and still needed to pull a profit. There were notices from the IRS. Apparently Mikey wasn’t too keen on paying the government. You laugh as you look at each of the documents, “I get it cousin. Bastards don’t need anymore than what they already get.” Muttering to yourself , you continue to make piles. Shit that can be tossed, important documents, maybe helpful? And the list goes on.
You had so many different stacks of paper. Nearing the end, there was something else in the box. It had skittered around when you had hit the box. Reaching in, you dig around until you find it. And fuck, you wish you wouldn’t have.
In your hand you held an old cellophane baggie, it was filled with the broken remnants of pills. There were probably about five in there. Two remained whole, and possibly three were splintered into little white shards. You swallowed hard. Setting the plastic down. You took a deep breath. You had to keep a level head. Just, deep breaths. Breathe.
That’s when you heard the door slam from the wind. Quickly, swiping the bag off the desk, shoving it in your pants pocket. You didn’t want anyone else to find it and panicked. It was a second hand response, and the sound of footsteps had derailed your train of thought.
Marcus was the first there, “Good morning boss. How’s it going?” You welcomed the distraction. It made you realize what the priority was. And sorting paperwork was useless and made no sense.
“Good morning Marcus. And it’s going, uh I pulled some stuff out for you guys. But it’s only a bit. What I did pull is only stuff I’ve seen you guys use daily, so..” You told him while fiddling with your pocket absentmindedly.
Marcus nodded, and stepped away towards his locker. After he had put his things away, he made his way to his station. Giving everything a once over, you had done alright. He even checked out the other things you had set out. Quickly the others filtered in. Tina came in and gave you a kiss on the cheek.
“Good morning mama. Thank you for helping!” The older woman looked up at you with a smile. You had been around constantly when you were younger, and she seemingly never forgot. Which made it easier on you when paying your dues. Plus you knew fuck all in the kitchen so you tried not to get in the way. Didn’t wanna step on any toes.
“No problem T, I had a few extra hours when I got here this morning. So I figured, aye, why not?” Passing by Marcus, you smelled his amazing bread. Back peddling, you spoke, “Hey Marcus, you care if I get a roll? I forgot to grab something on the way in.” You gave your best puppy dog eyes playfully.
Marcus rolled his eyes and chucked a hoagie loaf at you. Catching it in between your hands, you bow to him. Grateful to have something on your stomach. You quickly made your way to the office. Grabbing your count list so you can count stock. You grabbed some water and shoved the loaf down your throat. Then started in the walk-in cooler, and freezer. As well as the stand alones. Now for dry stock.
Looking at your watch, it was 10:37. Where was he? “Anybody seen or heard from Richie?” Everyone looked at each other and either said no or shook their heads. Fuck. That means he’s gonna be late for sure. And so you're gonna have to finish his prep. Finishing count as fast as possible,(leaving some of it for later, fuck it). You reach into the fridge up front. Getting the sauces and the little to go containers. Filling about two hundred in about twenty minutes. Not knowing how many you’d need. Writing the date on the metal tin.
Luckily, last night you stayed over to separate the forks and what not. After finishing the sauces you made sure every condiment bottle was full. Knowing they most definitely needed topped up. Richie always admitted to forgetting to do it.
“What is up cousin?! How are we? Good morning!” Richie reached across the counter and kissed your cheek. He finally paused long enough to look at you. You looked pissed. Arms crossed, tired eyes, and red faced. “You’re late, cousin. Where were you? Oh and your prep is done, by the way. You're welcome.”
Snatching a few napkins, cleaning and wiping up your spills. Richie gave you a hug. As much as he could across the counter. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I appreciate it so much. And actually when I was meeting with Sugar she had some crazy news for me.” He took a swat, lightening up a smoke.
“Crazy news? What did Pete fall down the stairs or something?” You began to worry about the man. He was like an honorary brother-in-law. Richie let out a deep belly laugh. “Nope, the narcs fine. But, uh, it's a lot Doll. You might wanna have a seat-”
Ebraheim appeared in the doorway, “Boss, we need more meat. I don’t have nearly enough beef for today. We only have two.”
“What about last nights carry over? There should be some in the walk-in, right?” You said rubbing your eyes.
“No, there is. But only three trays. Rich told me to leave a note on the desk. I left it on the board. It’ll be enough for maybe dinner and lunch.” Ebra spoke quickly. He began to feel nervous.
Fucking shit. Glancing at your wrist, 10:50. “Alright. Richie, you finish prep, get everything ready, make sure we get those two roasts going now Ebra. Rick, I mean it. Make sure everyone is good please, it’s Saturday, we may be slow during lunch, but dinner is a different story.”
Richie just nodded quickly, ignoring you calling him Rick. He knew you had to be stressed. “Yeah, of course, captain. I got this in the bag!”
Rushing back into the office you grabbed your coat and some money. “Ebra, how many are we thinking?”
“Maybe three more? If we could boss.” He didn’t wanna over or underestimate what you would need. But you had confidence in him. The man knew what was up.
“Heard. Everyone, Richie is, sadly, in charge for now. I will be back. Keep up the great work guys! Maybe I’ll make us something if today goes well!” Everyone began to talk and cheer lightly. You weren’t the most outstanding baker, but they still loved whatever you made. Sweeps and Fak agreed that it was like eating something as a kid. Full of good memories.
You ran through the restaurant, “Hey woah! Behind you!” Ebra needed beef, so you would get him some damn beef.
Once you left, Richie let out the biggest sigh. “Shit.”
Tina turned to the man, “What’s your issue puta? Scared of a little responsibility?’ Tina nudged him in the ribs, smirking at him. Richie laughed, then looked solem.
Shaking his head, “Nah, T. Uhh, Carm’s back in town. He was supposed to get here around 11. I was trying to warn her, but of course she took off too fast.” Truthfully he didn’t wanna say a word, but Sugar was gonna be here. And she told him that he needed to tell you. She was going to, but Richie had taken the opportunity by saying he needed to.
Sugar didn’t deserve to see you like that. You were either going to lose your shit and go ballistic, or cry your fucking eyes out. And Richie, honestly hated both fucking options.
At the butcher’s you had bartered for meat. Telling him that Lu was gonna get some money. It was just gonna be a bit. What no one at The Beef knew, was that you were paying out of pocket for a lot of shit. Touching the savings that you had from when you were working. It didn’t matter to you, as long as it stayed open.
While you were blocks away, Carmy and Sugar arrived at the restaurant. When they opened the door they were met with silence, and then “FUCK! I thought Fak fixed this shit!” Richie was always so loud.
“Oh yeah, definitely missed that Sugar.” Carmy looked behind at his sister. She hadn’t been here since the funeral. Even though you tried to convince her a few times. But you never wanted to push. So after a while you gave up. You accepted Nat would do things on her own time.
Carmen and Natalie walked into the kitchen, everyone was laughing and talking over each other. Richie was cursing and screaming about Fak, when he caught sight of him. “Fucking Fak, always just rigging bullshit. I swear to God, I’m gonna beat his fucking-” he paused, “Holy shit. I didn’t think you would actually come back home. Shit cousin.”
Carmen shook his head and gave a weak smile, “Good to see you too cousin.”
Right then you came in. “RICHIE FUCKING HELP! These are fucking heavy! Ebra please tell me you have the other roasts ready?!”
Richie rushed out to help you, and so did Sugar and a few of the guys. Carmen stood rigid. It couldn’t be.
“Shit, thank you. Oh shit, Nat! You made it, I’m so glad you finally came for lunch!” Sugar looked at Richie. Her face was full of irritation. Marcus glanced at Ebra. It was unspoken, grab the shit and run. They promptly thanked you, snatched the roasts, and ran to the back. They were wanting to avoid whatever this was as much as they could. They passed by Carmy who looked like he had seen a ghost.
“Richie, what the fuck? Did you not fucking tell her?” Sugar snapped at the man.
“In my defense, I didn’t have time to, she had to run and grab beef-”
“That’s not a fucking excuse! You shoulda called her as soon as we talked!”
They continued to argue, and you were over it. “JESUS FUCK! Someone tell me what the FUCK is going on? I gotta get lunch ready to go, guys!” You were beyond pissed hating that they were talking about you like this. You weren’t a child you could handle whatever it was surely.
At that moment you looked past the two bickering cousins and saw him. Carmen Anthony fucking Berzatto. And he’s looked just as shocked as you. “What the fuck guys?!” You whisper yelled at the pair. “Why is he fucking here?” Tears were blurring your vision.
Sugar cleared her throat, “Dipshit was supposed to tell you.” She gestured towards Richie.
“What the fuck Sugar, I. Didn’t. Have. TIME! What are you not understanding?!”
“Bear..I mean Carmen, technically well uh..Mikey um.”
Richie interrupted her, “Jesus fuck, rip the band aid off.” He turned to you, “Mikey left everything to fucko over there. He’s the owner Doll.” Your ears were ringing. Your chest felt like it was gonna collapse. Not even realizing it you were reaching into your pants pocket. Reaching for the baggie. Wanting to just forget for a while.
“You’re shitting me, right Rick? This is fucking insane. I-I gotta go. I can’t- I just can’t.” You look at Sugar, “Could you grab my stuff from the office,” pivoting to Richie, “ You. Outside, we got some housekeeping. And I need a fucking smoke.”
Carmy was completely shocked. You never wanted to smoke. Your dad used to and you absolutely fucking hated the smell.
When you got outside you punched the wall. Flexing your hand to get rid of the stiffness. There Richie finds you and looks down at the limb. “Kid, listen I know it's gonna be hard, but maybe you can talk some-”
Slowly you look up from the ground. All you can see is red. “What. The. Fuck?! What do you mean talk to him Richie? HE STOPPED TALKING TO ME! TO ALL OF US! LET US IN THE FUCKING DUST! And now I’m supposed to kiss ass? No. No fucking shot. I love you, but fuck that. A-and fuck you if you think it’s my fault.” You kept rambling. Suddenly Richie just grabs you.
“Shut the fuck up man. It’s not your fault, that little fucker in there did it. I just want to see if maybe he would give us the restaurant. Ya know, 50/50. IF, and it’s a big if, he doesn’t wanna just turn tail and fuck off. It’s a lot, but I won’t ask that of you.” He brings you in for a hug, “I can see how much it would tear you up. So, we take it one day at a time. But really, talk to him. Please Doll. You deserve answers.”
You pulled away to look him in the face. Nodding, you just bury your head in his chest all over again. What you didn’t know was that Carmy was watching the whole thing. It hurts to watch you be so close to someone. Especially Richie, when it used to be you two against him and Mikey. Now it seemed to be you two against him.
“You fucked up. Big time.” Sugar patted him on the back.
“Alright, everyone should be ready for service. Uh, Marcus is finishing up a few more pans of loafs, obviously Ebra is working his magic. Um, oh I went through a box. It’s on the desk and it had some papers. I think some of them were important? I have them kinda organized, it’s not hard to figure out. I-I uh, also found..” reaching into your pocket. “..shit. I found…Fuck it, here.” Shoving the baggie into Richie’s chest. That is when Sugar happens to walk out.
“What the hell Doll, again?” Nat looked at you with fear and sorrow in her eyes. Ritchie just cursed as he shoved it into his inner jacket pocket. “Fucking Mikey, goddamn it.”
“No, no I fucking am not. I-I found it in one of Mikey’s boxes. I just didn’t want anyone to find it.” The pair of them just stared at you, knowing there was more. “And M-Marcus may have come in and it spooked me. Old habits die hard.” You try to laugh about it. They were not having it. Not one bit.
Carmen chose to walk out then. Everyone just stared at him. But he could only look at you. “Hey, can we talk for a minute?” Sugar and Richie were already heading in. Richie said he would call and check on you later, they both wanted to know when you got back home. “Of course, I’ll call you both, I promise. Love you guys.” You gave them a hug, and kissed them on the check.
“We aren’t done talking, kid. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow.” Richie says. Reluctantly he lets you go. He knew that it was important for you to talk to Carmen.
Carmy was pissed. He knew you and Rich seemed close. But for you to give him a kiss, (on the cheek mind you), was insane. You looked different. You were still the same person. Though, there was a different air around you.
“You look good, Doll. I just wanted to apologize. And I-I would love if you stayed to help. I well, fuck. I want you to work here. Please. I just, I don’t wanna lose you again. Not yet. And the crew seems like they respect you. Sugar told me that you have been running this place. And I need help sorting through everything.” Carmen stared at the side of your face. He was hopeful. Knowing he could do it himself, but he wanted your help. He wanted you to stay with him. Carmen stares as you take a drag from your cigarette. Exhaling towards the sky, you turn and face him.
“I think the apology is a bit fucking late ain’t it? I mean shit Carm, I spent years, YEARS waiting to hear from you. And you didn’t give a shit. It hurt.” The two of you sat in silence, Carmen knew you were right and didn’t want to try and excuse his shitty behavior. Though, he hated himself for how much he hurt you. He thought that cutting you off was for the best. Insecurity and self hate fueling his decision. You deserved more. So much more than he felt he could offer you.
“What the hell. If I do it, I’m doing it for them,” You gesture to the restaurant, “For Richie and Sug. And, shit. I’m doing it for Mikey. Not you Berzatto. You got that?” His head whipped up. He nods vigorously, “Yeah of course Doll. I understand.” The thought of you saying yes made his heart pound. His pulse was racing in his ears.
“I am going home, and I’ll think about it. I'll let Richie know my answer. Alright?” All he could do was nod. You returned the gesture. Turning on your heel, stubbing out the smoke. Then you were on your way.
Carmen had watched you for a bit, finally he snapped out of it. He was being a creep. He stared at his feet, turning towards the door. Hand on the handle, ready to head in. When he heard someone calling him.
“Berzatto! I’m glad you’re back home.” Walking backwards, you gave him a small wave. Continuing your trek back home. God, Carmy hoped and prayed that you came back. He knew he had missed you, but he didn’t know the extent of it. Carmy felt a void, and it was your absence causing it.
Summary: Growing up being Scott’s nerdy little sister had its struggles and when the supernatural takes over your brothers word you find yourself struggling to be seen but someone always noticed you no matter what
I’m only a year younger than Scott, after I was born our dad left and it’s just been me Scott and mom, and well basically Stiles, him basically being Scott’s brother at this point he was around all the time
He was so cute, in that spazy sarcastic needy way he is! But I could never tell him I had this major crush on him since forever, he’s Scott’s best friend and I’m just Scott’s younger loner sister that no one really noticed in school
Sure Scott and Stiles were kinda just to themselves too but atleast they had each other, until a month ago that is, something changed, Scott became more outgoing, he started hanging out with the sweet new girl Allison and Lydia and Jackson kinda came along with her, and it only made me few more…..alone like a loser, like a ghost
Of course I’m happy for Scott he’s the best brother anyone could have I just miss him more, sitting at a lunch table alone as usual, wearing a Star Trek shirt and black leggings as I picked at my sandwich stressed about the chemistry exam next
“Hey girl, why so glum?” Stiles says cheery as usual as he sits at the seat across from me
“Oh just anxious for my test, whyre you sitting here? Where’s Scott?” I ask looking around the cafeteria
“He’s coming had to talk to Allison about something I guess, why I can’t sit with my favorite person?” He smiles as he bites into an apple
That made my heart leap and I could feel a blush creep over my cheeks
“No I mean of course you can sit with me, I’d like some company during lunch” his smile drops as he looks at the long table we are at noticing not a single person
“Where’s your friends?”
I don’t say anything and just go back to my lunch
“Do you eat alone?” I could hear that deep worry he’d get
“Most days yeah, but I mean it gives me time to study!” I smile trying to lift the mood
Before he could say anything Scott walks into the cafeteria along with Allison, Lydia and Jackson
“Well not anymore” stiles smiles as he waves over the group, Scott sits next to me, Allison across from him next to stiles, Lydia on my other side and Jackson across from her
“And who are you? You’re a cute thing” Lydia asks as she looks me over
“She’s my sister!” Scott says with his beaming puppy like smile, shaking my shoulders making me laugh
“Sister? How come you haven’t introduced me!” Allison says as she reaches across the table and shakes my hand, she’s so pretty and seems perfect for Scott but it did hurt a bit that Scott didn’t mention me to her
“That tends to happen with me” I laugh off the hurt noticing the look stiles gives me, we go on with lunch and Lydia asks me a million questions but surprisingly I liked her she seemed deeper than what she portrayed
The bell rang and we all packed up and left the cafeteria
“Soooo are you going to our lacrosse game tonight? I’d love to see you there!” Stiles says as he plays with his back pack straps
“Awwweee does nerdy stiles have a crush” Jackson teases from behind us, seeing Lydia smack him in the arm was satisfying
“Leave them alone” Allison adds
We keep walking down the hallways until it’s just me and stiles as we’re stopped outside my chemistry class
“You really want me there?” I ask brushing my hair back behind my ear
“Yeah of course! I’ll probably be benched anyways so it’d be nice to talk to someone and have my own support in the stands” he says as he rubs his hand over his buzzed hair, god he was adorable
“I guess it would be more fun than watching catfish reruns at home alone, I’ll be there!” His face lights up and I can’t help but smile
“Perfect I better see you in the stands missy” he says as he back away when the bell rings, running off to his class
•
Standing infront of my mirror finishing up straightening my hair and changing into one of Scott’s lacrosse hoodies since it’s colder at night
I hear a knock at my door and it opens to Allison with a kind smile
“Hey, Scott’s just packing up his gear thought I’d come say hi” she walks in closing the door and sitting on the end of my bed and I sit at my desk
“Hi!” I say nervously, not use to having someone in my room other than stiles Scott and mom
“You seem nervous does that have anything to do with a certain lacrosse player?”
“What? No you’re crazy I don’t know what you’re talking about” she laughs making me laugh
My door opens again and it’s Scott
“You guys ready?”
“Yup!” We get in Allison’s car and she drives us to the school, Scott heads out onto the field and Allison joins Lydia in the stands, I walk over to the bench spotting stiles, I walk behind him covering his eyes
“Guess who?” He jumps up and turns almost falling with how crazy he moves making me giggle
“You made it!” He wraps an arm around my shoulder wiggling me and it made me unusually dizzy
“Woah” the world slowly spins and my hearing gets fuzzy
“Hey you alright? Here sit down” I distantly hear and he guides me to sit on the bench, feeling his warm hand on my cheek, I could hear his panic and then my moms voice
“What happened?”
“I don’t know I shook her shoulder greeting her and she just starting blacking out” slowly everything came back to focus but my heart was pounding and my head was still a bit fuzzy
They were both kneeling infront of me worry written all over their faces
“Hey you okay sweetie”
“Yeah I just….i don’t know what came over me” she checks me over like the typical nurse in her and the mama bear
“Your pulse is really fast”
“I think I just got to excited, I’m fine let’s just focus on the game” my mom huffed but agreed as she went back to the stands, stiles sitting next to me
“You scared me there, I’ve never seen you like that” he says scrunching his eyebrows
“I’m just so excited to watch you guys” I joke poking his side
The game went on and Scott was like an animal, definitely not the asthmatic I remember growing up with, I know something is going on with him but I just can’t put my finger on it
The game was almost over, I turn to stiles admiring him in his lacrosse equipment
“I can’t wait to see you playing soon! I know you’re itching to play” he smiles
“Soon hopefully, dads wanting me to play too, sucks being in the bench”
“Coach have a vendetta against you stilinski” I laugh
“Honestly probably, me and Scott drive him up the way, it’s fun though”
The game ended and beacon hills won everyone going out onto the field cheering Scott on, I was literally the only one left in the stands, I’ll congratulate Scott when we’re at home and we’re not bombarded with a whole school of people
“You Scott’s sister?” I look to my right nothing Derek hale leaning against the side of the bleachers casted in shadows like he was trying to stay out of sight
“Yeah why? Did you need him for something?” I ask politely
“You’ve been noticing anything different about him?”
“Ummm I guess, he’s more confident and doesn’t rely on his inhaler anymore” I say as I wrap my arms around myself feeling cold at the sudden breeze
“You ever wonder why?” Being talked to by this really good looking guy was strange and I felt so out of place
“Uuhhh I guess, do you know something? Is he okay?”
His eyes run over me, observing me then looking back in my eyes deeply
“Keep an eye on him” before he could leave stiles came up behind me watching Derek retreat into the woods leaving me utterly confused
“Hey are you alright? Why was Derek talking to you?” Stiles asks leaning down to be eye level
“He was asking me if I’ve noticed a change in Scott and I should keep an eye on him, what’s going on stiles? I know you guys are keeping something from me and I hate being left out even more” I huff
“Look stay away from him okay, and you’re right Scott has changed but isn’t it for the better we won’t be losers anymore that girls won’t even look at, we’re just trying to protect you” he says his eyes soulful and a pout on his lips
“You guys were never losers to me, especially you stiles” I pull back away from his hold and walk away getting a ride back home with mom, leaving stiles there with a million thoughts
•
Stiles POV
What does she mean “especially me” should we let her in on the truth, was this secret worth losing her? I can’t lose her
•
Part.2
Part 1 of this series done! If you wanna be on the taglist lmk
summary: in the world of formula 1, where competition runs deep and loyalties are tested, yn wolff and max verstappen found themselves caught in the middle . as the daughter of mercedes team principal and the rising red bull star, they must navigate the balance between rivalries and love. wc: 17k
folkie radio: HERE. IT. IS. FINALLY !!!!!!!! as i've stated before i'm absolutely terrified of posting this, this is my longest fic ever and different from what i've done before. i know it's a long read but i'm really proud of it and i think it's worth it. IN THIS FIC MORE THAN ANY OTHER. I ENCOURAGE YOU TO LEAVE FEEDBACK.
DISCLAIMER: as stated in the title THIS IS PART ONE!!! part two is ready in my drafts and will be posted shortly (in a week tops). i'll stop talking now. BUCKLE UP AND ENJOY (and please leave feedback okay)
Melbourne, 2015
The hotel lobby is quiet at this hour - that strange liminal space between late night and early morning when most reasonable people are asleep. But you've never been great at reasonable, and jet lag has your body clock completely scrambled.
That's how you end up in the hotel's deserted coffee shop at 1 AM, nursing a hot chocolate and trying to calm your nerves about tomorrow.
You're so lost in thought you don't notice someone else enter until they speak.
"They're still open?"
You look up and your heart skips. Of course you recognize him immediately - Max Verstappen, the 17-year-old prodigy your father hasn't stopped talking about for months. "The next big thing," Papa had said, watching testing footage. "He's going to shake up the whole paddock, just watch."
"Sort of," you gesture to your drink, trying to keep your voice casual. "The barista took pity on me. Said she'd make one last drink before closing."
He glances at the now-dark counter and sighs. Up close, he looks even younger than in the photos you've seen, but there's something in his eyes - a fierce determination that makes you understand why everyone's been talking about him.
"Here," you push your barely-touched hot chocolate towards him. "I'm not really drinking it anyway."
He hesitates. "You sure?"
"Yeah. Probably shouldn't have caffeine at this hour anyway."
He sits across from you, taking a careful sip. "Thanks. I'm Max."
I know, you think. Everyone knows. The youngest F1 driver in history, Jos Verstappen's son, the rookie everyone's watching.
"You're not from around here," you note his accent, playing along with the pretense that you don't know exactly who he is.
"Neither are you," he grins, and something warm flutters in your stomach. His smile transforms his whole face, makes him look his age.
"Fair point. Here for the Grand Prix?"
"You could say that." He studies you, and you wonder if he can hear your heart racing. "You?"
"Something like that." You're enjoying this little game more than you probably should.
"Cryptic."
You laugh. "Says the equally cryptic stranger."
"Okay, okay." He takes another sip. "I'm one of the new drivers. Toro Rosso."
You try to hide your smile. You've watched every clip of his testing sessions, heard every conversation your father has had about his potential. "Ah. The youngest F1 driver in history. That must be a lot of pressure."
He shrugs, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the weight of expectations already heavy on him. You know that weight - you've carried your own version of it your whole life.
"Everyone keeps saying that."
"Scared?"
"No," he answers too quickly, then sighs. "Maybe a little. You won't tell anyone I said that, right?"
There's something vulnerable in his admission that makes your heart ache. Behind all the hype and headlines, he's just a boy on the verge of something enormous.
"Your secret's safe with me." You lean back. "For what it's worth, I think you'll do great."
"You sound pretty confident for someone who just met me."
If only he knew how many hours you'd spent watching his karting videos. How many times you'd heard your father say "That Verstappen boy is going to change everything."
"Let's call it intuition."
He laughs - a genuine, unguarded sound that makes your pulse quicken. "You're different."
"Different good or different bad?"
"Just… different." He finishes the hot chocolate. "Most people, when they find out who I am, they either get weird about it or start asking about Jos."
"Your father?"
He nods, and you see a flicker of something in his eyes - the same shadow you sometimes get when people mention Toto.
"Well, I know a thing or two about father-related pressure, so…"
"Yeah?" He looks interested. "What does your father do?"
You check your watch, knowing it's time to end this little charade. "Oh wow, is that the time? I should probably head up."
"Wait," he stands as you do. "I didn't catch your name."
You pause at the door, turning back with a small smile, savoring what you know will be his reaction. "I'm YN Wolff."
His eyes widen. "Wolff? As in…"
"See you in the paddock, Max Verstappen."
You leave him standing there, but not before catching his surprised laugh. Your heart is racing as you walk away - from the deception, from his smile, from the way his eyes had lit up when he laughed.
The next morning, you spot him in the paddock. He does a double-take when he sees you with the Mercedes team, then grins and shakes his head. You're wearing your team kit now, no more pretending to be just another girl in a hotel coffee shop.
"Cryptic stranger," he mouths at you as he passes.
You just smile, trying to ignore how your stomach flips when he winks at you.
Neither of you could have known then - in that quiet hotel coffee shop at 1 AM - that this was the beginning of something that would change your lives.
Singapore, 2015
The paddock is eerily quiet now, the usual chaos of race day reduced to a whisper of distant maintenance and soft lighting. You're sitting on one of the team benches, the night air cool against your skin. Max is close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, close enough that the line between friendship and something more feels increasingly blurred.
It wasn't a sudden thing, this connection with Max. It had been a slow burn, a gradual unraveling that began that night in the hotel coffee shop and grew through stolen moments between races, brief conversations in crowded paddocks, and late-night messages that became increasingly frequent.
At first, it was simple curiosity. You'd catch each other's eye across the paddock, exchange a knowing smile. Then came the texts - random observations about races, inside jokes about team dynamics, comments that walked the line between friendly and flirtatious. Max had a way of making you laugh like no one else could, his wit sharp and unexpected.
He nudges you playfully. "So, daughter of the most powerful team principal in Formula 1. Must be interesting."
You roll your eyes, but there's a smile tugging at your lips. "Not as glamorous as you might think."
"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow. "Try me."
You pause, considering. The weight of your father's reputation is something you've carried your entire life - a constant backdrop to every interaction, every moment.
"Imagine," you say slowly, "having every conversation potentially recorded, every interaction analyzed. One wrong move and it's not just about you, but about your family's reputation."
Max's expression shifts. There's understanding there - he knows something about familial expectations, about the pressure of carrying a name.
"My father," he says quietly, "Jos Verstappen. Not exactly a walk in the park."
The vulnerability in his voice catches you off guard. These moments have become more frequent - brief windows where the polished racing personas fall away, revealing something raw and real.
"Tell me," you prompt softly.
He takes a deep breath. "Constant pressure. Every race, every test, every moment - it's like I'm living not just for myself, but for some expectation he's created. Sound familiar?"
You laugh, but it's a sound tinged with something harder. Sadness. Recognition. "Absolutely."
Your conversations have been like this lately - layers peeling back, revealing something raw and real beneath the polished exterior of Formula 1.
"Sometimes," Max continues, "I wonder if I'm racing for myself or for the legacy everyone else wants me to create."
Before you can respond, a voice cuts through the night. "Little Wolff?"
Lewis approaches, his team kit still impeccable despite the late hour. His eyes narrow when he sees Max, taking in your proximity.
Lewis had been a constant in your life long before Max entered the picture. Since joining Mercedes, he'd taken on a role that was part mentor, part protective older brother. It wasn't an official designation, but in the Mercedes family, it might as well have been law.
Lewis knew everything about you - your hopes, your fears and everything in between. He was more than just your father's driver. He was family.
"Oh," Lewis says, a mix of surprise and something else - protection, wariness. "Verstappen."
Max stands immediately. "I was just leaving," he says quickly, a touch of nervousness breaking through his usual confidence. "See you around."
As Max walks away, Lewis turns to you, his protective big brother persona fully activated. "What," he says slowly, "was that about?"
You start walking together, the paddock lights casting long shadows. Lewis' stride is purposeful, matching yours.
"Nothing," you say, but the word sounds unconvincing even to your own ears, "He's my friend."
"Friend," he says, uncertainty in his voice, "Just be careful, okay? Things are never that simple in this paddock" he'd said, and you knew he meant more than just about Max.
You said nothing. But you heard him. You always did.
Barcelona, 2016
The champagne sparkles in the late afternoon sun as you watch from a secluded corner of the paddock. You smile as you watch Max on that podium - the youngest winner in Formula 1 history. Your smile is wide, uncontrolled, and you're grateful for the relative privacy of your spot. If anyone noticed that your eyes never left Max, that your smile was meant only for him, they didn't say.
You remember the first time you saw him race, really race - not just in videos or testing. The raw talent, the fearlessness that made your breath catch. Over the past year, you'd watched him grow from that confident teenager in the Melbourne coffee shop into someone who commanded respect on track. And somewhere along the way, between stolen moments in the paddock and late-night conversations, he'd become so much more than just another driver.
The past year had been a dance of almost-moments and careful distances. Shared glances across crowded rooms, text messages that made you smile at 3 AM, touches that lingered just a second too long. You'd both known the complications, the impossibility of it all - the Mercedes team principal's daughter and Red Bull's rising star. It was like a modern Romeo and Juliet, except instead of warring families, it was competing Formula 1 teams.
Later that evening, you stand in your father's office doorway, heart hammering but determined. Toto is absorbed in post-race papers, reading glasses perched on his nose, looking every bit the formidable team principal even hours after the race.
"Papa?"
He looks up, his expression softening slightly at the sight of you. "Yes, Schatz?"
"I'm going out," you say, trying to keep your voice casual while mentally rehearsing your prepared explanation.
Toto's eyebrows rise slightly. "Out?"
"With some friends," you elaborate, grateful for years of practice at maintaining your composure under his scrutiny. "To celebrate the race."
He sets his papers down, removing his glasses. "Friends from the team?"
Your heart skips. "Just… friends from the paddock," you say carefully. "Daniel invited me."
"Ricciardo?" His tone sharpens slightly.
"He's always been nice to me," you reason, which isn't a lie. Daniel has been a friend since his early days, always treating you like a friend rather than just the boss' daughter.
Toto studies you for a long moment, and you force yourself to meet his gaze steadily, even as your pulse races. You've always been close to your father - he's been your hero, your guide, your biggest supporter. The weight of potentially disappointing him sits heavy in your chest.
"Be careful," he finally says, though his tone suggests he's not entirely convinced. "You know how complicated things can be in this world."
"I know, Papa," you say softly. "I'll be careful. Promise."
Getting into the Red Bull celebration is easier than expected, thanks to Daniel's help. He meets you at a side entrance, his trademark grin wider than usual.
"Looking good, Wolff," he winks, pulling you into a quick hug. "Though I'm pretty sure your dad would kill me if he knew I was helping you sneak in."
"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," you say, trying to ignore the guilt that accompanies the words.
"Just…" Daniel's expression turns serious for a moment. "Be careful, yeah? With Max. He's my teammate and you're like my sister, and I don't want either of you getting hurt."
You're saved from responding by the noise of the party as he leads you inside. The atmosphere is electric - the joy of Max's first win filling the air along with music and laughter.
When Max spots you, his eyes widen, champagne glass freezing halfway to his lips. The surprise on his face quickly melts into something softer, more private. He excuses himself from his group and makes his way over, that familiar smirk playing on his lips - the one that never fails to make your heart skip.
"Should I be worried about Mercedes spies in our midst?" he teases, but his eyes are soft, drinking you in.
"You know me," you counter, matching his playful tone while trying to ignore how good he looks in his race winner's shirt, "I live for trouble."
"That you do, Wolff." He steps closer, just slightly, but enough to make your breath catch. "I didn't think you'd come."
"And miss your first win celebration? Never." You mean it to sound light, teasing, but your voice comes out softer, more sincere than intended.
"Still can't believe it," he says, shaking his head with a boyish grin that makes him look his age for once. "My first win."
"I can," you reply, taking a sip of champagne. "I've seen how you drive. It was only a matter of time."
He looks at you with an intensity that makes your heart stutter. "You've been watching me drive, then?"
"Someone has to keep an eye on the competition," you tease, but you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks.
"Is that what I am? Competition?" He moves closer, and suddenly the music seems far away.
"Among other things." Your voice comes out breathier than intended.
The conversation flows easily between you, as it always has. You talk about the race, about his incredible overtakes, about the moment he realized he was going to win. His eyes light up when he describes the feeling of crossing the finish line, and you find yourself caught between admiring his passion and getting lost in the way his hands move as he talks.
As the night progresses, the party gets louder, more crowded. Max notices you glancing around at the growing crowd.
"Want to get some air?" he asks, nodding toward a door that leads to a quieter area.
You follow him to a private terrace overlooking the city. The music is muffled here, and the night air is cool on your skin. You lean against the railing, city lights twinkling below.
"Better?" he asks, standing close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him.
"Much." You turn to face him, drawn in by the way the lights play across his features. "Though I have to say, you throw quite a party for a rookie winner."
He laughs, the sound low and warm. "Rookie? I've been racing since before I could walk."
"Oh right, I forgot - Max Verstappen, born in a go-kart," you tease, making him smile wider.
"You're impossible, you know that?" He shakes his head, but his eyes are fond.
"Part of my charm," you counter, feeling bold in the privacy of the moment.
"Is that what you call it?" He's even closer now, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes.
"Would you rather I was predictable?" You raise an eyebrow, challenging.
"Never." His voice drops lower, sending shivers down your spine. "Predictable is boring. And you, YN Wolff, are anything but boring."
The tension between you is electric, years of carefully maintained distance crumbling in this quiet moment. Your heart is racing so fast you wonder if he can hear it.
"Well," you say, stepping into his space until there's barely a breath between you, "I think the winner deserves a reward."
Before you can second-guess yourself, you're kissing him. It's everything and nothing like you imagined - soft at first, tentative, like you're both afraid of breaking something precious. Then his hand comes up to cup your face, and the kiss deepens, becomes more urgent. You can taste champagne on his lips, feel the solid warmth of him against you. Your fingers curl into his shirt, anchoring yourself as the world spins around you.
It's a perfect moment, suspended in time, until he pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against yours.
"You're trouble, Wolff," he murmurs against your lips, but he's smiling that smile that makes your heart flip. "Beautiful trouble."
"Scared?" you challenge softly, echoing your first conversation in Melbourne.
"Terrified," he admits, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "But in a good way."
You stay at the party longer than you should, caught in Max's orbit. Every smile, every touch, every shared look feels charged with possibility. But reality crashes back hours later when you return.
Your dad is waiting, his expression thunderous in a way you've rarely seen directed at you. Your stomach drops as soon as you see him, the lingering warmth from Max's kisses turning to ice in your veins.
"Would you like to explain," he says slowly, each word precise and controlled, "why did I receive a call informing me that my daughter was at a Red Bull celebration?"
"Papa, I-" you start, but he cuts you off with a sharp gesture.
"Don't." His voice is hard. "Don't try to fool me. I've seen you with Max Verstappen."
The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words. You want to defend yourself, explain that Max isn't just the Red Bull driver he sees, that there's more to him.
"Do you have any idea," he continues, "what position this puts me in? Puts the team in?"
"It's not about the teams," you say quietly, finding your voice. "It's just-"
"Just what?" he challenges. "Just you and him? Nothing is ever just anything in Formula 1, YN. Every action has consequences. Every relationship has implications."
"That's not fair."
"Fair?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "This sport isn't about fair. It's about winning. About loyalty. About trust." He pauses, letting the words sink in. "How can I trust you to put the team first when you're sneaking around with our biggest rival?"
The words hit you like a physical blow. "I would never betray the team," you whisper, hurt that he could even think that.
"Maybe not intentionally," he says, his voice softening slightly. "But this… whatever this is with Max Verstappen… it can't continue. I won't tell you again. Stay away from him."
You want to argue more, to make him understand. But you recognize the finality in your father's tone, the immovable force that has made him such a successful team principal. In this world of racing and rivalry, some lines aren't meant to be crossed.
As you leave, you touch your lips, still feeling the ghost of Max's kiss. Your phone buzzes - a message from Max: "Worth the trouble?"
You stare at the screen, tears threatening to fall. Sometimes the biggest crashes in Formula 1 aren't on the track at all. Sometimes they're in the space between what your heart wants and what the sport demands.
Germany, 2016
The German summer air is thick with tension. You can feel it crackling through the paddock like electricity before a storm. Nico and Lewis' rivalry has turned the Mercedes garage into a pressure cooker, and your father's stress is palpable. Being around him feels like walking on eggshells, which makes your secret meetings with Max even more dangerous.
You've gotten good at this dance over the past few months - stolen moments between practice sessions, hidden corners of the paddock, coded messages about "casual meetings" that are anything but casual. Every stolen kiss feels like a victory and a risk all at once.
The sun is setting over Hockenheim when you slip behind the Red Bull motorhome, your heart racing with the familiar mix of excitement and fear. Max is already there, leaning against the wall with that cocky smile that still makes your stomach flip.
"Cutting it close, Wolff," he murmurs as you approach. "Your father's been prowling the paddock all day."
"Worried?" you tease, even as you glance around to ensure you're alone.
His answer is to pull you against him, one hand sliding to your waist while the other cups your face. "About your father? Always. About this? Never."
The kiss is heated from the start - months of practice have taught you both exactly how to make each other breathless. His thumb traces your jawline as he deepens the kiss, and you press closer, fingers curling into his team shirt. You love how solid he feels against you, how his breath catches when you bite gently at his lower lip.
"You're going to get me in trouble," he whispers against your mouth, but his smile suggests he doesn't mind at all.
"You love trouble," you remind him, trailing kisses along his jaw.
His hands tighten on your waist. "I love-" he starts, but cuts himself off, choosing instead to capture your lips again in a kiss that makes you forget everything else.
You lose track of time, lost in the taste of him, the feel of his hands on your skin, the way he whispers your name like a prayer. It's dangerous and perfect and everything you shouldn't want but can't resist.
A sound makes you both freeze. You pull apart quickly, straightening your clothes, but it's too late.
Jos Verstappen stands at the corner of the motorhome, his expression dark and unreadable. Your blood runs cold at the sight of him.
"I… I should go," you manage, your voice shaky. Max's hand brushes yours briefly - a small comfort - before you hurry past his father, avoiding his stern gaze.
Behind you, you can hear Jos' voice, low and harsh in Dutch, but you don't stop to listen. Your heart is pounding as you make your way back to the paddock, wondering if this is the moment everything falls apart.
Max stands his ground as his father's disapproval fills the space between them.
"What do you think you're doing?" Jos demands in Dutch, his voice controlled but sharp. "The Wolff girl? Have you lost your mind?"
"It's not what you think-" Max starts, but Jos cuts him off.
"It's exactly what I think. You're letting yourself get distracted. By a Mercedes girl, no less. Toto Wolff's daughter?" Jos steps closer, his presence intimidating despite Max now being taller than him. "You're just starting to prove yourself in Formula 1. This is when you need to focus more than ever."
"I am focused," Max argues. "My results prove that."
"For now." Jos' voice turns cold. "But girls like that, from families like that - they're nothing but distractions. She'll get in your head, make you soft. And then what? You think Toto Wolff wants his daughter with a Red Bull driver? You think this ends well?"
Max clenches his jaw, fighting back the urge to defend you, to explain that you're different, that you understand the sport as well as he does. But he knows his father won't listen.
"Stay away from her," Jos says finally, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Focus on what matters. On winning and being champion. That's what we've worked for all these years. Don't throw it away for some girl."
The words hit harder than Max wants to admit, echoing his own doubts, his own fears about what this thing with you means. But he can't forget the way you look at him like you see past the racer, past the name, to who he really is.
Jos leaves him there in the growing darkness, with only the weight of expectations and the lingering taste of your kiss on his lips.
Monaco, May 2017
Another year, another dance of stolen moments and secret smiles. If anything, the warnings and opposition have only made whatever this is between you and Max more intense. Like a forbidden drug, each stolen moment leaves you craving more, even as the risks grow higher.
"This is a terrible idea," Max whispers as you pull him through your back door, "Your dad is literally upstairs."
"He's dead asleep," you assure him, carefully closing the door. "He took sleeping pills for his flight tomorrow. Besides, he sleeps like the dead anyway."
Max still looks like he's ready to bolt at any second. "YN, if he catches me here-"
"He won't." You tug him closer by his shirt. "Unless you keep talking so loud."
He glances nervously at the stairs. "Your room is up there? Past his?"
"Scared, Verstappen?"
"Terrified, actually." But he follows you anyway, both of you carefully avoiding the creaky third step you'd mapped out years ago during teenage sneaking attempts.
You're almost at your door when Max freezes. "Was that-"
"Just the house settling," you whisper, but your heart is racing too. "Come on, we're almost-"
A door opens down the hall.
Max actually whimpers. You shove him into your room just as Toto's voice calls out, "YN? Is that you?"
"Just getting water, Papa!" you call back, praying your voice sounds normal. "Go back to sleep."
"Everything okay?"
"Fine! Those pills should be kicking in, right?"
A yawn. "Ja, starting to feel them. Goodnight, Schatz."
"Night, Papa!"
You wait until you hear his door close before slipping into your room. You find Max standing perfectly still in the middle of the floor, looking absolutely terrified.
"I think I'm having a heart attack," he announces in a whisper. "I'm actually having a heart attack. I can see the headlines now: 'F1 Driver Dies of Fear in Team Principal's House.'"
You try not to laugh. "You're being dramatic."
"Dramatic?" His voice rises slightly before he catches himself. "YN, your father was ten feet away from me. Ten feet! Do you know what he would do to me if he found me here?"
"Well, first he'd probably have a heart attack himself-"
"Not helping!"
"Then probably murder you-"
"Still not helping!"
"And Lewis would hide the body-"
"Why did I agree to this?" He runs his hands through his hair. "I'm a professional athlete. I have championships to win. I can't die in Toto Wolff's house because his daughter is too pretty to say no to."
You wrap your arms around his neck, grinning. "You think I'm pretty?"
"I think you're trying to kill me." But his hands settle on your waist automatically. "If your father walks in right now-"
"He won't."
"But if he does-"
"Max." You kiss him softly. "Stop talking about my father when you're in my bedroom."
"Missed you," he murmurs against your mouth, hands already sliding under your shirt. "Watching you in the paddock all day, not being able to touch you…"
You smile against his lips. "Poor baby. Must be so hard being professional."
He responds by lifting you up, making you laugh as he carries you toward your bed. "You have no idea."
Hours later, you're tangled in your sheets, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin. The city's lights cast shadows across his face, making him look older than his twenty years.
"We should sleep," you say, even as you press closer to him. "You have meetings tomorrow."
"Meetings are overrated," he mumbles into your hair, but you can hear the smile in his voice.
"Says the guy who's already breaking records." Your fingers trail down his chest. "Future world champion can't skip meetings."
He catches your hand, bringing it to his lips. "Future world champion can do whatever he wants."
You fall asleep like that, wrapped in each other, pretending the world outside doesn't exist. But morning comes too soon, sunlight streaming through your windows and your alarm blaring way too early.
Max groans, burying his face in your neck. "Five more minutes."
"You said that twenty minutes ago," you remind him, even as you run your fingers through his hair. "You're already going to be late, and my father is still next room, remember?"
He lifts his head, giving you that boyish grin that still makes your heart skip. "Worth it."
But reality can't be held at bay forever. Max rushes to get dressed, stealing kisses between looking for his scattered clothes. You watch from your bed, sheet wrapped around you, trying to memorize how he looks in the morning light.
"Tonight?" he asks, pausing at your bedroom door.
"Text me," you say, and he gives you one last smile before he's gone.
Max is still smiling when he arrives at the Red Bull office, nearly an hour late for his morning meeting. The smile dies on his lips when he sees his father waiting outside, arms crossed and expression thunderous.
"You were with that girl weren't you? Nothing's changed" Jos demands without preamble, switching to Dutch.
"I was just-"
"Don't lie to me." Jos' voice is low, dangerous. "Are you trying to destroy everything we've worked for?"
"I'm not destroying anything," Max argues, frustration creeping into his voice. "My results-"
"Your results could be better," Jos cuts him off. "You could be focused on becoming champion instead of sneaking around with Toto Wolff's daughter. Do you think this is a game?"
"It's not a game-"
"Then what is it?" Jos steps closer, his presence still intimidating despite Max being taller now. "Love?" He spits the word like it's poison. "You think love wins championships? You think that girl is worth throwing away everything we've sacrificed for?"
Max clenches his jaw, the weight of years of his father's expectations pressing down on him. "I can handle both-"
"No." Jos' voice is final, absolute. "You can't. And you won't. This ends now. Cut her off."
"Or what?" The words slip out before Max can stop them, a rare challenge to his father's authority.
Jos' eyes turn cold. "Or I'll make sure Toto knows exactly what his precious daughter has been up to. How do you think that ends for her? For her relationship with her father? For her position in the paddock?"
The threat hangs in the air between them. Max feels his stomach turn to ice, knowing his father well enough to know this isn't an empty threat.
"Your choice, Max," Jos says, already turning away. "But make it soon. This distraction ends now, or there will be consequences. For everyone."
Max stands there long after his father leaves, the taste of your kisses still on his lips, now bitter with the weight of choices.
Monza, 2017
The Italian late summer heat feels suffocating as you finally corner Max behind the Ferrari motorhome - neutral territory. He's been dodging you since Hungary, responding to texts with one-word answers before stopping altogether. You've seen that look in his eyes when he spots you in the paddock - the way he quickly turns away, finds somewhere else to be.
"Hey stranger," you say, aiming for casual despite your racing heart. "Been a while."
He looks everywhere but at you, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "YN…" There's a warning in his voice that you choose to ignore.
"I've missed you," you continue, taking a step closer. "We haven't talked since-"
"We can't do this anymore." His words cut through the air like a knife.
You freeze, the practiced speech you'd prepared dying in your throat. "What?"
"This." He gestures vaguely between you, still not meeting your eyes. "Whatever this is. It has to stop."
"Just like that?" Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. "After everything?"
"I need to focus on racing." He sounds like he's reciting a rehearsed speech. "Just racing. No distractions."
The word 'distraction' hits you like a physical blow. "Is that what I am? A distraction?"
Finally, he looks at you, and for a moment you see something crack in his carefully constructed facade - pain, regret, something more. But then it's gone, replaced by a coldness you've never seen directed at you before.
"This was never going to work," he says flatly. "We both knew that. It'll only cause trouble - for you, for me, for our families. It's better to end it now."
You think about all the stolen moments, the late-night conversations, the way he'd look at you like you were the only person in a crowded room. All reduced to 'trouble'.
"Fine." You straighten your spine, channeling every ounce of Wolff pride you possess. "See you around, Max Verstappen."
You turn and walk away before he can respond, each step measured and controlled despite feeling like your world is crumbling. You make it all the way to the Mercedes motorhome before the tears start to fall.
You duck into what you think is an empty corner, trying to get yourself under control, when a familiar voice makes you jump.
"Little Wolff?"
Lewis stands there, concern etched across his features. He's known you since you were a kid, has watched you grow up in the paddock. In many ways, he's your brother.
"I'm fine," you say automatically, wiping at your eyes. "Just… allergies."
"Right," he says softly, not believing you for a second. "Because Monza is famous for its allergies."
A sob escapes before you can stop it, and suddenly Lewis is pulling you into a hug. You break down against his chest, all your carefully maintained composure crumbling.
"Hey, hey," he soothes, rubbing your back. "What happened? Who do I need to beat up?"
You laugh wetly against his shoulder. "Nobody. It's stupid. I'm stupid."
"You're one of the smartest people I know," he counters. "So whatever it is, it's not stupid."
You pull back slightly, wiping your eyes. "I just… I thought…" You shake your head. "It doesn't matter what I thought. Clearly I was wrong."
Understanding dawns in Lewis's eyes. He's not blind - he's probably noticed more than most about your relationship with Max, even if he's never mentioned it.
"Sometimes," he says carefully, "people make choices out of fear rather than what they really want. Especially in this world."
"He said I was a distraction," you whisper, the words still burning.
Lewis's expression hardens slightly. "He's young. And scared. And probably being pulled in a hundred different directions." He pauses. "Doesn't make it hurt any less though, does it?"
You shake your head, fresh tears threatening to fall.
"Come here." He pulls you into another hug. "For what it's worth, I think he's an idiot. But maybe this is for the best, he's not good for you."
You stay there for a while, letting Lewis comfort you, grateful for his presence and his wisdom. But you can't shake the image of Max's face, that moment when his mask slipped, and you'd seen the pain in his eyes. You wonder if Lewis is right - if this is really about fear rather than feeling.
But in the end, you suppose it doesn't matter. A choice is still a choice, even if it's made for the wrong reasons.
Monaco, Summer 2018
The bass thrums through your body as you down another shot, Lando cheering beside you. The club is packed - all of Monaco's elite young crowd mixed with racing's next generation. Your father would have an aneurysm if he saw you here, but that's half the fun.
"Another!" Lando shouts over the music, already signaling the bartender. He's technically too young to be here, but money and fame open most doors in Monaco.
"You're a bad influence, Norris," you laugh, but you don't stop him.
"Me?" He clutches his chest in mock offense. "I'm an angel. You're the one corrupting the youth."
"You're literally younger than me."
"Details, details." He hands you another shot. "To being young and irresponsible!"
You clink glasses with him, the alcohol burning pleasantly as it goes down. This is what you needed - no paddock politics, no disappointed looks from your father, no thoughts of…
"Oh shit," Lando says suddenly, following your gaze. "We can move to another section if you want."
Max has just walked in with a group of friends. He looks good - he always looks good - in dark jeans and a fitted black shirt. Your stomach does that familiar flip before you forcefully squash it down.
"Why should we move?" you say, perhaps a bit too loudly. "We were here first."
Lando gives you that knowing look he's perfected over the past year of friendship. "YN…"
"Don't start," you warn him. "I'm fine. It's fine. Ancient history."
"Right," he drawls. "That's why you drunk-called me crying about him last month."
"I did not!"
"'Lando,'" he mimics in a high voice, "'why doesn't he want meeeee?'"
You shove him playfully. "I hate you."
"You love me." He grins. "I'm your favorite driver now."
"You're not even in F1 yet."
"Yet!" He wraps an arm around your shoulders. "Next year though. Then I'll be beating your ex's ass on track."
"He's not my ex," you mutter. "We were never actually together, remember?"
"Right, just sneaking around making out for like a year and a half. Totally casual."
You're about to retort when movement catches your eye. Max is at the bar now, and there's a girl with him. Tall, blonde, model-beautiful. She's touching his arm, laughing at something he's saying, and he's leaning in close to hear her over the music.
"YN…" Lando's voice has that warning tone.
"I need another drink," you announce, turning back to the bar.
Three shots later, you're on the dance floor with Lando, trying to forget the scene playing out at the bar. But your eyes keep drifting over, watching as Max gets closer to the blonde, his hand now on her waist.
"Stop torturing yourself," Lando says in your ear.
"I'm not-" you start, but the words die in your throat as you watch Max lean down and kiss the girl.
Something inside you snaps. You scan the crowd, spotting a guy who's been eyeing you all night. He's good-looking enough - dark hair, nice smile, probably a trust fund kid like half the people here.
"YN," Lando tries to grab your arm, but you're already moving.
You approach the guy with purpose, channeling every ounce of confidence the alcohol has given you. "Want to dance?"
He looks surprised but pleased. "Absolutely."
You let him pull you close, perhaps closer than necessary. You can feel eyes on you - Lando's concerned ones, and maybe, just maybe, someone else's too.
The guy - you think he said his name was Alex or Alec - is a good dancer. His hands are respectful but firm on your hips as you move to the music. When he leans down to kiss you, you let him.
It's not a bad kiss. He knows what he's doing. But he doesn't taste right, doesn't feel right. His hands aren't calloused from racing. He doesn't smell like motor oil and expensive cologne. He's not… him
But you kiss him anyway. When you finally pull back from the kiss, Lando is at your elbow.
"I think we should head out," he says, glancing meaningfully at your nearly empty glass.
"I'm having fun," you protest, even as the room spins slightly. Alex-or-Alec's hands are still on your waist.
"YN." Lando's voice is firmer now. "Come on."
You turn back to Alex-or-Alec, pulling him down for another kiss. It's messy and desperate and you can taste the expensive whiskey on his breath. You're proving something, you think, though you're not sure what or to whom anymore.
Through the haze of alcohol and bass-heavy music, you hear a familiar voice.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Max is standing there, his face tight with anger. The blonde from earlier is nowhere to be seen, but there's another girl hovering behind him - brunette this time.
"Having fun," you say sweetly, pressing closer to Alex-or-Alec. "You should try it. Oh wait, you already are."
"You don't even know this guy," Max snaps.
"His name is Alex." You pause. "Or Alec."
"It's Adrian," the guy supplies helpfully.
"Whatever." Max steps forward. "You're drunk. You need to go home."
"And you need to mind your own business." You turn to Adrian with an exaggerated smile. "Want to get out of here?"
"YN," Lando pleads. "Don't."
"Sure," Adrian grins, clearly oblivious to the tension. "My place isn't far."
Max moves so fast you barely register it, suddenly between you and Adrian. "She's not going anywhere with you."
"Excuse me?" You push at his chest. "You don't get to decide that. You lost that right when you-" You cut yourself off, aware you're saying too much.
"When I what?" Max challenges, his eyes dark. "When I did exactly what you're doing right now?"
"No," you laugh, but it comes out bitter. "When you decided that sneaking around was fine until it wasn't. When you started showing up to every event with a new girl on your arm. When you-"
"YN," Lando tugs at your arm. "Not here."
You shake him off. "Go back to your girlfriend, Max. Or girlfriends. I lost count tonight."
"You're being ridiculous."
"And you're being a hypocrite." You grab Adrian's hand. "Let's go."
Max's hand closes around your wrist. "You're not leaving with him."
"Get your hands off me." Your voice is ice cold. "You don't get to play protective boyfriend when it suits you. Go find another model to add to your collection."
Something flashes in his eyes - hurt maybe, or anger. "Fine. Do what you want. You always do anyway."
"Exactly. I do what I want." You turn to Adrian. "Sorry, but I've changed my mind. Turns out I have standards."
You shake off Max's grip and push past him, heading for the exit. Lando hurries after you, already calling for a car.
"YN, wait-" Max calls after you.
"Go to hell, Verstappen."
Outside, the Monaco air is cool against your flushed skin. Lando wraps his jacket around your shoulders as tears start to fall.
"I hate him," you whisper.
"No, you don't." Lando pulls you into a hug. "That's the problem."
The morning sunlight streaming through the windows feels like actual daggers in your skull. You're nursing your third cup of coffee, wearing sunglasses indoors like the walking cliché you are, when your father's voice cuts through your hangover haze.
"Would you care to explain these?"
Toto slides his phone across the breakfast table. Your stomach drops as you see the photos - you dancing with Adrian, Max confronting you, your tearful exit with Lando. The Monaco nightlife paparazzi are relentless, and you were too drunk to notice them.
"Papa, I-"
"No." His voice is quiet but firm. That's worse than yelling. "This stops now, YN. This... rebellion phase of yours. It stops."
Lewis and Valtteri are suddenly very interested in their breakfast plates. Susie, your stepmother, places a gentle hand on your father's arm, but doesn't contradict him.
"It wasn't-"
"Wasn't what?" Toto's accent gets thicker when he's angry. "Wasn't you, drunk in a club, making headlines again? Wasn't you creating another PR nightmare for the team?"
Your head throbs. "I'm not part of the team."
"No? Then why does every tabloid headline read 'Mercedes Boss's Daughter in Club Drama with Red Bull Star'?"
You wince. Both at his words and at the volume.
"The drinking, the parties, the public scenes - it needs to stop." He leans forward. "You're not just any teenager, liebling. Everything you do reflects on this family, on this team."
"That's not fair."
"Life isn't fair." He softens slightly. "I know this past year has been... difficult."
You feel Lewis shift beside you. He knows - of course he knows. He's probably the only one at this table who knows the full story of you and Max.
"But this self-destructive behavior cannot continue." Your father's voice is final. "You're grounded."
"I'm twenty one!"
"And living on my yacht, in my house, representing my name." He raises an eyebrow. "Would you prefer to go back to boarding school?"
The threat lands. You sink lower in your chair.
"No, sir."
"Good." He turns to his own coffee. "No more clubs. No more parties. And for God's sake, no more scenes with Max Verstappen."
Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You know without looking it's probably Lando checking on you. Or worse, Max.
"YN." Your father's voice draws your attention back. "I mean it. Whatever is going on between you two... it ends now."
"Nothing is going on," you mutter.
"Then it should be easy to maintain distance."
Susie finally speaks up. "Why don't you come work with me for a while? Help with the She Moves Forward initiative?"
You know it's a peace offering - a way to keep you busy and out of trouble. But the thought of structured days and responsible tasks makes your hangover worse.
"Fine," you concede, if only to end this conversation.
Lewis nudges you under the table - a small gesture of solidarity. Valtteri offers a sympathetic smile.
"Good." Your father stands. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have damage control to handle."
After he leaves, Lewis slides a bottle of Advil towards you. "Here. You look like death."
"Thanks," you grumble, dry-swallowing two pills.
"He's right, you know," Lewis says quietly. "About Max."
"Not you too."
"YN." His voice is gentle. "You can't keep doing this to yourself. The drinking, the acting out - it's not going to make it hurt less."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't." He stands, squeezing your shoulder. "Just... think about what you're really angry at. Because I don't think it's your father, or the team, or even Max."
"I'm going back to bed," you announce to no one in particular.
"Honey," Susie calls after you. "This doesn't have to be a punishment. Maybe it's an opportunity."
You pause at the door. "For what?"
"To figure out who you are without all the drama. Without..." she hesitates. "Without defining yourself by who you're trying to hurt."
You think about Max's face last night, about the girls he was with, about how none of it made you feel better.
"Yeah," you say quietly. "Maybe."
The air feels thick and oppressive as you stumble out of another club, the world spinning slightly. You're not entirely sure how you ended up here - after the disastrous night a few weeks ago, you'd promised yourself (and your father) that you were done with the party scene. But one text from Lando about needing to "get out" had quickly spiraled.
Except Lando had bailed last minute with food poisoning, and you'd gone anyway. Because you're nothing if not stubborn.
The familiar figure of Charles Leclerc materializes beside you. "YN? Are you okay?"
"Charles!" You throw your arms around him, nearly losing your balance. "My favorite Ferrari boy!"
He steadies you with practiced ease. "How much have you had to drink?"
"Lost count," you admit cheerfully. "But it's fine. Everything's fine."
Charles sighs, pulling out his phone. "I'm calling Lewis."
"No!" You grab for his phone but miss entirely. "Not Lewis. He'll tell Papa."
"Good. Maybe he should."
You slump against the wall, suddenly exhausted. "Everyone's so disappointed in me."
Charles' expression softens as he puts the phone to his ear. "We're worried, not disappointed."
Twenty minutes later, you hear the distinctive rumble of Lewis's car. He jumps out, concern etched on his face.
"YN? What were you thinking?"
"That alcohol makes feelings go away?" you offer weakly.
Lewis turns to Charles. "Thanks for calling me."
"Of course. Take care of her."
The ride home is quiet until Lewis finally speaks. "This has to stop."
"I know," you whisper.
"No, I mean it really has to stop. You're hurting yourself, and for what? To prove something to Max?"
"It's not about Max."
"Isn't it?"
You stare out the window, tears forming. "I need to get away from here."
"What do you mean?"
"The paddock, the drama, all of it." You turn to him. "I can't keep doing this. Being the Mercedes princess, the ex-whatever of Max Verstappen. I need… space."
Lewis is quiet for a moment. "Maybe that's not a bad idea. Take some time, figure out who you are away from all this."
"Will you help me convince Papa?"
"Yeah," he says softly. "I'll help. But you have to promise me - no more nights like this."
You nod, the weight of everything finally catching up to you. "I promise."
As Lewis helps you out of the car, you freeze. Toto is standing in the doorway, still in his sleeping clothes. Your stomach drops and fresh tears spring to your eyes - this is it, the final disappointment.
But instead of the anger you expect, your father simply opens his arms.
You practically fall into them, suddenly sobbing. "I'm so sorry, Papa. I'm so sorry."
"Shh," he soothes, holding you tight like he did when you were little. "You're alright, liebling. You're alright."
"I can't-" you hiccup against his chest. "I can't do this anymore. I need to get out of here."
"Out of where?"
"Monaco. The paddock. All of it." You pull back slightly to look at him. "I need space. To figure out who I am without… without all of this."
Toto exchanges a look with Lewis over your head. "I know," he says softly, surprising you. "I've seen it coming."
"You have?"
He cups your face in his hands, wiping away tears with his thumbs. "You're my daughter. Of course I have. I just needed you to realize it yourself."
"I'm tired, Papa," you whisper. "Of being the Mercedes princess, of the gossip, of seeing…" You trail off, but they all know what you mean. Who you mean.
"Then go," he says simply. "Find yourself. The paddock will still be here when you're ready."
"You're not mad?"
He laughs softly. "Oh, we'll discuss tonight's adventure when you're less drunk. But no, liebling. I'm not mad. Sometimes we need to step away to see things clearly."
Lewis steps forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. "We've got your back, little Wolff. Whatever you need."
Fresh tears fall as you're overwhelmed by their support. "I love you both so much."
"And we love you," Toto kisses your forehead. "Now, let's get you to bed. We can make plans tomorrow."
As they help you inside, you feel lighter somehow. Like maybe this isn't an ending, but a beginning. A chance to become someone new - or maybe to find who you've been all along, underneath the labels and expectations.
Austria, 2020
The familiar scent of rubber and fuel hits you as you step into the Mercedes garage for the first time in almost two years, your heart doing a little flip at being back after so long. Everything looks exactly the same, yet somehow different - or maybe you're the one who's different now.
"Little Wolff!" Lewis' voice booms across the garage before you're engulfed in a bone-crushing hug that lifts you off your feet. "Finally back where you belong!"
You laugh, squeezing him back just as tight. "You literally saw me at Christmas, Lewis!"
"That's not the same and you know it," he sets you down but keeps his hands on your shoulders, studying your face. "Christmas is family time. This," he gestures around the garage, "this is home."
Looking at him now, you can see the genuine joy in his eyes. Lewis has always been your second father, and these past two years, he's been your biggest cheerleader from afar, always sending encouraging messages when you were climbing mountains in Nepal or teaching English in Thailand.
"She's hardly been here five minutes and you're already monopolizing her, Lewis?" Your father's voice carries that familiar warmth that makes your chest tight with happiness. Your relationship with him has transformed during your time away - all those long phone calls and video chats where you really talked, not just about racing but about life, dreams, fears. Distance made you both realize what you'd been missing.
"Papa," you smile, walking into his open arms. He holds you close, pressing a kiss to your temple.
"Welcome home, liebling," he murmurs. "The garage hasn't been the same without you."
"I missed you too," you say, then pull back with a grin. "But I need to go see someone else before he thinks I've forgotten him entirely."
Toto laughs. "Go on then. Lando's been asking about you non-stop since he heard you were coming back."
You practically skip your way to the McLaren garage, your heart light. The past two years have given you perspective, helped you understand yourself better. You're not the angry, lost girl who fled Monaco anymore. You're stronger now, more sure of who you are outside of being "Toto Wolff's daughter" or "Max Verstappen's conquest."
"YN!" Lando's screech of delight echoes through the garage as he launches himself at you. "You're back, you're finally back!"
"I missed you so much, you idiot," you ruffle his hair, noting how he's grown even more into himself. He's not the shy rookie anymore - he's coming into his own as a driver.
"Group hug!" Carlos appears, wrapping his long arms around both of you. "Welcome back, pequeña. It's been too quiet without you here to keep this one in line."
"Oi!" Lando protests, but he's beaming.
You're in the middle of telling them about your adventures in Japan when movement catches your eye. Your words trail off as you see him - Max, walking past the garage with Christian. He's filled out more, shoulders broader, face more mature. Your heart does that familiar stutter-step it always did around him.
Two years haven't completely erased the memory of his hands on your skin, his laugh against your neck, the way he used to look at you like you were his entire world. First loves leave permanent marks, and Max Verstappen had branded himself onto your heart when you were both too young to understand the weight of it all.
He must feel your gaze because he turns, and for a moment, your eyes lock. There's something there - recognition, remembrance, maybe even regret. You see him swallow hard, his step faltering just slightly. But neither of you moves to bridge the gap.
You turn back to Lando and Carlos, forcing a smile, but your mind is still with that brief moment of eye contact. You're not that lovesick teenager anymore, but part of you wonders if you'll ever fully get over Max Verstappen. If anyone ever really gets over their first love, or if they just learn to live with the echo of what could have been.
"YN?" Lando's voice brings you back to the present. "You okay?"
You look at your friend's concerned face and give him a genuine smile this time. "Yeah, I am. Just… remembering."
Carlos squeezes your shoulder knowingly. "The past is the past, si? You're here now, that's what matters."
You nod, grateful for their understanding. You're not the same person who left two years ago, running from heartbreak and confusion. You're stronger now, wiser. Ready to write a new chapter.
Even if sometimes, just sometimes, you still feel the ghost of an old love story tugging at your heart.
Barcelona, 2020
The Barcelona night is warm and heavy with memories as you sit at the outdoor terrace of the restaurant. Daniel's telling some ridiculous story about a kangaroo, but your attention keeps drifting to the other end of the table where Max sits, deliberately positioned as far from you as possible.
Five years ago, you'd kissed him for the first time just a few streets from here. After his first win, giddy with freedom and teenage rebellion.
"So how was Bali?" Charles asks making your come back to your senses,"The surfing photos were insane."
"Almost died about twelve times," you laugh. "But worth it."
"She's exaggerating," Max comments casually, surprising everyone at the table. It's the first time he's directly addressed anything about your travels. "I saw the videos. Your form wasn't that bad."
You catch his eye across the table. "Been keeping tabs on me, Verstappen?"
He shrugs, a hint of that old smirk playing at his lips. "Hard not to when you're all over everyone's Instagram stories."
The tension at the table shifts slightly - not gone, but different. Lando kicks your foot under the table, raising an eyebrow when you look at him. You ignore him.
The conversation flows easier after that, stories and laughter bouncing around the table. You find yourself watching Max when he's not looking - the way he's grown into his features, how his laugh is deeper now, how he still runs his hand through his hair when he's trying not to smile.
As the night winds down, you end up being the last two waiting for cars. The others had filtered out gradually - Daniel dragging Charles off to some club, Lando claiming early training, Carlos heading home with his father.
"So," Max breaks the silence first, hands in his pockets. "Two years."
"Two years," you echo, leaning against the wall. "Feels longer sometimes."
"And shorter," he adds, then glances at you. "You look good. Happy."
"I am. Mostly." You study his profile in the streetlights. "You've changed too."
He laughs softly. "Had to grow up sometime, right? Can't be the paddock's problem child forever."
"No more sneaking around in garages?" The words slip out before you can stop them.
His eyes darken slightly at the memory. "Bit harder to get away with that these days. Plus, there hasn't been anyone worth the risk."
The weight of unspoken things hangs between you. All those stolen moments - behind motorhomes, in empty conference rooms, dark corners of victory parties. Never official, never acknowledged, but burning so bright it scared you both.
"Want to come up to my place?" he asks suddenly. "Just to talk. Properly. Without…" he gestures vaguely at the paddock world around you.
You should say no. But two years of distance have made you forget how magnetic he is, or maybe just made you brave enough to pretend you can resist it. "Okay."
The penthouse is exactly what you'd expect - sleek and modern, with a view that makes you catch your breath. You walk to the windows, Barcelona sprawling below like a constellation.
"Remember that night after your first win?" you ask softly. "When we snuck onto the roof?"
"Papa Wolff nearly had a heart attack," Max comes to stand beside you, close enough that your arms almost touch. "Worth it though."
"Was it?" You turn to look at him. "All of it? The sneaking around, the fights with our families, the constant hiding?"
"You know it was." His voice drops lower. "At least, it was for me."
"Max…"
"I've missed you," he admits quietly. "Not just… not just the physical stuff. I missed talking to you. Making you laugh. The way you'd roll your eyes every time I said something stupid in press conferences."
"I still do that," you smile despite yourself. "Some things don't change."
"Maybe they shouldn't." He steps closer, and suddenly you're eighteen again, heart racing at his proximity. "Maybe some things are worth holding onto."
When he kisses you, it feels like muscle memory. Your body remembers this dance - the way his hands find your waist, how he tastes like wine and possibilities. It's softer than the desperate kisses you used to share in dark corners, but somehow more dangerous for it.
You pull back first, breathing hard. "We can't."
"Why not?" His thumb traces your cheekbone. "We're not kids anymore. Who cares what anyone thinks?"
"I do," you step away, wrapping your arms around yourself. "I left to get away from this, Max. From sneaking around, from being the paddock scandal waiting to happen. I built a life where I'm not defined by who I'm secretly sleeping with or whose daughter I am."
"It wouldn't be like before-"
"Wouldn't it? The politics haven't changed. Our families still wouldn't approve."
"I don't care about any of that," he reaches for you but you step back.
"That's the problem," your voice cracks. "I had to live with all of it. The whispers, the judgment, watching my father's face every time there was another rumor about us. I can't go back to that."
"YN, please-"
"I should go." You grab your phone from the counter. "This was a mistake."
At the elevator, you turn back one last time. He's still by the window, silhouetted against the city lights. "For what it's worth," you say softly, "you were my first love. Maybe that's why we have to let it stay in the past."
The elevator doors close on his response, and you lean against the wall, heart pounding. Some part of you will probably always want Max Verstappen. But you've worked too hard to become your own person to let that want destroy everything again.
Even if walking away feels like leaving part of yourself behind.
Monaco, 2020
The yacht party is winding down, the late hour thinning out the crowd until somehow you find yourself alone on the upper deck. The Mediterranean breeze carries fragments of music and laughter from below, but up here it's quiet enough to hear your own thoughts - dangerous, when they all seem to revolve around him.
You hear his footsteps before you see him. You don't need to turn around to know it's Max - your body has always been attuned to his presence, like a compass finding north.
"Hiding?" His voice is soft as he comes to stand beside you at the railing.
"Just needed some air." It's not entirely a lie. "Shouldn't you be downstairs? This is your best friend's party."
"Daniel can handle it on his own," he shrugs, looking out at the harbor lights. "Needed some air too."
The silence that follows should be uncomfortable, but it isn't. That's the problem with Max - everything still feels as natural as breathing. Two years away hasn't changed how your body relaxes in his presence, how the air seems to crackle with possibility when he's near.
"Remember that party in Singapore?" he asks suddenly.
You smile despite yourself. "When we hid from Lewis for half of the night?"
"You were wearing that blue dress," he continues, and something in his voice makes your heart skip. "I couldn't take my eyes off you all night."
"Max…"
"I still can't," he admits quietly. "Even now. Even when I'm supposed to be focusing on other things, my eyes just… find you."
You grip the railing tighter. "We can't do this again."
"Can't we?" He turns to face you now. "Because ever since Barcelona, since that kiss…"
"That was a mistake."
"Was it?" He steps closer, and you fight the urge to move away. "Because it didn't feel like a mistake. It felt like coming home."
The words hit you right in the chest, because he's right. That's exactly what it felt like - like every cell in your body recognizing where it belonged.
"Nothing's changed," you say, but your voice wavers. "The politics, our families, the media…"
"Everything's changed," he counters. "We're not those kids anymore, sneaking around without putting a label on it because we didn't know better. I know exactly what I want now. Who I want."
"Max, please-"
"Two years, YN. Two years of watching you live your life through Instagram stories and paddock glimpses. Two years of trying to convince myself I was over you." His hand finds yours on the railing. "But the truth is, a part of me has belonged to you since that first night in Melbourne, and I don't think that's ever going to change."
You should pull your hand away. Instead, you turn it over, letting your fingers intertwine with his. "I tried so hard to become someone new," you whisper. "Traveled the world, built this whole independent life. But the moment I saw you again…"
"I know." His other hand comes up to cup your face, and you lean into the touch instinctively. "Because I felt it too."
"It scares me," you admit. "How easy it is to fall back into this. How right it feels when it should feel wrong."
"Maybe that's exactly why it isn't wrong." His thumb traces your cheekbone. "Maybe some things are just meant to be, despite everything else."
When he kisses you this time, it's different from Barcelona. That kiss had been hesitant, testing. This one feels like surrender, like finally stopping a fight you were always meant to lose. Your hands find his chest, feeling his heart racing under your palm, matching the erratic rhythm of your own.
He pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against yours. "I love you," he whispers. "You're the first girl I ever loved, and I think maybe you'll be the last. I know it's complicated, I know there are a million reasons why we shouldn't, but I don't care about any of them. I just want you."
You close your eyes, overwhelmed by the truth in his words, by how perfectly they mirror your own feelings. "I never stopped loving you," you confess. "I tried. God, I tried so hard. But it's like… it's like a part of me just belongs to you, and no amount of distance can change that."
"Then be with me," he pleads softly. "For real this time. No more running."
"How?" But you're already melting into him as he pulls you closer. "Nothing's changed, Max. My father would still lose it, Christian would still disapprove, the media would have a field day…"
"So we don't tell them." His hands slide to your waist. "We keep it between us. No sneaking around in garages this time, no risky moments in the paddock. Just us, in private, doing this properly."
You should say no. You know all the reasons why this can't work. But as his lips find yours again, you realize you're tired of fighting this magnetic pull between you.
"If anyone finds out…" you start.
"They won't," he promises. "We'll be careful. We're not those reckless kids anymore."
And maybe that's the key difference - you're not acting on impulse anymore, not diving in blindly. You're choosing this, fully aware of the consequences, of what you both stand to lose.
"Okay," you whisper against his mouth. "Okay."
When he kisses you again, it feels like every kiss you've ever shared and completely new all at once. Like coming home and starting an adventure. Like an ending and a beginning wrapped into one.
Later, you'll figure out the logistics, the careful dance of secrecy. But for now, you let yourself exist in this moment.
Some things, you realize, are worth keeping secret. Some loves are worth protecting, even if it means hiding them from the world.
Morning light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Max's apartment, painting everything in soft gold. You're awake before him, taking in the familiar weight of his arm around your waist, the steady rhythm of his breathing against your neck. It feels surreal - like stepping back in time, but with the sharp edge of awareness that comes with being older.
You feel him stir, his arm tightening slightly around you. "You're thinking too loud," he mumbles against your shoulder.
"Sorry," you turn to face him, finding his eyes still heavy with sleep. "Hard not to."
He props himself up on an elbow, studying your face. The morning light makes everything feel more raw, more real. "Having second thoughts?"
"No," you say honestly. "Just… thinking about how we make this work."
"We managed before."
"And look how that ended." You trace a pattern on his chest absently. "We were reckless then. Every stolen moment was a near-miss."
He catches your hand, bringing it to his lips. "So we're smarter this time. No more risky moments in the paddock. No sneaking around where anyone could see us."
"It's not just that." You sit up, pulling the sheet with you. "Max, if this gets out… it's not just about our families being angry. It could affect your career, the team dynamics. And my father-"
"Would probably try to have me assassinated," he finishes with a half-smile, but you can see the seriousness in his eyes. "I know. Trust me, I've thought about all of it."
"And you still want this?"
He sits up too, cupping your face in his hands. "More than anything. The question is, do you?"
You lean into his touch, closing your eyes. "You know I do. That's what scares me. How much I want this, despite everything."
"Then we figure it out." His thumb brushes your cheekbone. "We're not kids anymore. We know how to be discreet. Your place, my place, private locations only. No public appearances together unless we're with the whole group. No suspicious social media activity."
"No telling anyone," you add. "Not even Lando or Charles."
"Especially not them," he agrees. "The fewer people who know, the safer it is."
You open your eyes to find him watching you with that intense focus he usually reserves for racing. "It's going to be hard," you warn. "Pretending there's nothing between us in public. Watching you from a distance at races."
"We've had years of practice at that," he reminds you softly. "At least now I get to hold you afterward."
The simple statement makes your heart clench. You lean forward, pressing your forehead to his. "When did you get so good with words?"
"Must be all those media training sessions," he smirks, but then turns serious. "I meant what I said last night. I love you. Whatever we have to do to make this work, I'm in."
"I love you too," you whisper back. "God, I really do."
He kisses you then, slow and deep, like he's trying to memorize the moment. When you pull back, you're both breathing harder.
The morning light is brighter now, reality creeping in with the rising sun. Soon, you'll have to leave separately, go back to pretending there's nothing between you. But for now, you let yourself sink into his embrace, memorizing the feeling of being here, being his.
"This is crazy, isn't it?" you murmur against his chest.
"Probably," he agrees, pressing a kiss to your hair. "But some of the best things in life are a little crazy."
You know there will be challenges ahead - difficult moments, close calls, the constant strain of secrecy. But as Max pulls you back down onto the pillows, his lips finding yours with familiar hunger, you think maybe he's right.
Some things are worth the risk. Some loves are worth keeping secret.
The key card clicks softly as you slip into Max's Monaco apartment late on September 30th. You'd made your excuses to your friends early - a headache, an important call - knowing they wouldn't question it too much since they'd already planned Max's official celebration for tomorrow.
But tonight is just for the two of you.
You find him in the kitchen, already changed into sweatpants and a soft t-shirt, pulling something from the oven. The domestic scene makes your heart flutter.
"Is Max Verstappen actually baking?" you tease, dropping your bag.
He turns with that smile that's become exclusively yours - soft, unguarded, real. "It's just heating up the cake Victoria made. I'm not completely useless."
You cross the space between you, wrapping your arms around him from behind. "Happy birthday, baby."
He turns in your embrace, backing you against the counter. "This is already better than last year's birthday."
"Mm, because last year you weren't secretly dating your rival team principal's daughter?"
"Because last year I couldn't do this," he murmurs, before kissing you deeply, hands sliding under your shirt to find bare skin. You melt into him, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.
The timer dings, making you both jump and then laugh.
"The cake can wait," he starts, but you push him back gently.
"Let's do this properly. Cake first, then presents, then…" you trail off suggestively.
"Fine," he sighs dramatically, but his eyes are sparkling. "But I'm holding you to that 'then'."
You sit cross-legged on his massive couch, sharing pieces of Victoria's chocolate cake straight from the tin. It's comfortable in a way that still surprises you sometimes - how easily you've fallen into these private moments, these glimpses of normalcy in your decidedly abnormal situation.
"Got you something," you say, reaching for your bag.
He raises an eyebrow. "Thought you were my present?"
"Cheesy," you throw a pillow at him, which he catches easily. "Here."
He unwraps the small package carefully. Inside is a simple leather bracelet, dark brown with a subtle pattern worked into it. "Turn it over," you say softly.
On the inside, barely visible unless you know to look, are your initials and the date from Monaco - the night everything changed.
"YN…" his voice is rough as he runs his thumb over the engraving.
"I know we can't do obvious things," you explain. "But I wanted you to have something… something that's just ours. Something you can wear without anyone knowing what it means."
He pulls you into his lap, kissing you with an intensity that makes your head spin. "I love it," he murmurs against your lips. "I love you."
"I love you too," you whisper back, heart full with how natural those words feel now. "Even if you are getting old."
He retaliates by tickling your sides until you're both breathless with laughter, ending up horizontal on the couch with you pinned beneath him.
"Twenty-three isn't old," he protests, pressing kisses down your neck.
"Ancient," you tease, but it turns into a gasp as he finds that sensitive spot below your ear. "Max…"
"Mm?"
"The cake…"
"Can wait," he finishes, hands already working on the buttons of your shirt. "Right now, I want to unwrap my other present."
Later, much later, you're tangled in his sheets, your head on his chest as he plays with your hair. The city lights twinkle through the windows, creating patterns on the ceiling.
"Thank you," he says softly.
"For what?"
"For this. For making my birthday special even though we have to hide. For loving me despite everything."
You prop yourself up to look at him, trace the line of his jaw with your finger. "Thank you for making it worth it."
He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Sometimes I wish we could just tell everyone. Walk into the paddock holding your hand, take you on real dates, post about you on Instagram like a normal couple."
"I know," you sigh, settling back against his chest. "Me too. But…"
"But it would cause chaos," he finishes. "I know. Doesn't stop me from wanting it though."
You lift your head again, kissing him softly. "Maybe someday. But for now, I'm happy just having you like this. These moments are ours, just ours."
His arms tighten around you. "I love you," he says again, like he can't help himself. "More than racing, more than winning, more than-"
"Don't," you laugh, pressing a finger to his lips. "Don't say more than racing. We both know that's a lie."
He grins, rolling you under him again. "Maybe it's a tie?"
"I can live with that," you smile up at him, pulling him down for another kiss.
The world outside keeps turning - tomorrow there will be the official party, the public celebrations, the careful distance you'll have to maintain. But tonight, in this space that's become your sanctuary, you can just be Max and YN, two people in love, celebrating another year together.
Even if the rest of the world doesn't know it yet.
Monaco, 2021
You're curled into Max's side on your couch, some Netflix show playing in the background that neither of you is really watching. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm while you scroll through your phone, both enjoying the calm before tomorrow's storm - the start of a new season, new expectations, new pressure.
"Nervous about tomorrow?" you ask, tilting your head to look at him.
He shrugs, but you can feel the slight tension in his shoulders. "Not nervous. Just… ready. The car feels good, testing went well."
"Mm," you press a kiss to his jaw. "Maybe this is your year."
"Maybe," but his smile is confident as he turns to capture your lips properly. "Though right now I'm more interested in-"
Your phone buzzes loudly, Lando's name flashing on the screen. You answer it without thinking.
"Hey Lan-"
"I'm outside your place!" his cheerful voice cuts through. "Charles and I brought wine and that awful reality show you love. Open up!"
Your heart stops. "What?"
"Come on, it's freezing out here! I can see your lights on."
You sit up straight, panic flooding your system. "Lando, I-"
"Don't even try to say you're busy. It's the night before the first race, I know you're just sitting there overthinking everything."
Max is already moving, gathering his shoes and jacket silently. Your eyes meet across the room, both knowing how catastrophic it would be if Lando found him here.
"Give me five minutes," you say into the phone, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'm… I need to put clothes on."
"Gross, too much information," Lando laughs. "Five minutes!"
You hang up, heart racing. "Shit, shit, shit."
"It's fine," Max is surprisingly calm as he pulls on his shoes. "I'll go out through the back stairs."
"What if they see you?" You're already scanning the room for any evidence of him - his Red Bull cap on the coffee table, his phone charger by the couch.
"They won't." He grabs his things efficiently, muscle memory from two years of sneaking around kicking in. "I'll text you when I'm clear."
Another knock at the door makes you both freeze. "YN!" Charles's voice this time. "We can hear you moving around!"
Max pulls you in for a quick, hard kiss. "I love you. Don't worry."
"Be careful," you whisper against his lips.
He flashes that cocky grin you love. "Always am."
You watch him disappear through your bedroom toward the back stairwell, then take a deep breath, running your hands through your hair to mess it up slightly - making your "just got out of bed" excuse more believable.
When you open the door, Lando immediately pushes past you with wine bottles clinking. "Finally! What were you really doing?"
"Told you, getting dressed." You accept Charles' hello kiss on the cheek, praying your face isn't as flushed as it feels.
"Your shirt's inside out," Charles points out, smirking.
You look down - shit, he's right. You'd thrown it on hastily after… earlier activities. "I was sleeping," you say quickly. "You guys interrupted my pre-race nap routine."
"At 9 PM?" Lando's already making himself at home on your couch - right where Max was sitting minutes ago. "Sure, sure."
Your phone buzzes with a text: "All clear. They didn't see me. Missing you already x"
Relief floods through you as Charles pours wine and Lando queues up the show. You settle into the evening, letting their familiar banter wash over you, trying to act normal even as your skin still tingles from Max's touch.
"You seem different lately," Charles observes suddenly, studying your face. "Happier."
"Just excited for the new season," you deflect smoothly, a skill you've perfected over the past year.
"Mm," he doesn't look entirely convinced. "No secret boyfriend we should know about?"
You laugh, the sound only slightly strained. "Right, because that worked out so well last time."
"Last time was Max," Lando points out. "Thank god you're both over that whole thing."
If only they knew. But you just smile and take a sip of wine, letting them move on to discussing tomorrow's race.
As the evening progresses, the wine flows and the reality show plays in the background. You're carefully avoiding any topics that might make Charles or Lando suspicious, laughing a bit too loudly at their jokes.
Lando, ever restless, decides to raid your kitchen for snacks. "Where do you keep the good stuff?" he calls out, opening cupboards.
Your heart immediately races. You know exactly what might be lurking in those cupboards - Max's favorite energy drink, a Red Bull can he'd left behind last time he was here. You stand up quickly, "I'll get it for you-"
But Lando's already moving, pulling open the refrigerator door. "Found it!" he announces, then pauses. His hand emerges holding a Red Bull can, but something else catches his eye. A water bottle with a distinctive Red Bull Racing team logo sits next to it.
"Huh," Charles looks over. "Isn't this Max's water bottle?"
You feel the blood drain from your face. "Oh, um-" Your mind races, searching for an explanation. "I... must have picked it up from somewhere. You know how these things get mixed up."
Lando turns, one eyebrow raised. The playful smile slowly morphs into something more knowing. "Mixed up, huh?"
Charles is watching you now, that sharp observant look that made him such a good racing driver now focused entirely on you.
"Yeah, I must've picked it up by accident, didn't even realize."
Lando shrugs and cracks open a packet of chips, seemingly satisfied with your explanation. But Charles continues to study you with that piercing gaze that makes you want to squirm.
Keeping this a secret is becoming harder and harder.
Silverstone, 2021
The English countryside blurs past your window as Max takes another curve, maybe a bit faster than necessary. It's nearly midnight, and you should both be resting before tomorrow's race, but these night drives have become your thing - the only time you can be truly alone during race weekends, truly free.
"You're showing off," you accuse, but you're smiling.
"Me? Never." He takes his eyes off the road for a second to grin at you, his hand finding yours across the console.
The radio plays softly in the background, some British pop song you don't know. The summer air rushing through the open windows carries the scent of grass and freedom. It feels perfect. Until it isn't.
It happens so fast - a deer appears out of nowhere, Max swerves to avoid it, but the road is narrow and dark. The tires lose grip on loose gravel, and suddenly you're spinning, the world turning into a kaleidoscope of shadows and panic.
The impact when it comes is brutal. Metal crunches, glass shatters, and everything goes still.
"YN?" Max's voice is tight with fear. "Baby, are you okay?"
You do a quick mental check. Everything hurts, but nothing seems broken. "I'm okay. You?"
"Fine." He's already trying to open his door, but it's jammed. The front of the car is wrapped around a tree, steam hissing from the hood. "Fuck. Fuck!"
Your phone is somewhere on the floor. When you retrieve it, the screen is cracked but working. "We need help."
"We can't call emergency services," Max says immediately. "It'll be all over the news in minutes."
He's right. You can already see the headlines: "Verstappen in Late Night Crash with Mercedes Boss's Daughter."
"Christian?" you suggest.
"He'll kill me. We have a race tomorrow." Max runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "We need someone who can be discreet, who has the resources to handle this quietly, who-"
You both realize it at the same time.
"No," Max says.
"He's the only one who can help us without this becoming a scandal."
"YN, he's the last person-"
"Max." You reach for his hand. "We don't have a choice."
He knows you're right. With a resigned sigh, he nods.
Your hands shake slightly as you dial Lewis's number. It rings three times before he answers, voice groggy with sleep.
"Little Wolff? It's midnight, what-"
"Lewis, I need your help. And I need you to not ask questions."
There's a pause, then rustling as he presumably sits up. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, but… we're stuck. Had an accident on the back roads near Silverstone. We need help getting the car towed without anyone finding out."
There's a pause. "We?"
You close your eyes. "I'm with Max."
The silence that follows is deafening. "Send me your location. Don't move. I'll be there in twenty minutes."
True to his word, headlights appear eighteen minutes later. Lewis steps out of his car, taking in the scene - the wrecked vehicle, you and Max standing by the roadside, the unspoken truth of why you were together at this hour.
"Are you both alright?" He asks first, concern overriding any other emotions.
"Just bruised," you answer. "The car took the worst of it."
He nods, already on his phone. "Angela's on her way with a tow truck. She'll be discreet."
Max steps forward. "Lewis, I-"
"Don't." Lewis holds up a hand. "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for her." He looks at you, something sad in his expression. "How long?"
"Since last year."
He lets out a low whistle. "Well, that explains a few things."
The wait for Angela is tense. Lewis keeps his distance, occasionally speaking quietly into his phone. Max doesn't let go of your hand, thumb rubbing circles on your skin.
When Angela arrives with the tow truck, she doesn't bat an eye at the situation. The car is loaded efficiently, and arrangements are made to have it repaired at a private garage Lewis trusts.
"I'll drive YN home," Lewis says, and it's not really a question.
Max tenses beside you, but you squeeze his hand. "It's safer this way," you whisper. "Less suspicious if anyone sees us."
He knows you're right, again. "Text me when you're home?"
"Promise."
The drive with Lewis is quiet at first. Then the storm pours down.
"Of all the stupid, reckless things," he mutters, running a hand over his face. "A year? You've been sneaking around with him for a year? Again?"
"Lewis-"
"No." He turns to face you, anger and worry warring in his expression. "Do you have any idea what could happen if this gets out? What your father would-"
"I don't care!" The words burst out louder than intended, making your head throb. "I don't care what anyone thinks anymore."
"Well, you should!" Lewis's voice rises to match yours. "This isn't some game, YN. This is your life, your career, your family-"
"You think I don't know that?" You bite back. "You think we haven't spent the last year terrified of exactly that? Hiding everything, sneaking around, lying to everyone we care about?"
"Then why?" He throws his hands up in frustration. "Why risk everything for him?"
"Because I love him!" The words echo in the car. You lower your voice, tears threatening to fall. "I love him, Lewis. And he loves me. Isn't that enough?"
Lewis' expression softens slightly, but the worry remains. "Love isn't always enough, YN. Not in this world. Not with everything at stake."
"It has to be," you whisper. "Because I can't do this anymore - pretending I don't feel what I feel, acting like my heart doesn't race every time he walks into a room. I'm tired of hiding."
"He's not good for you," Lewis says quietly. "You remember how broken you were after-"
"He was nineteen," you cut him off. "We were both kids, both scared. Things are different now."
"Are they?" his voice is gentle but firm. "Because from where I'm standing, you're still sneaking around in the middle of the night, still hiding from everyone. That doesn't sound different to me."
You sink back into your seat, suddenly exhausted. "I'm not asking for your approval, Lewis. I'm just asking for you to trust that I know what I'm doing."
"Do you? Because getting into a car accident at 2 AM doesn't exactly scream good decision-making."
"That wasn't-" you start to defend, but he holds up a hand.
"You shouldn't have been out there in the first place. These secret meetings, these late-night drives… it's not sustainable, YN."
"I know," you admit quietly. "We know. We've been talking about telling people, about doing this properly."
Lewis studies your face for a long moment. "And what happens when the media finds out? When your father finds out? When the pressure becomes too much and he runs again?"
"He won't." Your voice is firm despite your injuries. "He's not that scared kid anymore, Lewis. He knows what he wants now."
"And what is that?"
"Me." You meet Lewis's gaze steadily. "He wants me. All of me, no matter what it costs. And I want him."
Lewis sighs deeply, rubbing his temples. "I can't support this, YN. I've watched him hurt you too many times."
"I know," you say softly. "And I love you for wanting to protect me. But I'm not asking for your support. I'm just asking you not to make this harder than it already is, I know you're worried. But please… please don't tell anyone. Not yet. Let us do this our way."
He doesn't respond, just pulls up the car outside your hotel and unlocks it so you can get out.
Silverstone, 2021. Race day
Your hands are still shaking slightly as you make your way through the paddock. Last night's crash left more than just physical bruises - the tension with Lewis, the close call, the reality of how fragile your secret is, it all weighs heavily.
The Mercedes garage is already buzzing with pre-race energy when you spot Lewis by his car, going through data with Peter. You wait until he's alone before approaching.
"Lewis," you say softly. "Can we talk?"
He glances around before responding, voice low. "There's nothing to talk about."
"Please. What you did last night-"
"Was a mistake," he cuts you off, finally turning to face you. "I should have called emergency services, protocol be damned."
"You know why we couldn't-"
"No, YN. You couldn't because you're sneaking around like teenagers. Do you have any idea what could have happened? If that tree had been a few inches to the left-"
"But it wasn't," you interrupt. "We're fine."
"Fine?" He scoffs. "You're both bruised, his car is wrecked, and I'm now complicit in your little romance."
"It's not a little romance-"
"Then what is it?" His voice rises slightly before he checks himself. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like the same pattern as before. You, him, secrets, lies."
"I told you last night - I love him."
"Love?" He lets out a bitter laugh. "Love doesn't hide, YN. Love doesn't put people in dangerous situations. Love doesn't-"
"Don't." Your voice cracks. "Don't pretend you understand what we're dealing with."
"Oh, I understand perfectly. You're playing girlfriend with my biggest rival while there's a championship at stake. You're risking everything - your reputation, your father's position, the team's integrity-"
"This isn't a game to me!" The words come out sharper than intended. A few mechanics glance your way, and you lower your voice. "This isn't about the championship or the team. This is about me and him."
"Nothing in this paddock is ever just about two people," Lewis says coldly. "You of all people should know that."
Before you can respond, Bono approaches. "Lewis, strategy meeting."
"I need to focus," Lewis tells you, his expression hardening. "I suggest you figure out where your loyalties lie before someone gets really hurt."
He walks away, leaving you standing there with a hollow feeling in your chest. Angela catches your eye, her expression sympathetic, and you wonder how much she knows.
The pre-race preparations pass in a blur. You go through the motions, smile when appropriate, but your mind keeps drifting to Max. You haven't seen him since Lewis dropped you off last night - you both agreed it was safer to stay apart until the race.
Then you're in the garage, watching the formation lap. Your father stands beside you, discussing something with the engineers, but their words sound distant.
Lap one. Copse Corner.
The contact happens so fast - Lewis's Mercedes alongside Max's Red Bull. The touch of wheels. Then Max's car is airborne, spinning, crashing into the barriers with devastating force.
The garage erupts in chaos. Screens show the replay from every angle. Your father is immediately in discussion with the stewards.
You can't breathe. Can't move. Your eyes are fixed on the smoking wreck of Max's car, willing him to move, to get out, to be okay.
"Racing incident," Toto argues. "Lewis had the line-"
Their voices fade to background noise as you watch the medical team reach the car. Your phone feels heavy in your pocket, but you can't check it - not here, not with everyone watching.
"YN," Angela touches your arm gently. "You look pale. Maybe some water?"
You follow her away from the garage, grateful for the excuse. As soon as you're out of sight, your composure breaks.
"I don't know if he's okay," you whisper, hands shaking. "I can't- I can't check my phone, I can't ask anyone, I can't-"
"Breathe," Angela steadies you. "Just breathe."
"I should be there. I should be with him. After last night, after everything-"
"I won't say anything," she promises quickly. "But YN... this is bigger than just keeping a secret now."
"I know," you admit. "God, I know. But I can't- I can't even ask if he's okay without raising suspicions."
The race continues. Lewis gets a ten-second penalty but fights back to win. The garage celebrates, and you have to join in, have to smile and cheer while your heart is somewhere else entirely.
Hours pass with no news. Social media is full of speculation, but nothing concrete. You catch snippets of conversation - "hospital for checks" and "conscious but shaken" - but nothing official.
It's torture, pretending everything is normal. Pretending you're just concerned in a general, professional way. Pretending last night never happened, that you don't still have bruises from a different crash, that your world isn't falling apart all over again.
Finally, after what feels like years, you manage to slip away to the Red Bull motorhome.
The motorhome is quiet when you enter. GP looks up from his laptop, surprise crossing his features.
"YN? You shouldn't-"
"Please," your voice breaks. "Please, I need to see him."
GP studies you for a long moment, then sighs. "Last door on the right. But be careful - he's pretty beaten up."
You find Max lying on the small bed, eyes closed but breathing steady. The room smells of medical cream and defeat.
"Max?" Your voice is barely a whisper.
His eyes open immediately, finding yours in the dim light. Despite everything, his lips curve into a small smile.
"Two crashes in twenty-four hours," he mumbles. "Must be some kind of record."
"Don't," tears spill over finally. "Don't joke. Not now."
"Come here," he tries to move over but winces.
"Careful," you rush to his side, perching carefully on the edge of the bed. "How bad is it?"
"Everything hurts," he admits. "But nothing's broken. Well, except my championship lead."
"I was so scared," your voice breaks. "When I saw the crash, and then I couldn't- I couldn't even ask if you were okay. I had to stand there and pretend like I wasn't terrified."
"Hey," he reaches for your hand, wincing at the movement. "I'm okay. Well, relatively speaking."
"This is my fault," you whisper. "If I hadn't called Lewis last night-"
"Stop," he squeezes your hand. "This had nothing to do with last night."
"Didn't it? He was so angry this morning, about us, about having to help us-"
"Lewis and I race hard regardless of personal feelings," Max says firmly. "What happened today was racing. Stupid, dangerous racing, but still racing."
You study his face in the dim light, cataloging every bruise, every sign of pain he's trying to hide, "Max, don't you think it's time?"
"Time?"
"To tell people. About us." The words rush out now that you've started. "I can't keep doing this - watching you race and pretending I don't care, hiding how I feel, lying to everyone we know. Today made me realize… if something had happened to you, really happened…"
He's quiet for a long moment, thumb tracing patterns on your hand. "What about your father?"
"I don't care anymore. Well, I do care, but… not more than I care about you. About us." You meet his eyes. "When the season's over. Before next year starts. We tell everyone."
"You're sure?"
"Are you?"
He pulls you closer, carefully, until you're lying beside him. "I'm sure if you are."
"Even with the championship? The media circus it'll cause?"
"Especially then." He kisses your forehead. "Today… when I hit that barrier, all I could think about was you. Not the championship, not the points, just… you. And how much time we've wasted hiding."
You curl into his side, mindful of his bruises. "So we're agreed? After Abu Dhabi, whatever happens with the championship…"
"We tell everyone." He lifts your chin to kiss you properly. "No more hiding."
"Promise?" You need to hear him say it.
"Promise," he pulls you closer, careful of both your injuries. "Besides, after last night's adventure and today's crash, I think we've filled our drama quota for a while."
You stay there, tangled together in the quiet darkness, both battered from different crashes but somehow still whole.
"I should go," you whisper eventually. "Before someone comes looking."
"One of the last times we'll have to say that," he reminds you.
"Promise me something else?"
"Anything."
"No more late-night drives for a while?"
He laughs, then grimaces in pain. "Deal. Although technically, both crashes were Lewis' fault."
"Max..."
"Kidding," he kisses your forehead softly. "Kind of."
You stand carefully, already missing his warmth. "Text me when you're feeling better?"
"Text me when you're home safe," he counters.
At the door, you turn back one last time. He's watching you with those eyes that made you fall in love twice - once when you were too young to know better, and again when you were old enough to know exactly what you were risking.
"Max?"
"Hmm?"
"I love you. Even when I have to pretend I don't."
His smile, despite the pain, lights up the dark room. "I love you too. Even when Lewis Hamilton tries to kill me. Twice in twenty-four hours."
You shake your head, but you're smiling as you slip out into the night. A few more months of hiding, of pretending, of careful distances and secret meetings. Then everything changes.
You just hope you're both ready for whatever comes next.
Abu Dhabi, 2021
The final showdown. Equal points, one race to decide it all.
The morning of the race, you slip into the Red Bull garage before sunrise. Max is already there, going through his pre-race routine, but his face softens when he sees you.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asks, pulling you into his arms.
"Not really," you nestle into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. "Too much going on in my head."
"Talk to me."
You pull back slightly to look at him. "I'm nervous. For you, for the race, for what comes after…"
"Hey," he cups your face gently. "Whatever happens today, we're in this together. Remember?"
"I know," you try to smile. "It's just… everything's going to change after today."
"Good changes," he kisses your forehead. "No more hiding, remember?"
You've had this conversation countless times over the past months, planning how you'll handle the revelation of your relationship. Your father still doesn't know, though you suspect he's noticed something's different.
"I brought you something," you reach into your pocket and pull out a small charm - a tiny silver racing car. "For luck."
Max takes it, turning it over in his hands with a soft smile. "You're my luck."
"That was incredibly cheesy," you laugh, but your heart swells.
"You love it," he pulls you closer, kissing you properly this time. "And you love me."
"I do," you whisper against his lips. "So much it scares me sometimes."
You stay like that for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, before reality intrudes again.
"I should go," you sigh. "There's something else I need to do before the race."
Max knows without asking. "Lewis?"
"Yeah," you bite your lip. "I can't let things end like this between us."
"Go," he squeezes your hand. "Just come back to me after?"
"Always."
Finding Lewis proves harder. He's been avoiding you since Silverstone, your relationship reduced to professional nods and carefully maintained distance. But you finally spot him in the Mercedes garage, alone with his thoughts.
"Lewis?" your voice is hesitant.
He tenses but doesn't turn around. "YN."
"I know you probably don't want to talk to me-"
"Then why are you here?"
You take a deep breath. "Because you're my brother, Lewis. Not by blood, but by choice. And I can't stand how things are between us."
He finally turns, and the pain in his eyes matches your own. "You chose him."
"I chose love," you step closer. "That doesn't mean I stopped caring about you."
"You could have told me," his voice cracks slightly. "Before Silverstone, before any of it. I thought we told each other everything."
"I was scared," you admit. "Scared of exactly this - losing you, losing my family, losing everything I've known."
"So instead you just lied? Snuck around?"
"I know it was wrong," tears prick at your eyes. "And I'm so sorry, Lewis. Not for loving him, but for hurting you. For breaking your trust."
He's quiet for a long moment, studying your face. "Does he make you happy? Really happy?"
"Yes," you whisper. "More than I ever thought possible."
Lewis sighs deeply, running a hand over his face. "Come here, little sister."
You practically fall into his arms, tears flowing freely now. He holds you tight, like when you were kids and he would protect you from everything.
"I'm still mad at you," he mumbles into your hair.
"I know."
"And I still think you're crazy."
"Probably."
"But," he pulls back to look at you, "I love you. And I miss you. And if he ever hurts you, I'll end his career so fast-"
You laugh through your tears. "There's my overprotective brother."
"Someone has to look out for you," he wipes your cheeks gently. "Even if you make it incredibly difficult."
"I'm sorry," you say again. "For everything."
"I know," he kisses your forehead. "We'll figure it out. After today."
"About that…" you hesitate. "We're planning to go public. After the race."
Lewis nods slowly. "I figured something like that was coming. The way you look at each other isn't exactly subtle."
"You noticed?"
"YN, everyone with eyes has noticed. They're just too scared of your father to mention it."
You both laugh, and for a moment it feels like before - easy, comfortable, safe.
"Lewis?" you grab his hand. "Whatever happens today… I'm proud of you. Always have been, always will be."
He squeezes your hand. "Right back at you, little Wolff. Even if you have terrible taste in men."
"Hey!"
"I'm just saying, there are other drivers-"
"Goodbye, Lewis," you start walking away, but you're smiling.
"YN?" he calls after you. "For what it's worth… he better know how lucky he is."
An hour later, you're standing in the Mercedes garage, heart in your throat, watching the screens as though your life depends on it. In a way, it does. Six years of loving Max in secret, two years of running away from it all, and now here you are - watching the man you love fight your father's driver for the championship in the most intense finale you've ever witnessed.
When Nicholas Latifi crashes, everything changes. The safety car comes out, and suddenly the garage erupts with activity. Your father's voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and authoritative as he argues with race control. You've never seen him like this - the usual composed Toto Wolff replaced by someone desperately fighting against what feels like destiny shifting.
"No, no, no, Michael, that is so not right!" Your father's voice booms through the garage as the lapped cars are allowed through. You flinch at the fury in his tone, at the way he slams his headset down.
The final lap is unbearable. You watch Lewis getting hunted down by Max on fresh tires. Your nails dig into your palms, torn between family loyalty and the love you've kept hidden for so long.
When Max makes the pass, when he crosses the line as World Champion, the Mercedes garage falls silent. The contrast between the Red Bull celebrations on screen and the devastation around you is stark.
Your father looks destroyed, a mixture of anger and disbelief on his face. But it's Lewis who breaks your heart - the way he sits in his car, processing what just happened, the dignity with which he eventually emerges to congratulate Max.
You find Lewis in the drivers room a few hours later, away from the cameras. His eyes are red, his shoulders slumped in a way you've never seen before.
"Lew," your voice breaks.
He looks up, and suddenly you're both crying. You wrap your arms around him as he breaks down.
"It wasn't supposed to end like this," he whispers.
"I know," you hold him tighter. "I know."
You stay with him, through the protests, through the appeals, through the obligatory congratulations he has to give. You stay because he's family, because he needs you, because some things are more important than celebration.
Through it all, you catch glimpses of Max - being crowned champion, celebrating with his team, searching the crowd with eyes that keep finding you. But you stay where you're needed most.
Hours pass before you make it to Max's hotel. The celebrations are still going on somewhere, but he's in his room when you arrive, pacing like a caged animal.
"Where were you?" he demands as soon as you enter.
"I was with Lewis."
His face darkens. "Of course you were. Consoling the Mercedes garage while I won my first championship."
"Max, don't."
"Don't what? Don't be upset that my girlfriend wasn't there to celebrate with me? That she was too busy comforting the opposition?"
"That 'opposition' is my family!" Your voice rises to match his. "Lewis is like my brother, my father is devastated-"
"Your father?" He laughs bitterly. "The same father you've been lying to for years? The one we're supposedly telling about us after this race?"
"Are you seriously doing this right now?"
"When else am I supposed to do it? When you're ready? Because I've been waiting for you to be ready since 2015!"
The words hit like physical blows. "That's not fair. You know why I left in 2018, the way you cut me off like I was nothing, it tore me apart."
"Yeah, because it got too hard. Because loving me was too complicated." He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "And now here we are again. I just won the World Championship, and where were you? With them."
"They're my family!"
"And what am I?" He steps closer, eyes intense. "What are we, YN? Because right now it feels like I'm still your dirty little secret."
"That's not-"
"Then prove it. Let's go tell Toto right now. Let's end this charade."
"Today? After everything that happened? Are you insane?"
"Why not today? When will it be convenient enough for you? When will loving me not conflict with your perfect Mercedes family?"
Tears are falling freely now. "You're being cruel."
"No, I'm being honest. Finally." He sits heavily on the bed. "I love you. I've loved you through everything - through you leaving, through you coming back, through all the hiding and sneaking around. But I can't do this anymore."
Your heart stops. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I want all of you. Not just the parts that are convenient, not just the stolen moments between races. I want to celebrate with you when I win, hold you when I crash, build a life with you in the open." He looks at you, and you see the tears in his eyes too. "But I don't think you want that. Not really. Not enough to risk everything else."
"Max…"
"Go home, YN. Go console your father. Go be the perfect Mercedes daughter." His voice breaks slightly. "Just… don't come back unless you're ready to choose me. All of me. The rival, the champion, everything."
You stand there, frozen, both of you crying. Everything you've built, every secret moment, every whispered promise, feels like it's crumbling around you.
"I love you," you whisper.
"I know." He doesn't look at you. "That's never been our problem."
As you stand in the doorway of Max's hotel room, the weight of seven years of love, secrets, and choices bears down on your shoulders. The championship trophy gleams on the table behind him, a symbol of everything he's achieved and everything that's torn you apart.
Note: ITS BEEN SO LONG IM SO SORRY. Seeing ghost on Saturday really got me in the mood to write again. For my man phantom. I listened to Call It What You Want by Taylor Swift while writing this. I’m a bit rusty since it’s been a bit so I apologize in advance but please enjoy 🖤🖤
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You sat by yourself in the cafeteria with a book in your hand and a coffee in the other. It was one of those cheesy smutty-romance novels you couldn’t help but love. Maybe it was because you are in a desperate need of some romance yourself after your last relationship went downhill or maybe it was a great distraction. All of your so-called friends took his side of the breakup and left you in the dust. You couldn’t help but feel lonely sometimes but books were a saving grace.
Your face remained stoic as you read, getting lost in the words in front of you.
His fingers trace the shape of her body as her breath hitches. Stopping at the edge of her panties and gives her a smirk before he brings his mouth close and brings the fabric down with his teeth. She lets out a breathy moan as she feels his teeth grazing against her ski-
“Whatcha reading?”
A shriek escapes your lips and the book falls into your lap. You quickly cover your mouth at the noise you made. Heat radiates off your cheeks as you look up and see a ghoul. Your reflection staring back at you in the goggles of his mask.
You gape at him for a minute and remember he said something. He stares back in an almost giddy manner Slowly bringing your hand down from your mouth, “W-what?”
He grins sheepishly, “Your book,” he nods to your lap, “I was wondering what you were reading.”
Your blush returns and you wave it off, “oh, just some silly little romance novel.”
His grin turns into a teasing smile, “Sureee, that’s why you dropped it so fast.”
“You scared me!” You try to defend yourself but fail as a small smile fights through. His grin grows bigger and so does yours.
“I’m (Y/N),”
He stares at your hand in front of him. He places his in yours and shakes it slowly.
“Phantom.”
Your eyes glance behind him to see his tail waving in excitement. “You’re the new ghoul Papa summoned for the band, right?”
He grows shy, “Y-yeah.”
You sense his uneasiness and give him a gentle smile, “Well, I’m excited to see you play.”
His face lights up, “Really?” You nod and he grows excited, “I have been practicing with Sodo and I’m getting really good!”
You check the time and your eyes widen as you realize you're late for a meeting with Primo. You stand up and grab your book and coffee. “I’m really sorry, I have a meeting wit-”
Phantom grabs your wrist to stop you, “Do you think maybe I can play for you sometime?”
You’re surprised. An invitation to hang out with someone? It’s been so long. You give him a happy nod.
He jumps up, “Great!”
You begin to walk away before you turn around and give the ghoul one last smile, “It was nice to meet you, Phantom!”
His tail begins to wave back and forth in excitement as he gives you a wave goodbye.
Sodo stands next to him, getting hit with Phantom’s tail. He gives a shove to his side, “Cut it out.”
“Sorry.” Phantom gives him a sheepish grin.
“We got to work on that.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You and Phantom continued to see each other after the first guitar session. He showed you tricks he was learning to play on tour, his solos, and even offered to show you how to play to which you politely declined.
He would meet you at the library when he wanted to see you. He would find a book to read and the two of you would curl up in chairs next to each other in the back of the library. Your heart fluttered the first time you had glanced over and saw him entranced by the book in his hand. His mask laying on the arm rest next to him, you got to study his features. How his hair slightly covers his face or how he bites his lip when he reads. You smiled to yourself and continued to read.
The following library visits turned to him picking out cheesy romance novels for you to read, purely judging by the covers, and you picking out some books for him. You both share a couch now and end up with his head in your lap.
You run your fingers through his hair, reading the page. Bringing your hand up, you turn the page and Phantom lets out a whine at the loss of contact.
You don’t notice, too busy with the words in front of you. Your fingernails gently scrape against his scalp. He lets out a choked moan. Yet again you don’t notice.
After a while you put your book down and glance down at the ghoul. You sigh, “You have such pretty hair. I hope you know that.”
A blush grows on his face but looks up at you steady eyes, “Yeah, well, you have such a pretty face. I hope you know that.”
Your laugh fills the quiet back section of the library.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You were having a rough night. You had seen your ex and ex friends hanging out together and it triggered a panic attack.
You sat, hidden away in a back aisle of the library, with your knees to your chest. Keeping your head down, you count your breaths.
Footsteps approach you. They stop and the person sits down next to you.
Peaking, you see Phantom looking at you with a tilted head. You shake your head before hiding in your arms.
You hear him take off his mask and feel him nudge you.
Not getting anything from you, he pulls you into his side. He didn’t need to know what was wrong, he just wanted to be there. He began to trace shapes on your back.
After you have calmed down, you place your head on his shoulder. “Panic attacks suck.”
Phantom hums in agreement.
The two of you sat in silence for a while before you spoke up slowly, “Would you run away with me?”
It was quiet again. “Hypothetically,” you add.
He turns his head, “I would go to heaven and back with you.”
You stare at him with glistening eyes. You never wanted anyone more. You send Papa a quick ‘thank you’ in your mind for summoning this ghoul. You wanted nothing more than to lean in. Phantom smiles at you, “Hypothetically,” he adds.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You and Phantom were the only ones in the practice room. You both sat on the couch as he practiced. He seemed off today but didn’t know how. He seemed extra twitchy. He brought up teaching you how to play again.
“Come on, (Y/N)!” He pleaded. He slid off the couch and onto his knees. He’s in front of you on his knees. You’re definitely mentally freaking out.
You rolled your eyes. “I’m not good with my fingers,” You pretend to play as a joke, “See?”
He grabs your hands, “Yeah, but I am!” Your heartbeat quickens. Your mouth goes dry and you pray he doesn’t hear the thumping of your heart. He pleads again, “I can show you.”
You don’t even know what to say. Does he know what he’s doing to you right now? “I-..”
He slowly gets up, hovering over you. He licks his lips and whispers, “Please, (Y/N).”
He nuzzles his head against yours before your neck.
“You’re not talking about the guitar anymore, are you?” you breathed out shakily.
You feel him shake his head, “Please let me touch you,” he whines into your neck.
You’re so close to hyperventilating, you can barely hear what he said. He slides back down on his knees, his hands gripping your thighs as he looks back up with you with needy eyes.
You grab his face and lean down to kiss him. Another whine leaves his lips as you touch him. His skin almost burning to the touch.
The door suddenly opens and in comes Swiss and Sodo. You jump back embarrassed.
Phantom whips his head around to the other ghouls and growls. Your eyes widen at the sound.
“Well well well. What do we have here?” Swiss grins.
Sodo elbows Swiss hard in the stomach, “Calm down Phan, it’s okay.”
Quickly getting up, you apologize. You’re too embarrassed. You’re not sure what you’re apologizing for but it’s the only thing coming out of your mouth.
Grabbing your stuff, you head to the door, “I’m sorry,” you look at Phantom, “I’ll see you later, okay?”
He nods. Realization of what happened hits him and he feels just as embarrassed and guilty.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Papa announced they would be performing at the Abbey, you were unsure if you wanted to go. It had been a week since the practice room incident and you hadn’t seen Phantom since.
Your thoughts have been too loud since. Maybe you offended him somehow or maybe he didn’t like you anymore. You’d gone to the library everyday in hopes he’d show up. Maybe you’ve read too many romance novels to still have your hopes up.
It was the night of the ritual and Siblings around you were buzzing with excitement. It had been a while since Papa performed for the Abbey and would be the first time the two new ghouls were to be performing on stage. Primo had essentially threatened you to come after you mentioned you were unsure. Needless to say, the old man can be intimidating.
The room is crowded and you make your way to the back of the room. You keep your head low, not particularly in the mood to see your ex and ex friends.
You felt anxious enough. Not only for seeing Phantom but you were nervous for him performing. He’s practiced so hard the past few months. You only hoped the siblings loved him on stage as much as you do.
The lights dim and screams erupt as Papa and his ghouls emerge on stage. You see him. Your anxiety disappearing as he begins to play Kaisarion.
You cover your mouth to hide your smile. He’s doing amazing. He displays such confidence you haven’t seen in him yet. He looks like a daydream. Your daydream.
Throughout the concert, he has become a favorite with the siblings as he blows kisses to the crowd and shows off his tricks like playing the guitar under his leg. Copying Sodo as he performs to the crowd.
You were unsure if he had seen you as the ritual nears its end. But Phantom had seen you as soon as he came out on stage. A light shined on you and he nearly tripped over himself. He knew if he stared at you, he’d get distracted and mess up the song.
The ritual ends with Square Hammer. The crowd singing loudly, nearing screaming the lyrics. With the final note, Papa thanks everyone for joining them. You cheer loudly with your heart full of pride. You need to tell him.
Phantom puts his guitar down before jumping off the stage. He has his head down as he makes his way through the crowd. He didn’t want to waste another moment without you.
He lifts his head up seeing you, you give him a small smile and little wave. He reaches you, pulling down his balaclava that was covering his mouth.
“I’m sorr-” he shuts you up by pulling you into a kiss.
You’re in shock for a moment before placing your hands on his and kissing his back.
Slowly pulling away with a smile, you both catch your breath. Your hands find the bottom of his mask, taking it off before pulling him into another kiss.
For the first time in your life, you didn’t care what anyone thought of you.
He pulls away first and looks down at you, “Hi.”
You grin, still holding his hands, “Hi.”
Giving his hand a squeeze, “You were amazing. I’m so proud of you,” you emphasized.
His hands caress your face, “I’m so in love with you,” he confesses.
You beam, “I’m so in love with you.”
The two of you walk out, his calloused hand in yours.
“So was that like a scene in one of your romance books?” He teases.
Fox and the Hound (Paul Lahote x reader, Requested)
Pebbles (Paul Lahote x reader, Requested)
Headcannons: Visiting the Cullens’ house for the first time (Cullens x reader, Requestsd)
Headcannons: Taking Things to Heart (Cullens x reader, Requested)
———
I’ll write for about anyone from Twilight, though I’m more comfortable with the main cast since theres more about them in the source material! I’m open to requests, though I’m getting through them rathwr slowly due to school.
Currently, I’m only writing for Twilight, though I’m getting back into some older hyperfixations again and am considering writing for them, too :)
𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬:
I will not write for things like smut as of now
In the same vein, I won’t write “dark” themed things (like the whole “dark romance” stuff)
I’m always open to requests, and please be nice! I don’t have many hard boundaries for my writing, so despite my first two rules, feel free to request things! If I’m not comfortable with it, I’ll tell you and we can figure something else out/move on :)
I divert from cannon to make my story a bit better (esp regarding the Native American characters in Twilight). I do try to focus more on them as characters in the story so I don’t misconstrue the culture from which they were sourced, though.
Adding on to 4, if there’s something I didn’t portray right/that could be better, please let me know! Again, be kind, but I’m always open to improving my writing and my accuracy. Also, I try to comb over my work every few weeks to make sure I’m not missing any typos, but if you see some, lmk so I can fix them!
I’m creating a tag list since some people requested it, so if you want to be put on it, you can either DM me or comment!
You are extremely tired. Being mistreated, humiliated and talked down on the daily takes a toll on your body and you finally break down. There's not many people that would help you as you grieve the life you've lost and the life you might lose. But maybe some of them care about you more than you think.
Or: you decide to disappear for a while and some jerks miss you, part one. This will be a series~
You didn’t ask for any of that.
You didn’t ask for the dangers, the insults, the threats, the disrespect.
Funny, there used to be a time in your life in which you’d be thrilled at the idea of a magical world, hidden from most people. You’d run away from reality inside your mind and make yourself the main character of a world in which people could blast magic from their fingertips and, somehow you, plain old you, would attract the attention of the most powerful and most beautiful person in that world. And then something something happily ever after.
You’d never guess that the middle - the “something something” you’d skip thinking about, so you could jump into the end of the story where the happiness is already yours - was the worst part of everything. And that there was no beautiful, powerful person coming to sweep you off your feet and save you from all the hurt.
In fact, the most beautiful and most powerful were the ones hurting you the most.
You scoffed.
If they ever swept you off your feet, it would be to knock you down in the mud and let you fester there, alone.
You looked at your phone, grasping it tightly. It was pinging and pinging nonstop. Messages from Romeo and Jin, you’d guess, but you didn’t even want to look at the bland stock wallpaper of that phone that wasn’t truly your own.
You wondered for a second what happened with all your belongings when you got to the Academy. Everything was ripped from you and you didn’t even know why. You couldn’t log into your personal, old accounts and you couldn’t contact anyone you knew before. It was all gone.
You were plucked from your own life, like someone would pluck an infesting weed.
You wondered if anyone thought of you. Your family, your friends. Did the anomaly erase their memories of you? Did it take that away from you as well? Or was everyone thinking you vanished without a trace, your parents begging the police to find you and your friends sadly looking at the spot you used to sit at in your classroom, reminiscing about the things you used to like as if you were gone forever. And maybe you truly were.
You didn't know which was worse.
Suddenly, an idea popped into your head. You couldn’t log into your old accounts, but maybe you could try to look at them, as a guest.
You sat upright against a large tree in the middle of Jabberwock’s field.
You were hiding in there, being the only space in which you could feel safe and be left to your own devices.
Hotarubi was also welcoming, but you knew how Zenji would fret over you feeling depressed. Obscuary would also welcome you, but Lyca would never leave you alone, much less give you any space, if he knew you were sad like that.
Meanwhile, in Jabberwock, Haru was too busy, Towa wouldn’t speak because it was daylight and Ren was too emotionally constipated to feel like dealing with you, if he ever stumbled upon you there - which he wouldn’t. So Jabberwock it was.
You typed your old Twitter user on the search bar, feeling a wave of bitter nostalgia as you looked at the name that used to be so intertwined with your life. The page loaded slowly, since you were in the middle of nowhere and the internet was almost just a suggestion; and as the loading bar grew, your stomach churned inside of you, an uncomfortable feeling in the back of your throat setting in and reminding you that doing that was probably a very bad idea.
When you were about to close the tab, the page finished loading.
You were met with your old profile page. The already small following count seemed to be even smaller - people probably unfollowed you after all those weeks of inactivity - but that was barely registered on your mind. What caught your attention was the last tweet you had posted:
“Going to see the last show of my favorite band before they disband… this is the most tragic thing to ever happen in my life”
You blinked slowly, reading and re-reading the tweet you had posted on that accursed September 3rd in a loop.
And then you laughed.
You rested your head on your hands, phone flush against your forehead, and you laughed loudly, like you had just heard the funniest joke in the entire world.
And when the lump in your throat became too much for you to ignore, the laughter became a scream.
You screamed and screamed and screamed, as tears fell from your eyes in an endless flow.
You wailed like you hadn’t allowed yourself to do for all the time you’ve been in Darkwick. The grief came crashing down onto you mercilessly and you felt like you were drowning. You felt how your throat got hurt as you screamed, but the pain was nothing next to the weight of everything you had lost and everything you were going through.
You choked with your own saliva, retching painfully and feeling the metallic taste of blood, but the tears just wouldn't stop. You fell forward, curling into yourself and looked at the phone in your hand.
The irony of that tweet, the foreshadowing, was simply too much for you to handle.
You wanted to go back.
You needed to go back to that time in which the saddest thing happening to you was a stupid band disbanding.
You desperately wanted to go back to a time in which you didn’t have power hungry men insulting and humiliating you like you were lesser than human, calling you a servant, or a worm, or a bitch.
When you didn’t have a crazed psychopath threatening your life with a gun to your temple or a knife to your throat.
When you didn’t have a guillotine hanging upon your head every single moment of your life, tick-tocking with the reminder of your imminent death.
You watched your tears fall to the grass, alongside the drool from your lips as you kept on crying loudly. It felt like it would never stop. You had too many tears long unshed to be able to stop, even if your throat was destroyed at this point, with how much you screamed.
The sound of grass being quickly stomped reached your ears for a moment, but you felt too weak to look up. You just kept on crying and moaning, now that your voice was almost gone.
A hesitant hand touched your back.
“Dandelion?” Towa’s voice reached your ears and you jerked up, flinching at his touch.
He was crouched right before you and you watched as his eyes widened and his eyebrows knitted together, concern being clear on his face. You were probably a dreadful sight at that moment.
“Towa…” you tried to say but your voice sounded raspy and barely audible.
His hands gently rested on your shoulders as he kneeled. “What happened, Dandelion?”
You noticed how he was talking despite it being daylight outside. The sincerity of his worry and his touch made the tears quickly come back, and you realized how starved of comfort and gentleness you were.
You shaking hands grasped his shirt and you slowly pulled him towards you, silently asking for a hug. Towa immediately complied, shifting his position so he could hold you.
This time, your tears were silent. You sniffed and cried quietly, wetting the fabric of Towa’s clothes as he held you close, hands tracing circles on your back.
Despite Towa’s unpredictable nature, he was patient. You knew that meant a lot. He liked you enough to stay still and let you cry without explaining yourself.
After a while, you began feeling self-conscious about being a bother and you forced yourself to untangle from his embrace, sniffling and rubbing your puffy eyes. His hands followed you and he kept his tight hold on your arms.
“I’m sorry I cried so much.” you whispered.
Towa shook his head and his eyes still glinted with worry.
“What happened?” he repeated.
Your lips quivered, but you swallowed the tears, feeling the burn in your throat.
“I’m tired.” you said, looking down. He hummed, not really satisfied with your short answer.
“I heard you scream. You’re so far away from our house, it took me some time to find you. I thought you were getting killed.” he leaned down, trying to keep his face in your field of view, and he looked as sad as he possibly could.
You chuckled humorlessly.
“I’m sorry. It’s just… Today was too much.”
Towa stayed in that awkward position, and he blinked at you, patiently waiting for you to continue and you realized he wouldn’t just let you keep things to yourself.
You sighed, which came out with a ragged sound since your nose was stuffy, and straightened your back so he could change his position.
“Not everybody is like you or Haru. Most people are very mean in this place. And I’m sick of it. They hurt me intentionally even though I did nothing wrong. I'm tired of it” you tried summing it up as best as you could, because you knew you would probably cry again if you told him how terribly you had been treated on that specific day and why it was the straw the broke the camel's back.
He nodded.
“Yes, only Haru is nice. And you, Dandelion!” he smiled.
You smiled weakly, for what felt like the first time in a lifetime.
“Thank you, Towa. I really like you.”
Towa beamed at your words, hands gliding down your arms to hold your hands tightly.
“I love you, Dandelion!” he said, happily.
You knew he didn’t really mean it. Towa was, for some reason, obsessed with love and romance and you were pretty sure he would say it to anyone he liked. It did feel good to hear this after being so beaten down, though.
His face suddenly fell and he frowned.
“Let’s go to our house. You look sick. We can ask Haru to help you feel better!” he said, getting up and pulling you with him.
You knew there wasn’t any way to convince Towa to just let you be once he decided something, so you let him lead the way, taking clumsy steps behind him as you tried to find the strength to walk properly again.
Your potential death due to your curse was no secret, yet there was still a promise of time – time for you (and those who’re willing to help you) to find a cure, a solution to your plight.
No one expected your death to come so suddenly.
(Or, a look into how the Darkwick Academy ghouls may react to your passing)
You’re no stranger to tragedy, but your death still comes as a surprise to you. Perhaps you should’ve expected it, what with your luck continuing its downward spiral to misfortune. Maybe you should’ve expected someone who despised you to take matters into their own hands, deciding to rid this world of your existence before you became a disastrous anomaly – before you even had a chance to fight your fate.
Regret upon regret builds a castle inside your bleeding body. Apologies, confessions – all of them slowly die in your throat.
You should’ve expected it all.
But you didn’t.
So now you lay, your blood a perfect canvas to frame your loss of life.
Your sage’s ring glows dimly on your finger.
.
.
.
“The Honor Student has passed away,” the Masterpiece Newscasters proclaim, their monotone voice ringing clearly throughout Darkwick Academy. “The culprit is yet to be found. All residents are forbidden to leave the premises until the criminal is found.”
As the Masterpiece Newscasters continue to prattle on about the false information of the Honor Student’s – your – passing, Yuri can feel a headache erupt from behind his eyelids. He’s already slept less than the recommended amount today, he doesn’t need this added stress! There’s no way you’re gone, it’s just not possible. You so bravely faced that immortal anomaly after all, so how could you be dead?
Yuri Isami is only heading to your place of residence to put these bizarre rumors to a rest.
Even when he sees your crumpled body on the floor, Yuri doesn’t believe it – you must have chosen to sleep oddly!
Even when he feels the coldness of your skin, he doesn’t believe it – you just need a blanket!
Even when he doesn’t hear your heartbeat, he doesn’t believe it – you must be acting!
No, no, he has to be realistic. You’re definitely sick. He has to help you. He has to save you! He can save you! He’s the greatest doctor, after all! He can think of so many ways to save you. He can, if you just enhance his stigma, so why don’t you do it? Yuri clutches your hand in his, hands trembling.
“Why won’t you enhance my stigma, worm?” he mumbles. “You can do at least this much, can’t you? You have the opportunity to help the great Yuri Isami! It’s an honor!”
“Yes, it’s an honor to help you,” you had said, laughing. Yuri could be quite particular about laughs, but he didn’t mind yours because there wasn’t anything patronizing about it. “You’re amazing, Yuri.”
“Hmph, well, it’s good that you know your place,” he had responded haughtily. He wishes he could’ve told you how grateful he was that you believed in him. That you were interested in him and his research. That you cared for him.
Yuri’s grip on your hand gets firmer, the coldness of your skin seeping into his. He looks at your eyes, thinking of the way your eyes would light up when he would showcase his scientific discoveries.
He looks at your lips, remembering how you’d smile so grandly at him whenever you two would talk. He remembers how you’d learn what song he was humming just to hum with him.
He looks at your hand, recalling the warmth and strength he felt when he first held it. The way your hand shook due to your own fear remains engraved in his brain – the way that you supported him despite looking like you’d fall. You’ve been able to stand so long, haven’t you? You can’t be gone now.
“Jiro!” he calls, voice cracking. This surgery needs to be a success. He can’t – he won’t – hand you over to another researcher. “Bring the Honor Student to Mortkranken! They need treatment immediately!”
At Yuri’s call, Jiro immediately reaches for you, cradling you in his arms as he lifts you up. He’s never really been one to be gentle, especially in regards to corpses. As long as the corpse is intact, is there any reason to be “gentle”? Jiro doesn’t really think so. But, even so, Jiro can’t bring himself to manhandle you, tossing you around like he would anyone else.
As soon as he saw you on the floor, he wanted to gather you in his arms and carry you back to bed. He wanted to open up his suitcase and conduct your weekly health checkup. He wanted to ensure that you weren’t dead.
Unfortunately, Jiro is cursed with objectivity and he knows – knows – that there’s no way you’re still alive. He also knows that there’s no way to bring you back. Maybe if they had found you faster. Maybe if you were a ghoul. Maybe, maybe, maybe…
But it’s too late now, isn’t it?
He thinks about how you reacted whenever you saw blood and gore. He thinks about how much you fret over him and his injuries, even though he reassures you constantly. He thinks about the warmth of your palms.
He thinks about the ridiculous care you put into everyone.
“What’s this packet? I can’t eat solids,” Jiro had stated bluntly when you passed him a box. It was pink and cutesy, decorated with ribbons.
“It’s not a solid,” you said, grinning cheekily. “Look inside!”
Jiro looked at you blankly, but still did as you instructed. Yuri was strange, but you could be quite strange, too. “...Oh.”
“It’s chocolate milk! It should hopefully be easier to eat,” you beam at him. “Happy Valentine's Day, Jiro!”
Jiro cradles you closer to his chest, like you’re made of glass. You’re so cold, your skin feeling like his. He never thought that someone who was as warm-hearted as you could ever feel so desolate. “...I told you it’d be a problem for me if you died,” he murmured, softly, as he quietly trailed behind Yuri to head to Mortkraken.
When Rui hears the news of your passing, he’s pretty sure the world just stopped moving around him. He has to hear the news several more times to really come to terms with it. It’s unfair, he thinks, it’s so unfair.
You were fighting so hard. You were working so hard.
How could that come crashing down so suddenly?
It’s not fair. You of all people should’ve been able to live a long life. You of all people should’ve been able to be happy.
He tried so hard to stay away from you, to prevent him from accidentally killing you with his curse. You tried so hard to bring him comfort, despite the looming danger of his power. He’s flirted with plenty of people, but you’re the only person he’s ever thought he’d actually love to spend forever with. He cursed himself for those thoughts, knowing that longing for something that can’t be will only hurt him more. But there isn’t an easy end to longing.
“Sometimes, I wish I could’ve met you as a regular guy,” Rui had confided in you, one day, as the two of you sat in his bar. He swirled his wine, his cheeks slightly ruddy from the alcohol. “I guess you wouldn’t have given me the time of day if we had, though.” His laugh left his lips, hollowly bouncing around his glass as he took another sip.
“You’re drunk, Rui,” you had said, though your tone didn’t hold any malice. “...But sometimes, I wish I could’ve met you before our curses, too.”
This is why he couldn’t get over you, no matter how much he tried. This is why he couldn’t distance himself from you, no matter how much he tried. You drew him in closer and closer like a trap, and he was more than okay with being ensnared, even if he was scared of being hurt.
“Chuu!”
Rui blinked, surprised, as a cute teddy bear smooches him on the cheek.
“Sorry, you seemed distracted,” you hummed, making Rui laugh.
“Ah, yeah– yeah! Sorry about that,” he responded, “I def wasn’t trying to be.”
“I know,” you replied. “But you got to pay attention now, okay? I want you to meet someone!” You waved the teddy bear’s paw. “This is Honor Student Teddy!” Through your puppeteering, Honor Student Teddy offered Rui a hand, which Rui took with an amused look.
“You’re so cute.”
“Beep! Incorrect! The one that’s cute is Honor Student Teddy!” you said, looking away bashfully. Cute. “...So, I was thinking. Since we can’t touch, maybe we could use Honor Student Teddy as my replacement?” You grabbed Honor Student Teddy’s other hand, the one not in Rui’s grasp. “See? Doesn’t it kind of seem like we’re holding hands?”
Honor Student Teddy remains in Rui’s room, pampered and loved as it should be. As you should’ve been. A dry laugh escapes Rui.
“...Maybe this time, we can really hold hands.”
Blearily, Lyca opens his eyes, the sound of his phone buzzing waking him up. He sees that the message is from the blonde gigolo, which initially makes him annoyed. But Lyca has good instincts – his gut feeling is telling him to pay attention. So, instead of ignoring Rui, Lyca sleepily reads Rui’s texts.
His sleep soon evaporates from his being.
“It’s a lie!” he yells, jumping out of his bed and running to his bedroom’s door. There’s no way you’re gone. There’s no way he’ll never be able to smell your sweet scent ever again. There’s no way you won’t lay down with him and gently thread your fingers through his hair. There’s no way you won’t be able to draw together again. There’s just no way. There’s no way!
But even if Lyca wants to burst out of his bedroom, following your scent to find you, he can’t open the door. He can’t open the door to confirm if you’re really gone. He doesn’t want to go downstairs to see that you’re not waiting for him. He doesn’t want to go to the balcony where you’ll no longer be able to eat with him.
Lyca doesn’t want to lose you. Opening the door to the bedroom feels like he’ll lose you. Carefully, he goes back to his bed, where the blanket from Neros and the blanket from you lay side by side.
“Lyca!” you beammed, making Lyca tilt his head. You had a sweeter scent than usual today. Something that indicated that you were quite happy.
“What’re you so egg-cited about?”
“Heh.” You gave him a big grin. It was something he’d come to like seeing, especially since so many on campus gave him a grimace. “Ta-dah!” With a flourish, you presented Lyca with a soft blanket. “I got you a gift!”
Lyca frowned, looking at the blanket in confusion. “I already got one.”
“Yeah, I know,” you responded, not at all discouraged by the bite in Lyca’s tone. “It’s an extra one! I thought it’d be nice if you could have some more blankets. You can be twice as warm and cozy now!” There was a hint of hesitation as you say your next words, “I can take it back, though. Sorry, I guess I got ahead of myself.”
“...S’okay.” Lyca took the blanket from you, feeling cozier as soon as he touched the soft fabric. It smelt like you. He liked how you smelled – in some ways, it reminded him of home.
Lyca looks at the blanket on his bed, the one that you got him. He grabs it, softly, in his palms. He remembers your encouragement when he had told you that he’d work hard so that he could live with humans. You said he could do it and when you said it, he really did feel like he could. So, you can’t be gone yet. He needs you.
With a deep inhale, Lyca snuggles the blanket that smells like you because maybe, just maybe, he’ll be able to chase you and tell you not to leave him if he memorizes your scent.
Rui’s message about your death comes as a surprise to Ed even though he knows that human lives are fleeting – they’re fragile and easily broken. In some ways, that is why Ed has always thought that human life is so beautiful.
Still, he thinks your life would’ve been so much more beautiful if you had lived it to its full extent. If you could’ve continued to laugh like you had, if you could’ve continued to shine bright like you had – he thinks you’d have made the world a better place.
He’s lived for many years, yet the loss of someone he considers dear somehow still stings. He thought he managed to rid himself of such stinging emotions, yet it appears that even age does not make you immune to loss.
Or perhaps you're just one of those humans – one of those humans that make a lasting impact on those around them. But how could you not make an impact? After all, you were so hardworking, both for your sake and for others.
Who wouldn’t find you precious?
“Okay, Ed! Let’s watch some sad movies!”
Ed had texted you a few minutes ago, bemoaning his exhaustion. He hadn’t expected you to barrel into his room, a bag of snacks in your hand.
“My, my. What brought this on? Not that I am opposed, of course.”
“Well, you said you were tired, right? And you also said you drink tears, right? Well, I brought over some movies I’ll definitely cry to!” you gave him a confident grin. “Don’t worry, Ed. You’ll feel better really soon!”
“How reassuring,” he mused, welcoming you into his messy room. Rui had cleaned it up a few days ago, but Ed found it quite difficult to maintain cleanliness. You didn’t comment on it as you made your way over to him, settling yourself by his side. It was quite cozy.
Laying in his bed isn’t quite as cozy if you’re not there, he realizes. He scrolls through the videos you’ve sent him, imagining how you reacted to these videos. It is reassuring in some ways to have remnants of you left behind, but the pain that he can now only reach you through the remnants of your memory leaves him feeling vacant.
“Being with you really does bring up old, old memories,” he muses. “Perhaps it’s because you remind me a little of her.”
He wonders if there’ll be anyone who reminds him of you.
Not everyone who dies becomes a ghost. Yet, deep inside, Zenji had hoped that you’d have turned into one like him. He had hoped that you’d be able to spend time together, finally being able to hold your hand in his. However, he knows that it’s a selfish desire, one that cannot come true. He scoured the entire campus for any sign of your soul, after all, and came up empty handed.
He wishes that you could’ve been alive instead, then.
He’d rather live by your side, unable to touch you, than not be able to see you at all.
He’d rather you live your life like you want to, happily.
He wishes he could’ve done something more for you – after all, you’ve done so much for him. He’s a ghost, someone that most don’t know the existence of. Yet you made sure to greet him and spend time with him whenever you had time. You’ve been a source of his inspiration, his muse, because of how much you make his heart swell with joy.
He is an artist, so creating is in his blood. However, how do you create when you lose a piece of your hope? How do you create when you lose your source of inspiration?
“My dear, what do you think about this piece?” Zenji had asked, flourishing his biwa with grandeur.
“It’s great!” you said, earnestly. “I especially like how it felt like a full narrative – I got so tense when the biwa’s sound got deeper in the middle, just like the climax of a story!”
“Astute observation, my dear! That is indeed what I was aiming for.” Zenji couldn’t express the unexplainable joy that blossomed inside his heart when he heard your praise. You were a beacon of light that shined in the desolate lands. You were the purple wisteria that danced from the tree branches over the Hotarubi lake. Your beauty, your kindness – it was all so beautiful to him. He felt like the moon to your sun. “I really am the luckiest fella around.”
And now, he’s the unluckiest fella around, Zenji thinks. You’re no longer by his side. You’ll never be by his side, at least, not in this lifetime. The thought makes Zenji’s heart throb painfully. “Maybe we really did meet too late,” Zenji murmurs, watching wisteria petals float around the lake. “But it’s all right. I promise I’ll find you in the next life.”
Haku can’t say he’s ever been too happy to be able to see ghosts. Sure, Zenji’s fun to be around and it’s not like his ability really harmed him in any way, but he can’t really think of many times he’s been glad to have his ability. When he hears of your death, denial is the first thing that settles in his brain. Then, the grief follows. But hope blossoms in a corner of his mind. He can see ghosts – maybe he’ll be able to see you? Hope glimmers in the corner of Haku’s heart as he tries to find you.
The glimmer soon dies out, however, because it’s all for naught. Not everyone becomes a ghost. It was foolish of him to think that you’d have become one.
But then what’s the point of his power – his stupid ability to see ghosts? What’s the point of it if he can’t even see the one he wants to see?
Haku feels like it’s all a big practical joke from the universe, and he wants to be in on it because he’s failing to see what’s so funny.
Living an ordinary life, dying an ordinary death – that’s something you deserved to experience, and now you’re gone. It’s an inexplicably painful feeling that stabs at his heart. How is he supposed to fill the hole you left behind?
“I don’t know if this is a good idea…” you murmured, looking shy.
“You look beautiful,” Haku said, easily, a teasing grin on his face at how flustered you looked. His words were far from teasing, though. They were filled with an earnest praise of how gorgeous you looked decorated in white. Just seeing you in wedding attire made him think that it’d be a shame if anyone else got to see how beautiful you looked, but also a shame if no one else got to see. A weird balance of wanting to show you off, yet wanting to keep you to himself lingered inside him.
“Sure, sure,” you grumbled without any bite. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Thanks for agreeing to help, by the way,” Haku said, offering you his hand to take. You took it gratefully, before you shook your head with a laugh.
“It’s nothing. I’m glad I can help your junior in some way, though.”
“Yeah, she really appreciates your help.”
“Good.” The satisfaction on your face made you glow with a sort of shine one could only find in gold. It was precious, it was soft, it was so darling that Haku wanted to make sure that you continued to glow and shine forever. Even if it meant that you weren’t by his side (even though he so desperately wanted you by his side).
“...I know I’m being selfish – but sometimes, I wish you’d forget about me…” he murmured, low enough that he hoped you wouldn’t hear it. You gave him a glance, only squeezing his hand in response. He wasn’t sure how to interpret your reaction, but a part of him wants it to indicate that you wouldn’t ever forget him, even if forgetting him would most likely make you happier.
It’s hard to balance the desire of being remembered and the desire of being forgotten.
He wasn’t sure what he was feeling.
“But I guess that doesn’t really matter now, does it?” Haku muses, looking at the skies above. Stars sprinkle the navy-colored sky like diamonds. He can only hope you’re out there, shining.
From the age of four, Subaru was molded to perfect the performing arts. A child star, a prodigy – those are the titles given to him. He never feels like he deserves that praise – he’s not sure if he’ll ever feel like he deserves that praise. After all, growing up, anxiety was his most reliable companion, following him everywhere he went. How can he not doubt himself?
Yet while he breathed the performing arts, he’s developed mannerisms most around him find peculiar and odd. It’s hard not to think of himself as a bother when he can’t seem to blend into society as well as he’d like.
Because of his oddities, he never thought he’d ever be able to have a normal school life. Somehow, however, he's able to come to Darkwick Academy, experiencing pleasant social interactions due to the kindness of the people around him – people like yourself. You’re someone who Subaru can find a semblance of comfort in, despite his anxiety.
He knows he’s probably annoying you, but you’re always there, always so patient. You don’t make fun of him for his discomfort, nor do you push him beyond his boundaries. Instead, you patiently wait for him, allowing him to walk alongside you at his pace.
So when Subaru hears the news that you’re no longer with the living – no longer with him, he can't stop his mind from spinning. You’ve always been someone that waited for him patiently, yet now you’ve gone off by yourself to somewhere he can’t reach.
Emptily, he looks at the sakura mochi on the shelf – he had bought it for you. You’d eat his meager offerings with gusto, even if not all of them suited your palette.
He’s not sure how he’ll stomach some of the food he’s eaten with you from this point onwards. You’re not here physically, only your memories lingering in the ingredients of his meals. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to stomach the food you’ve made for him if someone else makes it, either.
“I’m sorry,” he had said, running up to you, out of breath.“I didn’t mean to be late.”
“You’re not!” you responded cheerily, patting the spot next to you. “Come, sit!”
“Thank you.” Gingerly, Subaru took the spot next to you, placing his hands on his lap. You peered at him curiously.
“Where’s your lunch, Subaru?”
“Ah.” Subaru ducked his head in embarrassment. “I ended up not being able to get anything.” Despite making you wait, despite his best efforts, he just wasn’t able to secure anything. How shameful. “But it’s all right. I can drink water for lunch.”
“No, don’t do that,” you chastised, lightly. “I actually packed my own lunch today because I thought it’d be busy everywhere. I packed a lot, so why don’t we share?”
“Ah–” Subaru looked at the delectable way your lunch box was crafted. “No, I’d hate to intrude.”
“You aren’t intruding, Subaru.” You nudged one of your lunchboxes into his hand along with some chopsticks. “I’m offering! I’m actually pretty happy with how some of these came out. Won’t you try some?”
At the delicious smell of your lunchbox, Subaru’s stomach let out an embarrassing growl. His face flushed, mortified, but you made no comment on it, instead offering your lunch again. “Well, if you insist,” he murmured, finally taking a box from you.
Once he took you up on your offer, you dug into your own lunch. Though, Subaru couldn’t help but notice how you’d glance at him nervously. It was kind of cute.
Not wanting to waste your kindness, Subaru took a bite of the lunch, before his eyes widened with glee. “This is delicious!”
“Whew– I mean, great! I’m so glad,” you beamed. “If you tell me some of your favorite food, I can try to make it for you! I can’t guarantee it’ll be as good as Sho’s, but I can try!”
“I couldn’t ask you to,” Subaru responded, bashfully. The thought that you cared for him was enough to satisfy him. “I would hate to be a bother.”
“You’re never a bother, Subaru.” Your voice was so kind, so soft and genuine that Subaru didn’t really know how to react.
“Really?” Disbelief laced his voice. He hated being a bother but always felt like he was. He knew that you were already spending your precious lunch with him when you could spend it with anyone else. There wasn’t any way you’d care about him to that extent, right?
“Subaru?” you asked, concerned.
“I just can’t believe it – why…” Subaru paused, suddenly hit with a bout of embarrassment. “Ah– I don’t want to seem like I’m testing you, I just… I get really anxious sometimes… I’m sorry. I’m being weird, aren’t I?”
“You’re not.” Your voice rang clear inside the storm in Subaru’s head, letting sunshine stream through the clouds. “I’ve never thought you were a bother. I actually really enjoy my lunches with you.”
“Really?”
“Yup! So if I’m not too much of a bother, let’s eat more lunches together!”
Subaru had promised, promised that he would. He promised that you’d always eat your lunches together because that’s what he sincerely believed. He believed that you two would be able to bask underneath the sunrays, seated on your favorite bench, laughing.
He wants to believe that you’ll still be able to eat together. He wants to believe so desperately. Because who else could bring him the comfort you did? Who else will patiently wait for him to catch up, gently guiding him when he needs it?
But now you’re gone – you’re gone. You won’t be able to come back. It tears at Subaru because his anxiety and inferiority complex tell him that it’s his fault – that he could’ve done something, anything, to save you.
Why couldn’t he save you?
Why couldn’t you have been saved?
The room that Subaru is in feels too big for him as it slowly fills with his grief.
According to Article 230 in the Japanese penal code, “a person who defames another by publicly alleging facts shall, regardless of whether such facts are true or false, be punished with penal servitude or imprisonment not to exceed three years or a fine of not more than 500,000 yen.” Doesn’t Darkwick know that? Why would Darkwick allege such odd things like your death, Ritsu wonders. Still, he’ll record what the Masterpiece Newscasters are saying – after all, it’ll be useful to leverage against Darkwick when he takes you to argue his cases.
There is little he finds more important than being able to argue his cases, which indicate his proficiency. He needs to be proficient in order to be able to become a fantastic lawyer like his father – this has always been his goal. Even after meeting you, it’s been his goal.
Some may have thought that you would’ve been a distraction for Ritsu, but he’s certain that your presence in his life has been for the better. You’re a fantastic business partner, being perfect to bounce his ideas off of. It’s admirable that you’ve taken on the mantle of ridding yourself of your curse, too. Ritsu finds that most people aren’t that hard working or really worth his time (unless they’re clients), but you’re different. You’re worth his time.
“Could I ask you to accompany me a little longer?” he had asked one day as you’re about to leave the diner. “I realize it’s outside of business hours, but… I would appreciate it if you could make a special exception.”
“Oh?” you looked surprised, though it was soon replaced with a smile. Your smile was something Ritsu appreciated seeing nowadays – something that felt like visible proof of Ritsu’s hard work. “Yeah, sure! I have time. What do you need?”
“I have to go over a few notes,” Ritsu responded, passing a notebook over to you. “I’ve already gone through these once, but I’d appreciate it if you could go through it, too. It’ll prove beneficial for you.”
“Yeah, sure, leave it to me!”
Your eagerness to help Ritsu cemented the fact that you were the right choice for his business partner. As the hour slowly trailed on, the both of you focused on your respective reading, Ritsu found that he didn’t quite mind spending time with you like this, outside of business hours. He found your presence calming, yet also helpful – he found it easier to focus when you were around.
It was nice. Even as the two of you began to wrap up, Ritsu wasn’t in as much of a hurry to disappear.
“I’ll take your thoughts into consideration,” Ritsu said as you two left the diner. The night sky stretched out beautifully above you two. Ritsu had never noticed it before.
“Sounds good!”
Ritsu cleared his throat, offering you a hand to shake. You shook his hand without much preamble. He appreciated it. “It seems we make better business partners than I would have expected. I look forward to a long and prosperous relationship with you.”
“Likewise.”
He still thought about the smile you’d given him that night, bright like the moon. It was a smile that made it obvious that he had someone by his side to support him – someone that he can support in return.
So, there’s no way you’re gone. Not when you have him as a business partner. That’s a ludicrous thought.
Still, he can’t seem to shake the ill feeling from his body. Why aren’t you responding to your texts? You’re usually quite timely unless something has come up. Something…
No, there’s no way you’re gone. There’s just no way.
Ritsu’s grip on his briefcase tightens.
He feels like he’s going to be sick.
Romeo wants to scream, so he does. “Everyone, leave!” His voice echoes in his room, his workers trying to scramble out of Romeo’s wrath. With a frustrated string of curses, Romeo collapses on his expensive chair, the one encrusted with diamond – the one that you’d complimented.
Romeo truly, utterly, feels sick. He feels annoyed. He feels disgusting. His perfect porcelain skin is marred with wrinkles, a frown deep set in his face. How dare you – how dare you have the audacity to leave him. He never gave you permission to do things like this, so how could you go away? He’s always known you were bad at following directions, but this is too much, even for you.
No.
What’s too much is that someone, someone, thought that they could come in and take you from him. How dare they! They didn’t even get permission from him! They didn’t… So why would they? They can’t take you away from him, not when you’re the only one that listens to him. Not when you’re the only one who seems to care about not making wrinkles appear on his face. Not when you’ve been doing your best.
It’s not fair. It’s just not fair.
“Why are you carrying that?! What if you drop it and it breaks?” Romeo exclaimed, watching you carry a very expensive vase.
“Ah – I heard you say that the guys who’re supposed to move this haven’t done their job, so I thought I could help!”
Help?! Romeo couldn’t help but look at the way your arms trembled with the weight of a price that far exceeded your budget, doubt coloring his face. “I’ll get one of our young guys to do it, so put it down already!”
You huffed, putting the vase down carefully, with a defeated sigh. “Sorry, I just wanted to help.”
“Help where you’re actually useful,” Romeo grumbled, crossing his arms. If those idiots that he’d asked to move the vase actually moved the vase, then he wouldn’t be in this predicament. “Those WTWUT make my life much harder.”
“Wall-to-wall useless trash, huh?” you mused. Romeo thought that amusement looked good on you – it gave you a cocky look that suited you. If only everyone else could be like you, then he wouldn’t be as stressed as he was.
“I need a face pack,” he muttered.
“Do you want me to get it for you?”
“Hm. Sure.” Romeo paused. “Get one for yourself while you’re at it.”
“Me?” you looked at him with curiosity and shock written across the apples of your cheeks.
“Who else?”
“I just… I dunno. Do you think it’s okay?”
“Of course. What could you possibly be afraid of?” Romeo asked. “You’re one of my people! Who’s going to say anything?”
You looked contemplative, before a light smile crossed your features. “That’s true. I guess no one can really say anything to you.”
Your words make him feel powerful. Your actions do, too. When he’s with you, he feels like the world is in his palms. But now he’s without you. Now, he’ll always be without you.
Anger thrums through his veins.
You’re one of his people. How dare they take you away from him? Romeo won’t stand for it. He’ll snipe down the bastard that did this to him – that did this to you.
“You BTH!” Romeo yells, storming into Taiga’s room with the fury of a thousand bulls. “You’re still lazing around?”
Taiga doesn’t respond, twirling a gun in his hand. He’s not entirely in his right mind right now, but he can still pick up “revenge” and “snipe” among the various words Romeo spews.
“You better do your part,” Romeo hisses, finally deciding to leave Taiga alone. Maybe Romeo would’ve stayed longer to nag at Taiga if Romeo were in a better state of mind. Taiga can’t really bring himself to care at the moment, though, his own state of mind is a jumbled mess.
Flashes of memories, flashes of thoughts – they alternate inside his head, before phasing out of existence. He’s not sure when it started, but his mind has been deteriorating, memories floating in and out of his head. What most would consider “common sense” is also something Taiga has been losing grasp of.
Even in spite of that, somehow, you’ve made your way into his brain, like a little parasite that burrows into his thoughts. He didn’t think he could remember someone – not in his current state of mind, anyway. He didn’t think he could form an attachment to you either, not with how he just doesn’t want to care anymore. The world’s going to burn, everything unfurling into a messy pile of futures that could be and won't be. It’s all messed up, it’s all gonna be messed up. Yet, somehow, despite all that, Taiga can’t help but think of you as some source of light, a beacon of hope that he kept around to stop him from completely drowning in the dark murkiness of the future.
“That’s it, kitty-cat,” he had said, placing you in his lap as he prepared to play another round of blackjack. “I feel like my luck’ll change if you’re around.”
“I don’t know about that,” you responded, watching as the dealer handed out everyone’s cards. You fidgeted in his lap like a cute little cat, clearly trying to break your discomfort.
“Quit failing around,” Taiga said, looking at his cards. To Taiga’s amusement, you settled in his lap to the best of your abilities, leaning into his chest. He pulled you closer, as he continued to play blackjack.
The longer he played, the more he felt some odd sense of peace with you snuggled in his lap. Your smell and warmth wrapped around him like a little security blanket. In some ways, it made him want to consume you wholly until you couldn’t think of anything else that wasn’t him. It made him hungry.
But now, there’s a hollow feeling inside of him, something that bypasses physical hunger. He hungers for your soul that’s now no longer here. The pitch-black murkiness of the future spreads even further across his eyelids, being the only thing he can see. Fate has dealt him a bad hand that he had tried to win against.
He never could win, though, could he?
“Tell me something, would you?” Taiga laughs in his empty room, eyes staring at the ceiling. He searches and searches, but can’t find any sight of you. “What could I have done different to change this outcome?”
Ren has always thought that coming to Darkwick Academy was a mistake. His experience didn’t exactly start off nicely, what with him being sorted into Jabberwock and having to deal with the annoying Jabberwock captain. All those stupid anomalous animals made it so that he rarely had time to himself, even if he tried his best to lock himself in his room.
Still, there’s a silver lining to everything. Sure, Towa keeps trying to feed some odd looking porridge. Sure, Haru is still meddlesome and annoying. But they’re… not bad. And you’re here, so it’s kind of okay.
He’s always thought that people doing annoying things for the sake of friends or whatever were delusional – frankly speaking, he could care less. Yet, when he looks at you, he thinks that maybe there are people out there who do things because they want to. Initially, you’d been somewhat of a doormat to him, but then he realized that your voluntary help came because you care about others – about him.
He can’t count the number of times you’ve come to help him out, whether it’s with the anomalous animals or a raid in his new game. You’ve just… always been there. He didn’t think it was possible, but your constant presence had carved out a you-shaped hole in his life, a place only you could fit.
So how’s he supposed to fill that emptiness now? It’s all your fault, Ren thinks. If only he hadn’t met you… but then, if he hadn’t met you, he doesn’t think he could’ve survived.
“Well done me for surviving another day…” Ren had grumbled, dusting his jumpsuit off. He hated getting dirty, but it wasn’t like he could avoid it in Jabberwock, especially if Haru was going to hound him continuously.
“Good job, Ren!”
He looked up, seeing how you still looked cute despite the mud and disheveled hair. He found it kind of unfair. “Oh, same to you,” he said. “I don’t know how you can do this stuff voluntarily.”
“The animals are cute and you guys need the help,” you replied, waving at him to bend down. “Ren, there’s some mud on your face. Do you mind if I wipe it off?”
“Huh? You’re the type who does this kind of stuff, huh?”
“Ah, sorry–”
“No, you can,” Ren said. It wasn’t like he gave you permission to help him because he wanted to feel your touch, though. It was because he couldn’t stand the mud on him. Yup. That was definitely the reason. Still, even then, he couldn’t help the way his heart thudded against his chest as you gently wiped the grime off of his face. “It’s from that stupid bull anomaly kicking dirt in my face, isn’t it?”
“I think that’s when it happened, yeah,” you responded with a laugh. “But I’m here if you need me, so I can help you.”
Ren didn’t know what to say to your honest desire to help him, it was oddly sweet of you. You had been his only real source of comfort, what with everyone else wanting so much from him. You were the only one who watched his B-horror movies with him – the only one who’d game with him.
“There, all done! Let’s go back to the dorms. I’m sure you’ll feel better after a shower.”
“...Thanks,” he muttered, walking with you back to the Jabberwock dorms. The skies were painted shades of pink and purple, the sun ready to head to bed.
“Even though it’s hard work, it’s nice to be able to see the sunset, huh?” you hummed. Ren liked the sound of your voice – not too loud like Haru’s and not too incomprehensible like Towa’s.
“Yeah.” He breathed in deeply, feeling the fresh air purify his lungs. “Every day here is a fresh hell, though.”
“Aw, Ren,” you laughed. “Yeah, it’s pretty hard work, huh?”
“...Yeah. But, you’re suffering through it with me, so I guess I’ll stick it out for a little longer…”
But how’s he supposed to stick it out now? You’re not here anymore. You’re not going to be there to help him. You’re not going to be there when he wants to watch his B-horror movies or play games. You’re not going to be there when he buys you a drink as he walks you home.
You’re not going to be here. And he didn’t even get to say goodbye…
Ren’s always been bad at goodbyes – he couldn’t even wish Calamari farewell. But he’d have rather been able to say something to you since he’s not going to be able to say anything to you ever again now. Never, ever again.
Ren doesn’t know how he’s going to survive.
Ever since Towa found out about your death, the skies in Jabberwock have been marred with thick clouds and thunder. His precious, precious Dandelion – how can you be gone? You can’t be gone yet. You haven’t told him all the love stories you had in your arsenal. You haven’t tried all the flowers Towa wants to offer you. You haven’t shown him all the reactions you’ve stored away for him to slowly bring to the surface.
You can’t be gone just yet, he won’t allow it.
Murkiness swims inside Towa’s heart as he grapples with the anger and sadness that fight and merge into an incomprehensible seed of emotion that is planted deeply within Towa’s heart. Should he just strike everyone down? You’re not here, so as long as he avoids Haru, it doesn’t matter who he hurts. It’s not like he particularly cares about anyone else on campus anyway.
But he can’t allow his emotions to explode out of him just yet, not when the tree on the hill is dying. You care about that tree as well, after all.
But then where is he supposed to spill his anger? His grief? Where does it all go?
Is this what love is? This agony?
Towa hasn’t ever really been certain about what “love” is.
“Well, love can be a lot of things,” you had said, laying by his side on the hill with the tree. You were enraptured with the stars, but Towa couldn’t help but look at you. You were so much like a dandelion, your resilience and strength shining through despite your troubles. And you were cute like a Dandelion. Your voice was nice, too, like the wind that carried dandelion seeds across the world. “Like… there’s romantic love, platonic love, familial love, and all of that, you know? Even within romantic love, it can be a lot of different things.”
“Like what?” Towa asked, making you hum in thought.
“Uh… like soulmates, I guess? Some people meet their soulmates, some don’t. But even if you don’t meet your soulmate, you can still find someone you romantically love. Maybe you’ll meet your soulmate but not realize they’re your soulmate too. It’d be hard to tell, right?”
“When you meet your soulmate, it feels like getting struck by lightning. Did you know that? Have you felt it, Dandelion?” Towa’s words made you turn your head towards him, finally paying attention to him instead of the stars. Towa liked the way you looked at him.
“I don’t think I have,” you responded, truthfully. “But I’m not in a rush. I’m sure I’ll find the person I love, even if they’re not my soulmate. Hell, maybe anyone can be your soulmate. Maybe soulmates are made when you love and grow with each other. Who knows?” A yawn escaped your mouth as you finished your thought.
“Heh heh.” Towa’s eyes crinkled at the sight. “Are you tired, Dandelion? You’re so weak. It’s cute.”
“Hey!” you laughed. “I’m getting stronger, y’know.” Flexing your arm, you show off a small bit of the muscle you’ve been building up. Towa couldn’t help but be amused at your little display of strength, miniscule in front of his own power. It was hard not to find it cute that you tried to carry so many burdens on your shoulders despite your own weaknesses. Towa could only surmise that your resilience came from the love within you. He hoped that he could be a part of that love inside of you.
“Do you like me, Dandelion?” Towa inquired, smile bright. “Because I love you!”
Towa doesn’t fully know what love is – it’s an idea he’s always been in love with, but has no experience and understanding of. You’re the closest he’s ever gotten to potentially finding the answer he’s been looking for. But now you’re gone. He doesn’t know how he’ll understand love now.
He hugs the great tree on the hill, tears trickling down his face.
When the little mermaid turned into seafoam, did she feel this way too?
Haru is always busy. He wakes up busy and sleeps busy. Nothing ever seems to stop for him, time constantly slipping through his fingers like sand no matter how fast he runs.
So why did time have to stop for you?
Even as Haru makes his rounds, Towa’s lightning in the backdrop as he works, he can’t seem to keep his mind busy enough to not think of you. Thoughts and memories of you run around his head again and again and again. They run so fast that he can’t seem to catch up.
So Haru does what he can do to maintain routine. At the very least, maintaining routine should help him adjust, shouldn’t it? But as he carries out his daily chores, all he can think about is how you’d help him around Jabberwock. How you would give him sweets to amp up his energy. How you loved Peekaboo like it was your own.
“Boo…” Peekaboo says, aware of the tenseness and wariness on Haru’s shoulders – aware of the fact you’re no longer there. Peekaboo’s tears make your death weigh even heavier on Haru’s heart as he cuddles the small beast in his arms.
“You sure are fond of the Honor Student, aren’t you, Peekaboo?” Haru had asked, looking at how Peekaboo cuddled up against your chest as you fed it. “You did nothing but bite me for the first three days after we met.”
You laughed brightly, releasing a sound that Haru was quite fond of. “The only reason Peekaboo’s not biting me is because it’s used to you, you know.”
“You reckon?” Haru responded, reaching out to pet Peekaboo who welcomed the touch.
“See? Look at that. Peekaboo loves you so much.” You gave Peekaboo a kiss on its cute fluffy forward, making the small anomalous animal make happy little squeaks. “You like your dad quite a bit, don’t you?”
The sight of you and Peekaboo together made Haru’s heart warm. He was constantly managing things by himself that he never really expected to find a stable support system. Towa, while competent, could be quite moody. Ren, too, while able bodied, refused to do a lot of the work. So, of course, work always fell on Haru’s weary shoulders. He never expected to find someone that could provide him the support he needed – like the other parent of Jabberwock. “Then you’re a bit like Peekaboo’s mother, eh?”
“I wouldn’t mind – not when my child is as cute as Peekaboo!” you replied brightly, patting Peekaboo’s back to allow it to burp. After releasing a burp too large for such a small animal, Peekaboo cuddled into you, satisfied. You hummed out a little tune as you rocked the little anomalous animal to sleep. Seeing you made a smile stretch across Haru’s face.
“Really learned the ropes here, haven’t you?” he said, gently ruffling Peekaboo’s fur. “Once we have a little cash to spare, I’ll buy you your own Jabberwock uniform!”
You’d no longer need it, though, Haru thinks, thumb brushing against the fabric of the Jabberwock uniform he had gotten for you. While you aren’t officially a part of the Jabberwock House, it’s hard not to feel like you belonged.
But you’re no longer here – you no longer belong to the living, so how could you belong to Jabberwock? Haru wishes that you were still here, though. It hasn’t even been a day, but he already misses you. Even if you couldn’t help him out every day, just getting a text message boosted his spirits. Just thinking about the fact that you’d help him with Jabberwock duties and his personal issues helped him get through his cumbersome day.
You were someone he could depend on and he wanted to be someone you could depend on. But, in the end, he couldn’t protect you.
His responsibilities sit heavily on his shoulders.
Sho has always kept himself busy. Whether it’s cooking, playing sports, training, or something else, Sho has always liked to do something. Maybe that’s why he’s in the kitchen, cooking your favorite meal, while he tries to process what the Masterpiece Newscasters had prattled on about earlier.
You’re dead?
There’s no way. You can’t be.
He thinks back to the first case you worked on together, the one with Takeru. He had failed to protect you then and vowed he wouldn’t put you in the way of danger like that again. So how? Why?
Who killed you?
Sho slams a fist on the kitchen counter, lips pressed in a thin line. Frustration bubbles inside him as curses leave his lips in rapid succession.
You can’t be dead. You can’t. Not when you’ve been working so hard. Not when you’ve been doing everything in your power to survive. Not when you’ve inspired and helped him to the point that he still feels like he has to repay you. Not when he hasn’t done or told you everything he wants to.
“Fuck!” he yells, slamming his fists on the kitchen counter once more.
You jolted when he yelled a curse, slamming a fist on the wall.
“Shit, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Sho said, sheepishly rubbing the nape of his neck. You were fun to tease and get reactions out of, but that didn’t mean he wanted to scare you.
“What’s the matter, Sho?” you asked, putting down your knife. “Tell me. I might be able to help you.”
“It’s nothing,” Sho started to say, before the look on your face made him stop. He snorted at how displeased you looked. “It’s just that some back order stuff got delayed. I won’t have enough forks for tomorrow.”
“Oh, is that it?” you asked, looking relieved. “I have a bunch of plastic forks back at the cathedral, actually. Do you want me to get them?”
“Huh? Why do you have a bunch of plastic forks laying around?”
“Uh… let’s just say that I had some ordering issues.” You waved a hand to dismiss the question. “Anyway! I can go get them.”
“Nah, let’s go together.” He shuffled around, before pulling out a helmet and tossing it to you. “Here, this helmet’s for you.”
“Oh, this one looks awesome!” you beamed, turning the helmet around in your hands. It was in your favorite color with your favorite patterns. Sho huffed out a laugh at your response. You were so cute sometimes.
“Glad you like it. C’mon.” He pushed the door to the food truck open with his foot. “Let’s go.”
“Okay!”
“After this,” he began, closing and locking the door once you were both out of the food truck, “I got some time today, so I’ll take you somewhere. Anywhere you wanna go.”
He still remembers the way your arms felt around his waist as you clung to him while he drove. He still remembers the way your eyes sparkled watching your favorite scenery. He still remembers how his heart pounded in his chest, the feeling of liberation lifting his spirits, as he drove through the streets with you clinging to him.
Your determination has always felt like freedom to Sho – it’s what inspired him to put more effort into his life at Darkwick. It’s what inspired him to take things more seriously.
But maybe he should’ve taken things more seriously when he had the chance. Now that you’re gone, so is his chance to prove himself to you. You've gone somewhere too far, somewhere no one else can reach.
This isn’t the freedom he had envisioned for you.
Whenever Sho gets too emotional, Leo is quick to make fun of him. It's stupid to get too riled up, Leo thinks. The world is boring and easy to manipulate, after all. Why should he get upset?
Leo has always been able to get what he wants – he even became vice-captain, for fuck's sake. He basically solved Takeru’s case by himself while also trying to get rid of you because your stupid stigma enhancement might overshadow him. Sure, he couldn't get rid of you then but it's not like he can't try again, especially when you keep sticking your nose where it doesn't belong.
But this isn’t how he wanted to get rid of you. Who said you could just die? It’s so stupid. It’s so dumb that it makes Leo feel angry. You stupidly kept going despite his scathing remarks, despite people walking all over you and disrespecting you, so why are you dead? You’re not allowed to be dead.
You still need to help him use Haxs. You still need to be there so he can get a sense of validation when he watches your reactions. You still need to be here because out of everyone on campus, your presence is somewhat tolerable. Who’s he gonna comfortably boss around now?
“Ha ha. You were photobombing one of my pics so I uploaded it and said I had a new girlfriend,” Leo snickered as you brushed his hair. He didn’t think you’d be so good at it, but he found that his hair was smoother when you brushed it. “10K interacts in less than an hour. Suckers.”
“Is that okay?” you asked, making Leo roll his eyes.
“It’s fine, Honor Roll. In fact, shouldn’t you be grateful?”
“That’s not what I meant.” you huffed, tugging his hair lightly as you untangled a knot. It felt nice. “I mean, are you okay? Don’t influencers get harassed if they post about their significant others?”
Leo hated this whole goody-two-shoes act you had going on. Why were you so concerned about him? It wasn’t like he was particularly nice to you and it wasn’t like you necessarily treated him better than you would anyone else. Were you just stupidly nice in general? “Being an influencer means you get hate mail anyway,” he responded, closing out of his social media app. It wasn’t really all that interesting anymore.
“Hm… I see.” You became silent, which made Leo feel oddly annoyed. “People can really suck sometimes.”
Leo snorted. He had been anything but kind to you, really, so he thought you’d have already come to that conclusion a while ago. “It’s whatever. They’re all basic.”
He knew that this was the point where you could say something about him coming to you to talk (which he would never do, barf), but you don’t. Instead, you continue to thread your fingers through his hair gently.
He hated to admit it, but it was relaxing.
“Okay, I think I’m done,” you hummed, removing your hands from him. He noted that it was slightly colder when you left, but chalked it up to the poor heat regulation in Vagastrom. “Oh, and Happy Valentine’s Day, Leo! I got you something.”
Leo turned to you curiously as he combed his fingers through his hair, which definitely felt softer. He gingerly took your offering, before his eyes widened. “This is that ultra-spicy chocolate they only sell this time of year… I’m actually genuinely stoked right now.”
“I’m glad!” you beamed. It was a smile that Leo thought was slightly less ugly than usual. In general, you had been looking slightly less ugly lately, actually. That thought made him feel nauseous.
“Wanna make a bet, Honor Roll?”
You blinked at him, suddenly looking wary. He used to think that expression was so stupid, but now he thought it was kind of cute in a dumb kind of way. “What type of bet…?”
“A bet over which will come first – me falling for you, or you getting hooked on me.”
There’s no conclusive way to find out the end to this bet now, not with you gone. But he thinks you probably got hooked on him first – after all, it’s not like he’s thinks about your stupid laugh or dumb words of encouragement when he feels down or anything. Besides, as far as the internet’s concerned, you’re already dating him.
He briefly thinks about uploading a post about your death. Those suckers online would eat it up, sending him pity and sympathy. But the thought is so unappealing that he drops it. It’s not like your death is gonna matter to other people.
After all, life sucks and then you die, right? It’s just a part of living and he’s not pathetic enough to suddenly miss you. But there’s a disgustingly hollow feeling in his chest as his thoughts ring too loudly. You’re just an NPC – aren’t NPCs supposed to live quietly in the background while the main characters get their character development or whatever?
Why couldn’t you just quietly live your life like that?
You’re so stupid.
Alan has always felt like a monster. His hands – his stigma – have crushed so many things until they’ve become nothing but dust. He’s never been proud of this strength, not when he causes so many to cower.
He had expected you to cower, too, especially after he ripped Takeru’s ghost apart in front of you, so lost in the bloodlust. But you hadn’t. You stood by his side with as much care and compassion you could muster. When he wanted to keep looking into the case of Takeru’s ghost even after it was considered “finished” by Darkwick, you offered to help him even though you didn’t need to.
Alan’s never really been a conversationalist, so he didn’t expect you to spend time with him unless it was necessary. Still, he can’t say he dislikes having you around. Even when he’s tinkering with his car, it’s nice to have you sitting nearby, talking about your day.
You’re someone he appreciates – someone who does their best no matter how dire the situation is, someone who strives to do better. How could he not grow fond of how hard you work on a daily basis?
“I pat people on the head a lot? Didn’t notice,” Alan had said, after placing his hand on your hair. He really hadn’t realized – it was a force of habit, especially when you had done such a good job. “I’m doing it again?” he murmured, removing his hand, “...Sorry.”
“It’s nothing you have to be sorry for,” you responded, honestly. “It was just an observation.”
Despite knowing that his hands were akin to weapons, Alan couldn’t help but be drawn to touching you. Unlike him, you were soft and sweet. Still, he felt guilty. He hadn’t ever wanted you to feel uncomfortable, after all.
“I actually kind of like it when you pat my head,” you said. “You’re really gentle with it, so it makes it feel like I did a good job!”
Alan would never describe his touch as gentle, but he felt like he could believe it if it came from you.“You’re doing a good job.”
“Thanks!” you responded, giving him a big smile that he couldn’t say he had seen from other people. Most other people here had cunning smiles or looked fearful of him. He liked how genuine yours looked. “I can keep trying my best because of you and the others, you know? Thanks a lot.”
Alan couldn’t really recall if he had done anything to receive this type of praise from you, but your words made him feel relaxed. He felt like you helped him feel more human. “I’m lucky I’ve got you,” he said, trying to express his gratitude. “As long as you’re with me, I feel like I won’t lose sight of who I am.”
But now you’re no longer here. It makes Alan scared of himself in a way that he’s never felt before. He had treated you gently, like you were made of glass, because he was scared he’d break you. Yet you weren’t ever scared of him breaking you. Being with you softened up his edges and made him feel more human than monster.
You’re no longer here, though.
Perhaps it has always been his fate to become a monster.
Kaito hasn’t stopped crying since he’s heard the Masterpiece Newscasters relay the news of your death. It hurts so bad.
Kaito doesn’t think he’s ever been so badly hurt in his life.
Kaito’s never been one to like pain, which is why he avoids training and going on missions. He wants to be normal and being a ghoul is abnormal. The non-ghouls around him cement that on a daily basis. Yet you’re one of the only non-ghouls who has always treated him kindly no matter what.
Even when he’s a pathetic idiot or a stupid coward, you’ve always been so patient and kind to him. Kaito has liked a lot of girls on a surface level, but his feelings towards you have evolved beyond that. He thinks you’re pretty and lovely and all of that, of course, but more than that, he thinks you’re an amazing person. Amazingly strong, amazingly hard working – you’re someone he values so deeply. Even when he knows he’s being foolish, you’re there by his side because you care about him, aren’t you? So how could he not grow to care about you? You’re the few people that he feels he can truly be close to.
“Whoa, when did it get so late?!” Kaito gasped, looking at the window outside. You two had been baking since noon, but ended up goofing off at some point, delaying the baking process. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you…”
“I’m still good!” you responded, before taking a big bite out of your cookie. While chewing your sweet treat, you offered Kaito a piece, too.
“Really?” Kaito asked, taking the cookie you offered him.
“Yeah, I like spending time with you.”
Your words made Kaito’s heart swell with so much gratitude and affection that he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself. He always considered himself lackluster in practically everything, but he felt like he could do better and try to be better because you were there. He couldn’t help the cheesy grin that came onto his face.
“Oh, look, Kaito! The stars look so pretty!”
Kaito looked over at the large window in the kitchen, watching as the stars twinkled in the night sky.
“It kind of looks like granulated sugar if you squint, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, I can see it!” Kaito responded, before tentatively asking, “...Do you like stars?”
“I do,” you replied, taking another bite of your cookie. “Why d’you ask?”
“Oh, um,” Kaito hesitated, feeling a little bashful all of a sudden. You weren’t the type to just reject him harshly, but sometimes Kaito felt nervous in more intimate moments. When you genuinely seemed to return his affections (romantic or not) it made him feel valued as a human being, but it also made him nervous. “I was just wondering ‘cause there’s this place where you can see them really well, so I thought you’d want to go some time…”
“I would love to!” you beamed at him with a smile that could rival the sun. Kaito didn’t think the sun needed to shine if you were around. “You always do find the best places.”
Your words of validation made Kaito feel teary. You’d always been by his side, no matter what. You didn’t have to be his princess or anything like that. In fact, you’d saved him a lot of times before. Still… “I know I’m weak, and a coward,” he began, “But I really do want to become your knight in shining armor.”
In the end, Kaito never could become your knight in shining armor. Not when you’re gone like this. He couldn’t protect you and it tears him up inside. If he had trained and went on missions, would things be different? If so, why couldn’t the other ghouls help you instead? You deserve to be alive – you deserve it so much more than anyone else.
Kaito continues to wail inside his room, frustrated that he’s upset at other people not saving you – it’s him that couldn’t save you. It’s his fault. It’s all his fault and he’ll never be able to make it up to you.
He’ll never become your knight in shining armor.
For the first time since coming to Darkwick, Luca feels numb. He’s not sure how to cope with the fact that your death has come so suddenly. He had promised you that he’d help you absolve your curse, just like you promised him you’d help him subjugate a demon. Yet… you’re gone. You’re not here. You cannot keep your promise to him and he cannot keep his promise to you. It makes him feel hollow.
Luca has always felt that honesty was the best policy, which contributed to his straightlaced nature. He’s been called inconsiderate because of this and he’s lost people who could’ve been his friend. Him being a ghoul hadn’t helped, either, since he was the only ghoul back in Emrys Academy. When he came to Darkwick Academy, all he expected was to learn ways to subjugate a demon. Sure, it would’ve been nice to make friends, but Luca wasn’t going to get his hopes up. Not when he was so set on his goal to find his brother, at least.
Most aren’t understanding of Luca’s honesty and desire to bring back his brother, thinking his one track mind is a hassle. But you’ve never treated him like he was a nuisance. You’ve always greeted him brightly and worked with him. Whether you guys looked for information on curses and demons or practiced meditation for a clearer mind, you’ve been there.
But you’re not going to be there anymore, are you? Not when he’s meditating, not when he’s looking things up in the library, not when he needs the encouragement – you’re not going to be there.
He at least has hope that he’ll be able to bring his brother back. With you, he knows he can never bring you back. You’re gone, forever. You’ll never be there to experience anything with him anymore.
“We have experienced many joys and sorrows together since becoming friends. I’m very glad we met. I look forward to walking the road ahead with you,” Luca had said one day, while you two were meditating. While meditating, Luca couldn’t seem to clear his mind from thinking about you and all you’d done for him, so he thought it was only right for him to express it.
“Me too,” you responded, earnestly. Luca liked talking with you because you were candid with him, but patient. Even when he interrupted your meditation. “You’ve been a great ally to me, so thanks a lot, Luca.” You stretched your arms over your head, before staring at the setting sun. Sometimes, Luca wasn’t sure what went through your head.
“You’ve been a great ally to me as well.” Luca could scarcely remember people who tried as hard as you. He was duty-bound to a fault that he had trouble abandoning his mission, so he had trouble understanding people who wanted to run away. You were one of the few that came back despite wanting to run away. How could he not be impressed with you?
“That makes me glad to hear!” you replied, beaming brightly. Luca liked your smile. It radiated a warmth that reminded him of home. “Let’s keep doing our best!”
“Yes, let’s.” Luca watched as you kept your gaze on the setting sun. The soft colors of the sky were quite a sight to behold, but Luca wasn’t sure why it was distracting you.
“You know, Luca?” you called, as if you could read his mind. “They say that as long as you’re on Earth, you’ll see the same sun as the people you love. Isn’t that nice?”
Luca could be slow to pick up on things sometimes, but he wasn’t stupid. He could tell that those words were meant to console you after you’d been stripped from your family so suddenly (he’d come to understand the reasons for your desire to leave that day when you were working on your first case after many conversations with you). Yet, your words carried an undertone that implied that you told him about the sun to console him as well. Him, who was far from his family. Him, whose brother had gone missing. Him.
Those words were meant for him, but he cannot see the value in them now. Not when you’re no longer on this Earth. Not when you’re no longer alive. The sun still shines so brightly over Darkwick as if undeterred by your death. It pains Luca because time feels like it’s stopped for him, yet the world seems to move on.
Luca closes his eyes, heart throbbing.
“I’m sorry… Yet again I have failed to protect the people most important to me…”
The first thing Tohma does when he hears of your death is smoke to calm his nerves. He’s counting down the minutes until Jin calls him, but Tohma can’t seem to shake the sudden burst of numbness that shoots through his veins.
He hates to admit it, but your death has shaken him up more than he’d like. Of course, he’ll have to hide it. He’ll have to get a hold of himself – especially since everyone else will be in a tizzy. But even though he knows this, he’s having a hard time controlling his own emotions.
You’re the only one who is stupidly earnest in everything you do, allowing him bits of amusement in his life. You’re the only one that’s helped him feel like he could forget everything he’s got to do and be. You’re the only one who tries to lift the burden on his shoulders. You’re the only one and it makes Tohma’s lungs feel empty.
What vermin had killed someone as lovely as you?
“Welcome to high society,” Tohma had said, taking your hand in his for a dance. “That outfit suits you well. With that poise, you’ll have no trouble fitting in here.” And he was right, you looked beautiful, like the belle of the ball.
“Aha, sure,” you murmured, wincing as you stepped on his foot. “Oh god, I’m so sorry! I’m still so bad at this…”
“Inexperience is not a crime,” Tohma responded, twirling you in his arms. “The important thing is choosing to not remain ignorant when you don’t know something.” While most would assume Tohma was talking about your dancing capabilities, you knew that he meant something beyond that, too. You were smart like that, after all, and so hardworking. You chose to not remain ignorant.
“You’re right.” You nodded. “I’m gonna do my best.”
“I look forward to your efforts,” he hummed. “And in times of difficulty, I hope you’ll turn to those around you for help. I will be there to keep you safe.”
Tohma takes another drag of his cigarette, watching as the smoke fills the room. He told you he’d protect you. He told you, didn’t he? And yet he couldn’t.
Perhaps a lowly servant like him could never have protected you in the first place.
At the news of your death, Jin’s first move is to slash though the expensive furniture in his room, unsure of where else to let his emotions explode. His hand tightens around his sword as he stabs his sword in the ground, visualizing whoever had the audacity to touch what is his.
How dare they hurt you? How dare they take you away from him?
You, who’s been so stupidly obedient to him without any expectation of riches or glory. You, who’s been stupidly kind to him despite his terse nature. You, who’s been by his side without complaint as long as he ordered it.
“...I was too active yesterday. Massage me, servant,” Jin muttered, rolling onto his stomach to give access to his back. Without a word of complaint, you do as you’re told, though Jin couldn’t say you could be a masseuse anytime soon. “...What the hell was that? Put some muscle into it.”
“What? I’ve been told I give really good massages, though.”
Jin frowned. “From?”
“My dad.”
Jin snorted out a laugh. “Try harder.”
“Fine, fine,” you muttered, stretching your arms in front of you. “I’m gonna put my back into it!” Jin wondered if you’d actually be able to give him a proper massage, but the effort in itself was amusing (cute, even). Still, regardless of your massages, it was nice to have your hands on his back. He liked being close to you. “How was that?”
“It was fine.”
“What!” you exclaimed, incredulous, before grumbling, “You give a guy a massage and all he does is say it’s bad. Not even a word of thanks.”
With how you were yapping, you must’ve gotten quite comfortable with him. Jin couldn’t say he disliked it. “Never learn, do you?” he asked, rolling onto his back so that he can pull you on to the bed next to him. “I don’t take you being here for granted. I know it won’t last forever.”
Your eyes widened. “Huh?”
“That’s all I’m going to say.”
“Wha– you’re so–” you huffed, before shaking your head, seemingly pleased. “Fine, you win, your majesty. I suppose it's time for this servant to leave.” You made a move to get up, but Jin stopped you.
“I’ve got plans early tomorrow. Your house is too far. Stay here tonight.”
He still can’t forget the way you looked that night – bashful, sweet. He wanted to lock you in with him so that he could have you for as long as possible. Maybe he should’ve. He never took your existence for granted, valuing every second he’s spent with you, but when he said that he knew that your relationship wouldn’t last forever, he never thought it’d be because someone killed you. The thought makes hot rage course through his veins again.
He’s going to kill whatever bastard took you from him.
.
.
.
Faintly, your sage’s ring glows on your finger.
It asks you a question it’s asked you many times before: “What do you desire?”
You answer the question exactly as you’ve answered it before: “I want to go back.”
Includes: established relationship, signs of cheating, slight angst, self doubt, mentions of bad family, takes place in third year, no communication, happy ending.
a/n: Had an idea, ran with it, in love with it, posting it, hope you enjoy it.
Word Count: 2.2k
Your boyfriend, Shoto Todoroki wasn't really a physical affection kind of person, he was more verbal, saying the most beautiful things about you, always knowing what to say when you feel down, that was just how he was.
Sometimes you wished he showed he cared, he doesn't hug you unless you initiate it, he doesn't kiss you on his own; only doing it if you ask or kiss him first, doesn't cuddle with you when you share a bed unless you happen to sleep on him only then might he awkwardly put an arm around you.
It annoyed you, of course, it was cute to you the first few months of your relationship, it's been six months now it wasn't so cute anymore.
At one point it made you wonder whether he truly cared about you, you felt like you should talk to him about it but you couldn't bring yourself to, you felt like it would be weird and you weren't the one to talk about emotions like Shoto was, you showed them unlike he did.
You had tried to show him you weren't happy, not talking to him, not kissing him, not hugging him, walking away when he starts talking, but he wasn't seeming yo get it.
You sent your friend, Midoriya, to see how he was feeling about it. He had returned with news of what Shoto had said which made you even madder than before.
"Well Midoriya, I have noticed her being weird, I know it's my fault by I'm assuming she'd tell me when she's ready." he said, and you imagined him saying it too which made you feel worse.
That statement made it obvious he cared about you, you aren't dumb but you would like it if he showed it, you felt touch deprived constantly and you're not single, you aren't meant to feel that way.
You rolled your eyes when he finished telling you, your friend Denki had now sat beside you two and had joined the conversation. You didn't send him away so he stayed thinking about something.
"Do you think you should try making him jealous to see if he'd care?" Denki asked and you actually thought about it for a moment, it seemed smart but not so much you didn't want to seem like your cheating on him, that's to far.
"I don't want to cheat on him, or do weird shit to other people, it's to far Denks" you said leaning deeper into the couch you sat on side by side with your friends.
"Wait, what if you don't do anything, what if we do all the things and make it look as innocent as it usually is." Midoriya said as his eyes slightly widened, it was a perfect plan in his eyes.
You smiled, this was perfect, you could finally see if he truly cared.
"So boys, what should we do?" you said while smirking like a Cheshire cat with a master plan, they couldn't help but do the same.
That's what brought you here, in Midoriya's arms as he held you bridal style, you both laughing about something, staying outside not noticing as Todoroki was in the common room, seeing you and watching you from inside.
Or maybe you two noticed and that's why you two were giving each other more platonic affection than normal.
Shoto watched you two, he thought you two looked happy and he was happy his best friend and girlfriend got along well. He wouldn't lie he was disturbed by Deku's hand placement but didn't think much of it you two didn't seem like you understood what you were doing so he shrugged it off.
And he most especially tried his best not to stare when he watched Deku effortlessly move you from both hands to one hand holding you up as you wrapped you hands around his neck still engaged in your conversation.
When you two passed the common room, Shoto waved and greeted you both but you both didn't notice him, or to you both ignored him continuing your conversation as Deku carried you up the stairs and as far as Todoroki knows to his room.
But to you two, you were peeking at him from the stairs, you watched as he sadly put his hand hand down, but as soon as the frown came on his face it disappeared, he didn't seem fazed at all.
He had just assumed you were still ignoring him for something he is yet to know he did, so he shrugged it off, thinking of what he could do to make it up to you, he missed you but he won't tell you that so it won't seem like he's manipulating you to take him back.
You felt a little bad, but you instantly stopped feeling it when Deku rubbed your back comfortingly telling you a 'Better luck next time' and you began feeling angry again.
It was dinner time now, luck was not on your side, Shoto was yet to come over, to talk to you, to kiss you, to love you like you wanted. Oh, how you wish you could just talk to him.
Denki was being his usual clingy self to everyone, so it didn't take anyone by surprise when he jumped on Shoto when he came in, hugging him, but all your boyfriend did was hug him back before carefully pushing him away then taking a seat.
You were already sat, and he happened to seat diagonally from you, perfect for him to see you but you wouldn't see him, so you won't be angry.
But you were angry because you weren't seeing him. You didn't understand what you were doing wrong everything was so stressful to you.
Denki took the seat beside you and before Bakugou dropped the plates for all of your foods, Denki pulled your chair closer to yours.
You giggled all pick me girl like, as you two had practiced, "When did you get so strong, Denks" you said as you playfully nudged him.
He smiled back at you, looking charming if you do say so yourself, but to everyone else he looked quite flirty.
Todoroki saw it, and he wished it was him that did that, wished he would kiss you after but he knows he can't because he doesn't know how to ask for, or how to do it without a little push.
He sighed before going back to eating the delicious meal Bakugou happened to make, he decided he was going to ask you something that night.
Dinner was over and you were the last one to finish eating, well you and Bakugou since he ate last and stayed back to make sure everyone washed their plates.
As you finished washing your plate you heard someone calling your name, but it was definitely not Shoto, "Bakugou, did you call me?" you said turning over to the boy sitting on the counter away from the sink, glaring at you.
"What's up with you and Icy Hot?" he asked, and you felt yourself heat up in embarrassment.
Bakugou was your friend, but you didn't think you two were close enough for him to notice something like that.
"Nothing, why do you ask?" you couldn't help the way your voice sounded a little smaller than usual.
"You keep on avoiding the guy, the shit you and Denki pulled during dinner, and I saw as the nerd carried you upstairs." he said as if it wasn't a big deal.
Then his glare tensed, then his body relaxed and he stared at you, "We don't talk a lot but that doesn't mean you can't tell me what's up" he said, and you realised you didn't have much to lose anyways.
"I feel like he doesn't care about me at times. Thats why I've been flirting with Deku and Denks because I want him to feel jealous, it's my twisted way of making him care" you said and it sounded stupid to say out loud now, most especially with the person you were talking to.
"You know your dumb as shit, it's obvious that boy cares about you." he said matter of factly.
"No, but he doesn't show it." you said, as your eyes watered and your voice cracked.
You had grown up with the type of family that doesn't say 'I love you all the time' they showed the love. With warm hugs and cheap but sentimental presents. You found it hard to talk about your problems that way and it wasn't any of their fault.
"Have you told him this?" he said and all you shook your head, the tears were leaving your eyes now and your head was down.
"Why don't you try telling him, because he's not like me that would get you to talk he prefers it if you talk to him about it on your own accord." he said and you had subconsciously moved closer to him now.
"Thanks BK, I'd talk to him tomorrow he should be getting ready for his study session now, can't disturb him." you said, joking at the end and laughing a bit.
"Can I hug you? You can totally say no, but I think I need a hug right now." you said now wiping your tears.
He pulled you in, although he was sitting on the counter he seemed bigger than you. You hugged him feeling comfortable in his arms.
Before you pulled away and went to your dorm not noticing the person watching you both and finally understood why this way happening in the first place.
"Got that, two tones?" Bakugou said as he jumped of the counter and faced his friend, that seemed to be lost in thought.
"Yes, thank you Bakugou." Shoto said as he smiled at Bakugou.
Bakugou nudged him, "You're welcome, both of you are my friends, I look out for my friends." Bakugou walked away, hands in his pockets thinking about what a good person he was and an even better hero that he was going to be.
Todoroki knew he had to do what he does best, talk to you about it.
A soft knock was heard on your door, you were sat on your bed, practicing what you would say to Shoto when you saw him before you went to open the door and saw the man you had been thinking about for a while.
You stood frozen, looking up at your unnecessarily attractive boyfriend, thinking to yourself when or where you two went wrong, well mostly you. Where you went wrong.
"Can I come in?" he said while gazing down at you, thinking the exact same thing, when did you two go wrong?
You mumbled an 'of course' before moving out of the doorway for him to get in, locking the door behind him.
He sighed then turned to look at you as you rested on the door, "I heard your conversation with Bakugou" he started but before you could apologise he pressed his finger to your lips like he was telling you to stay quiet, so you did.
"Since you don't know, I find it hard to express myself through actions because that's not the way I grew up contrary to you." he had now taking his finger away from your lips and now held your hand.
"Where you hug your mum to show her you love her, I'd tell her I love her, because that's how we are. While yours get random gifts, mine talk to each other when I successfully run away from my father."
"It's how we are, it's how you are, our differences is what brought us together, you know?" he said as his eyes went a bit glossy that's how you realised you were crying silent tears.
"I'm sorry I made you feel shitty but you make me feel shitty too you know? I feel shitty when everytime I tell you I love you you respond with a nod and nothing more, or when we walk to class together and I'm trying to tell you about my night your not listening— "but I am" — but you don't show it! How do you want me to know if I don't hear you say anything?" Both of you were now sitting on your bed you don't know how but it felt more comforting.
"Shoto baby, I'm sorry, could you forgive me?" you said looking at him after wiping your tears.
"Of course, only if you forgive me and promise you'd communicate with me more" he said laughing now, 'damn my boyfriend is quite easy on the eyes' you couldn't help but think.
"I promise but only if you promise to be more affectionate" you said while he moved closer to you.
"I promise." you said smiling wildly but surprisingly you felt lips on yours and you immediately closed your eyes and held your boyfriends gave lovingly.
When you two parted, you both just looked in each other's eyes, "I love you, Shoto Todoroki." you said while holding his hand really tight. He nodded and looked away.
You couldn't help the pang in your heart. "Is this what it feels like when I do it?" you said laughing as you moved deeper into your bed getting ready for sleep.
"Yes" he laughed as he came in with you cuddling into you causing you to smile.
"But I love you too, Y/N L/N." he said while nuzzling his face into your neck. You sighed contentedly then you were out like a light.
Summery: Max is touch starved and your love language is physical touch.
Warning: Jos and Christain horner, ilusion to a tough childhood
AN: I just saw a ticktok and I had to write this.
Masterlist
Max Masterlist
Max never knew how good physical touch is as a love language, he didn't grow up with hugs and gentle touches, none of his past girlfriends were overly touchy with him. That all changed when you came into his life. You grew up smothered in love and affection, and it's how you function, how you show your love.
Max remembers the moment he realised you're not like his other girlfriends in that aspect.
It was after your first date, and you were having a walk around, neither of you wanting the night to end. Max was telling you a story about something that happened that week, your hands brushing, and he kept thinking if he should take your hand or not. You didn't leave him with a choice.
“-and he ran straight at me, bit I saw him-” Max stops talking when he feels your hand move around his and you lace your fingers through his, he looks at you, and you just smile up at him, leaning closer to his side. Max couldn't help but smile just as bright as yours. “So I dodged and he still bled and fell down, everyone was…”
He kept on talking, you were listening attentively, adding things when needed, and squeezing his hand when you wanted him to look at you.
Max felt like holding hands with you is the best thing ever.
But boy was he wrong, because every new tech became his favourite.
Max never knew he was the cuddling type, until you wrapped yourself around him.
“Oh god.” You whined as Max flipped himself onto the bed beside you, the room filled with your heavy breathing. “That was…”
“Amazing.” Max finishes for you, he turns his head to look at you, even the Formula 1 driver is out of breath but he's smiling nonetheless. You grin at him and turn around placing your head on his shoulder and your arm on his stomach. Max freezes for a second, you press your lips to his skin in a few pecks, making him relax instantly. Max moves you a bit so you're closer with his arms around you. You're both naked with your kin touching his everywhere. You can hear his heart beating fast in his chest and try to not show him your smile. You know why he is the way he is. Without him having to tell you, you picked up on his reactions whenever you touch him affectionately.
“You don't want to shower, or get dressed?” Max asked you after a moment of silence.
“In a bit, I just want to hold you for a few minutes.” You mumble feeling overly relaxed. Max kisses the top of your head, and lets you hold him while he holds you as long as you want.
Max always thought it's his job as the man in the relationship to have his hand on you in public, show his dominance and all that nonsense. And as much as he just likes having his hands on you, he loves you having your hands all over him. Makes him feel wanted, loved and needed.
Max is driving you both to a new restaurant that you wanted to try. One hand on the wheel the other on the gear stick. You were looking out the window when you suddenly got the feeling that you want Max closer, want to touch him. So you just move your hand to his thigh.
“Schatje.” Max says and you hum, turning to look at him. “What are you doing?”
“Just suddenly wanted to be closer to you.” You tell him with a smile.
“I'm right here.” Max glances at you.
“Not close enough.” You say and stay silent for a moment. “Do you not like it?”
You start to move your hand when he stops you with the hand on the gear stick. “I didn't say that, you can touch me whenever you want.”
There are many pictures of you and Max in the paddock or out and about, but more in the paddock. They're all of you lacing your hands with Max, hugging his arms, someone commented once how you're always the first to touch Max, but he never lets go of you. So, to those that tried to hate on you and call you clingy, could never really find anything to hate you for. It’s clear that you’re the instigator but Max’s smile is always undeniable.
“Max, what do you love most about y/n?” Max was signing hats on his way into the paddock, when a fan suddenly asked.
“Her hugs.” The crowd all awed, Max didn’t even realise what he said, it just came out naturally, he loves everything about you, but if there’s one thing that he misses the most and looks forward to when he’s away, it’s your hugs. They feel like home, as cheesy as that may seem.
And hugging you do. You take every chance to pull Max in for hugs.
You’d be eating with the other WAGs or maybe Victoria, and Max would be walking through the paddock and seeing you, he’d walk up to you, and you’d stop everything and give the man a hug as if you didn’t see each other yet that day.
“How’s your day so far?” You ask him, still in his arms.
“Good, how’s yours?”
“Good.” You’d be the first to let go, knowing that if you don’t he’ll never let you go. As much as you want to stay in his arms, he had work to do.
Max would be away on a triple header out of Europe, and you wouldn’t be able to join him for the first race, but no one is surprised when Air Max flies back to Europe and then to the race destination and there’s pictures of you exiting. Max will be damned before he sees you flying in anything but his plane, only the best for you.
You’d get there later than expected, so Max is already on track. His team meets you to give you your passes and get you in. They lead you to where Max is, he’s having a moment break before he has to go to a Red Bull club event thingy in the Red Bull hospitality. Max is on his phone with a Red Bull in his other hand, he looks up when he hears you walk in, he doesn’t see his smiling team behind you, once you’re here everything else ceases to exist.
Max just folds himself around you, he never cares who’s around. Your hand runs up and down his back. Your head in the crook of his shoulder, breathing him in.
“Hey, my love.” You greet him and kiss his neck softly.
“I missed you schatje.” Max responds to your words and you smile.
“Missed you too, like crazy.” You stand there for a few minutes, everyone knows to just let you have your moments, a much calmer Max is always there thanks to your presence.
There’s a hug that all the fans remember, it went down in the history book for being loving and sad at the same time.
Max has been having a bad time this season, struggling with the car, and not winning, even though he’s leading the points, it’s a very close call. And after 2021 he never hoped to go through such a tough battle again.
Alas here he is, doing the best he could with what he has. Max and Jos have been butting heads lately, mainly because Jos thinks that Max should leave Red Bull and go to Mercedes, while Max wants to stay with Red Bull. The dynamic between the two has always had its highs and lows, and they’re going through a tough low now. So, when Max finally won a race and thus winning the championship, after struggling the majority of the season, and he saw his dad standing in the crowd he was happy. But Jos being the a-hole he is, he wasn’t happy. He didn’t want this race to give Max hope for any future with the team.
Max noticed the look on his father’s face when he was just about to go and hug him, he knew that look, he knew what it meant. And it upsets Max to see it when he’s just won and should be celebrating.
“MAX!” You shout and gain his attention, you’re behind the barrier. Everyone in the team knew what was going on between Max and Jos, and they knew how much having your support no matter what meant for him. So they did not hesitate to raise you over the barrier, you squeal in surprise. The moment your feet touch the ground, Max’s arms are around you, his helmet still on and everything. It’s a much needed hug, it wasn’t you who wrapped your arms around him, it wasn't you that instigated this, this was all Max, he needed this. He’s clutching you, having you flush against him, letting himself feel your presence.
Once he has his arms around you, he's clutching you, holding you close. Your arms wrap tightly around him, the force of the hug, has you staggering slightly back, Max's legs move with yours, until you're stable.
“Congratulations, my love.” You say, and Max can barely hear you over the noise surrounding the both of you. “I'm so proud of you Max, so incredibly and completely proud of you.”
Max holds you tighter and if it becomes painful he doesn't say. The hug seems to last forever, and everyone just lets you have this moment. You're barely visible from Max's back. Your hand moves over his back slightly trying to give him all the love and comfort he needed.
“I love you.” The words come out choked up, but you hear them and it breaks you. You force yourself out of his arms and meet his eyes through the slightly opened visor. His eyes are slightly wet. Max doesn't cry, his life was too tough for him to find a reason big enough to cry.
“I love you too Max, more than anything, more than anyone.” You tell him earnestly and full heartedly.
“Fucking hell, I'll marry you one day.” Max says and his eyes crinkle slightly as he smiles.
“Well go get your trophy first before we see about the whole marriage thing.” You patt him and Max then goes to his team, they're all shouting and cheering for him.
“You're good for him.” You look to see Christian now standing next to you.
“He's good for me.” You reply and watch your boyfriend with loving eyes.
“I have a feeling that by next season you'll have a ring on your finger.” Christsin whispers in your ear, and he slinks away, you can't help the smile on your face.
You watch as the top 3 do their interviews, Max's face is flushed red, hair messy, and his eyes are a bit misty. Your eyes well up seeing him, Max catches your eyes as he's finishing his interview, the smile on his face widens, he’s looking to the side when the interview ends. And Max races back towards you, your eyes go wide, not expecting him to come back to you. Max pulls you closer and crashes his lips against yours, before you could even place your hands on him, he pulls away, smiles and runs off to the cool down room.
“I take it back, give it a couple of weeks.” Christian amused says, the cameras flashing around you catch your insanely blushing face.
Christian was right, because arriving at the last race of the season, there’s a big rock on your finger.
summary: yn piastri and carlos sainz absolutely hate each other. carlos thinks she’s immature, yn calls him a little bitch on social media. they also kiss every now and then.
word count: over 10k + social media posts
folkie radio: guys this fic is my baby okay 🥲🥲 please take care of it i spent like two weeks writing it. FEEDBACK IS ENCOURAGED AND APPRECIATED !!
MASTERLIST | MY PATREON
2023 SEASON
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liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 87,635 others
ynpiastri that’s my optimistic little brother cry about it 😚 see y’all after the break
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username1 LAJSIA SO MESSY
username2 yn really said you will NAWT mess with my little brother
lilyzneimer Love you forever 😂
↳ ynpiastri ilysm
username3 the sainz - piastri drama just spiced this season up
mclaren That’s our boy 🧡
username4 carlos sainz and yn piastri fighting on the internet and oscar is just 🧍
username5 the fact that daniel ricciardo and pierre gasly liked yn’s tweet too 😭
landonorris Stop fighting people on the internet please
↳username1 HELP HIS BESTIES ARE FIGHTING
↳ ynpiastri never 😤
oscarpiastri When nobody got me I know my messy sister got me
↳ username2 I LOVE THEM SM
↳ yourinstagram HE SAID NO PICKLES !!
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"You didn't have to tweet that," Oscar said, giving you a look from his seat.
You were currently traveling from Belgium to Monaco in McLaren's private jet after the race weekend, and the main topic of the day was your little message to Carlos Sainz after his statement about your brother.
"Osc, he's being a petty bitch," you shrugged, "He keeps blaming you for what happened on the track and we all know it was his fault."
"Lando, can you help me out please?" Oscar looked at his teammate, who was immersed on his phone as a way to avoid the conversation.
"Oh no, don't put me in the middle of this," Lando shook his head, "I have enough PR issues myself."
"We know you're siding with your bestie anyways," you said, making him roll his eyes.
This dynamic was nothing new. Lando and Carlos Sainz were best friends, and so were Lando and you. The issue? You couldn't stand Carlos at all, and Lando was always in the middle of your bickering.
Oscar sighed, rubbing his temples as he glanced out of the window. "Look, I appreciate you standing up for me, but sometimes it's better to let things slide. Engaging with him on social media only adds fuel to the fire."
He had a point. Deep down you knew it, however, your were short tempered and protective towards your loved ones, so it was natural that you took the chance to come for Sainz's neck when he gave you a reason to.
"I get it, Osc. I just can't stand seeing him drag your name through the mud when you're not even at fault," you stressed, "You're my little brother, I'll always get protective, you know?"
"I know, and I appreciate you having my back," Oscar said, softening his tone. "But it's not worth it. Like you said, I'm not engaging with whatever he's saying so there's no point of starting stuff."
"He started it, I'm just finishing it," you shrugged, and Oscar gave you a pointed look, you were older than him, but he was definitely more mature than you. "Fine, I'll try to hold back next time," you sighed, leaning back in your seat.
Lando finally looked up from his phone, a smirk on his face. "See, that wasn't too hard, was it? Now, can we all be friends?"
"If that includes Sainz then no, we can't,"
You could never be friends with Carlos Sainz. That was literally impossible.
For starters, you were pretty sure he didn't even know your name, he was always too full of himself to even acknowledge those around him.
And lastly, he was a bitch to your brother on and off track.
"I just, I would really like for you two to get along," Lando said and you immediately rolled your eyes at his words, "You're both important to me, and it sucks being caught in the middle. Plus I don't even understand why do you dislike him so much."
You knew the real reason why you disliked him so much, you perfectly did. However, that was a subject that you decided to ignore every single time.
"Honestly? I find him arrogant. He always acts like he's the center of the universe. He never takes responsibility for his actions and always tries to shift the blame onto others. It's frustrating to watch."
Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I get it, but you have to understand, Carlos is actually a good guy once you get to know him. He's passionate and competitive, sure, but he's also loyal and a great friend."
"I get that he's like your hero or something," you teased, "But it's not going to happen, Lando. I don't think I'll ever like Carlos, and I really wish you’d stop pushing the subject."
"Look, you don't have to be his best friend or something," Oscar intervened, "Just promise me you won't punch him when you see him in the paddock after the summer break."
"No promises."
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ynpiastri a weekend in monaco with some of my favorite people 🤍 back to race cars soooon (love being a nepo sister)
francisca.cgomes having major fomo rn, love you all babies 🥲
↳ ynpiastri get over hereeeee
username3 she has the dream life
charles_leclerc Stop stealing my girlfriend from me thank you
↳ ynpiastri never
↳ alexandrasaintmleux We’re like this 👩❤️💋👩
↳ charles_leclerc Don’t do this to me
lilyzneimer 🤍
oscarpiastri I think you just invented the term “nepo sister”
↳ ynpiastri and i’m too iconic for that
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Going to Jimmy'z the last day of the summer break was a tradition among the drivers at this point.
You looked forward to it, for you, nothing could beat a night of loud music, drinks and friends. You thought that was the reason you got along with Lando and quickly became best friends.
“Ready to tear up the dance floor?” Lando shouted over the music, giving you smirk
“Always!” you replied, grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the center of the action, Oscar and Lily being their introvert selves decided to stay at the table with some of your friends.
After a few songs, you returned to the table to catch your breath and order another round of drinks.
Oscar looked up from his conversation with Lily and smiled as you approached.
“Having fun?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” you replied, taking a seat next to him. “You two should join us on the dance floor.”
Lily laughed softly. “Maybe later. Right now, we’re enjoying people-watching.”
“Suit yourselves,” you said, shrugging, "I'm going to the bar, does anyone want anything?"
Oscar shook his head. "No, thanks. I'm good."
"I'll have another gin and tonic," Lily said, giving you a warm smile.
"Got it," you replied, turning towards the bar.
As you made your way through the crowded club, you found an open spot at the bar and flagged down the bartender. As you waited for your drinks, you felt someone step up beside you. Glancing to your left, you saw the last person you wanted to run into tonight... or ever.
Carlos Sainz was standing there with what you called his "resting bitch face" and acting like he owned the place.
You knew chances of him being at Jimmy'z for the last day of the summer break were high and you had decided earlier that you were just going to ignore him for the night if you ever ran into him. After all, you were there to have fun, not to get into a confrontation. But you were known for being short-tempered, a stark contrast to your brother's laid-back demeanor.
When you heard Carlos order his drink without so much as a “please,” you couldn't help but call him out.
"Whiskey, neat," he ordered, his tone clipped and lacking any form of politeness, his Spanish accent that you found absolutely irritating coming through.
“A 'please' would be nice, you know,” you interjected.
Carlos turned to you, his brow furrowing. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” you replied coolly. “It's not hard to be polite.”
"Do I know you?" Carlos stared at you for a moment before recognition dawned. “Oh you're Piastri's sister, aren't you?”
“That I am,” you confirmed, your tone equally cold.
“Figures," Carlos scoffed, shaking his head, "You’re the one who sent me that lovely message on Twitter.”
“You deserved every word,” you replied, crossing your arms.
“Did I now?” Carlos leaned closer, his expression hardening. “You don't even know the whole story. You just assume I'm the bad guy because of Oscar."
“I know enough,” you shot back. “I know you never take responsibility for your actions. You always blame someone else.”
“And what about you?," Carlos’s jaw tightened, "Hiding behind your keyboard, throwing insults. That's real mature.”
“Someone had to say it,” you replied, refusing to back down. “You can't just go around acting like you're untouchable.”
“And you can't go around thinking you're some kind of vigilante,” Carlos retorted. “Can't your little brother handle things himself?.”
“Maybe if you weren't such a jerk, people wouldn't have to call you out,” you snapped, feeling your temper flare.
Carlos sighed, clearly frustrated. “Look, I don't have time for this. Just stay out of my way, alright?”
“Gladly,” you replied, turning away from him.
When you rejoined your friends, they noticed your tense expression. Lando shot you a questioning look, but you just shook your head.
"Ask you bestie," you simply said and Lando threw his head back in frustration, once again, he was in the middle of his two best friends tension.
“I’ll talk to him," Lando said, sipping on his drink.
"Don't bother, he's a bitch."
Later that night, Lando found Carlos near the dancefloor chatting with some friends. He pulled him aside, needing to get to the bottom of the latest incident.
“What happened with YN now?” Lando asked, trying to keep his tone casual.
Carlos shrugged before speaking, “I was minding my own business, ordering a drink, and she just came at me."
“And?” Lando raised an eyebrow.
“And she’s just so immature and arrogant,” Carlos continued, “She’s always ready to pick a fight over the smallest things. It’s embarrassing.”
Lando shook his head. “Look, Carlos, YN is protective of Oscar. She sees you two butting heads and she gets defensive. It’s not ideal, but it’s not like she’s completely unreasonable.”
“Well, she sure seems unreasonable to me," Carlos crossed his arms, "I don’t know how you deal with it.”
Lando sighed. “She’s my friend, and so are you. I wish you two could just get along, but I know that’s asking a lot. Just... try to give her a bit of slack, alright? She’s not a bad person.”
"She's insufferable."
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ynpiastri has added to their stories
carlossainz55 replied to your story
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ynpiastri little bitches everywhere, always a pleasure monza
tagged: landonorris, charles_leclerc
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username1 HEEEELP
username2 she’s so messy we needed this 😭
lilyzneimer I can’t wait to hear this rant in person
↳ username1 LET ME INNNNN
username3 IS THIS CARLOS SHADEEEE
username4 not her adding the radio message
landonorris I would like to be excluded from this narrative
↳ ynpiastri scared of your boyfriend??
↳ username2 THEY’RE SO TALKING ABOUT CARLOS 😭
charles_leclerc Did you call me a little bitch?
↳ ynpiastri you’re literally the only ferrari i like..
↳ username3 she really hates carlos i’m screaming
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
The Ferrari hospitality was the last place you wanted to be during a Grand Prix, the mere thought of it being the place where Sainz (or as you liked to call him, the little bitch), was most likely to be kept you away from it.
However, Alex told you to meet her there after the Qualifying so you could leave together for dinner. Oscar and Lando already left with the rest of the team, so you had no choice but to wait for your friend.
"Looking for someone, hermosa?" your eyes immediately rolled without even turning around to see who was speaking, the thick Spanish accent that you despised filling your ears.
"Not for you, that's for sure," you said, not even bothering to face him.
"Are you sure? Because this is not the McLaren garage, did your little bro finally kick you out or something?"
"Sainz," you retorted sharply, finally turning to face him, "Shouldn't you be busy making excuses for your next mediocre performance on track?"
"Ah, always so angry, Piastri," he chuckled, unfazed by your hostility, "Maybe you're just frustrated because you're not getting enough attention. I could help with that."
"I don't need or want anything from you," you shot back, your voice laced with irritation.
Carlos leaned casually against a nearby wall, his smirk widening. "Come on, hermosa, you know you've got a temper. Maybe you just need to let off some steam."
Hermosa, the word he used often when he wanted to get to your skin. When you first heard it, you had no idea of what it meant. You were never good at learning Spanish growing up. But after a quick google translation search you found out that it meant beautiful. And for some reason you felt like throwing up.
"Believe me, Sainz, you're the last person I'd ever turn to," you replied icily, folding your arms across your chest, "And don't call me that."
He chuckled again, seemingly enjoying your discomfort. You wondered how Lando could be friends with him when he was nothing but an arrogant little bitch, and you cursed Alexandra for taking so long to get her stuff from hospitality.
"I hope you know that you have some serious issues, Sainz," you said, your patience wearing thin as his cocky stare weighted on you.
"Issues? Me?," Carlos raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your anger, "I think you're the one with the problem, querida. Like I said, maybe you need to get laid. I could help you with that, your brother won't find out."
Your eyes narrowed, your blood boiled to the point where you could feel your skin burning up. If it wasn't for the all the people around, you swore you could've punched him.
You took a step closer to him, your voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "I hope your car sets itself on fire so you're not able to race tomorrow."
Carlos's smirk only widened, he was well aware that he got into your skin and he enjoyed every minute of it. Before he could respond, Alex finally appeared, her eyes flicking between the two of you with a mix of curiosity and concern.
"Ready to go?" she asked, sensing the tension.
"More than ready," you replied, shooting Carlos one last glare before turning to leave with Alex.
The next day, news spread quickly through the paddock that Carlos' car had suffered a mechanical failure during the warm-up, rendering him unable to compete in the Qatar Grand Prix. Meanwhile, Oscar had won the Sprint and finished P2 in the race.
Karma got that little bitch, you thought to yourself
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ynpiastri season over and out. super proud of you, rookie of the year @/oscarpiastri 🥹
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username1 i’m going to miss this season sm
username2 proud sisssss
mclaren One for the books 🧡
username3 thank you for fighting sainz online all season long bestie
landonorris Little Oscar is all grown up now
↳ ynpiastri don’t say that i’ll cry
lilyzneimer 🫶🫶🫶
username4 highlight of the season was the piastri - sainz beef
↳ username1 not for lando 😭
oscarpiastri Thank you for always supporting me (creating drama online and all) Love you so much ❤️
↳ ynpiastri that’s what big sisters are for
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
The end of the 2023 season was a blur of celebrations, laughter, and champagne showers. Oscar had closed off the season as the Rookie of the Year and you couldn't be more proud of him, you were grateful you got to be by his side through it.
And of course, with the end of the season a celebration at Jimmy'z was in order, all drivers, their girlfriends and friends pulling up to Monaco for one last night of partying before the winter break.
You had stuck close to Lando and Oscar for most of the evening, since it was a special occasion, you decided not to hold back with your drinking and have as much fun as you wanted, Lando being your partner in crime as always.
So by 2 a.m, you were pretty drunk, not to the point where you couldn't stand on your own feet, but drunk enough to make a couple of bad decisions.
With that thought on your mind, you decided that it was time to find your brother or best friend and call it a night. But for some reason, both of them were nowhere to be found.
Stumbling through the crowded dance floor, you made your way toward the back of the club, hoping to spot them. The alleyway was dark and you couldn't see a single thing, but they weren't definitely back there.
"Fancy seeing you here, hermosa," a voice behind drawled, almost making you jump.
"What the actual fuck!" you said, holding a hand to your chest.
Of course it was fucking Carlos Sainz, once again
"You scared the hell out of me!" you snapped, narrowing your eyes at him, "Do you hide in dark alleyways like a creep all the time?"
"Slow down, hermosa, why are you so angry all the time?" his Spanish accent was thicker than usual, a clear sign that he was as tipsy as you were.
"I'm not in the mood for your games tonight," you retorted, trying to brush past him.
"Relax, I'm not here to cause trouble," he said, blocking your path with an easy grace. "Though you do seem to find me wherever you go."
"Only because you insist on being everywhere I am," you shot back, folding your arms over your chest.
"Or maybe you just can't resist my charm," he teased, leaning casually against the wall.
"Charm? Is that what you call it?" you scoffed, "More like arrogance and an inflated ego."
"Arrogance? No. Confidence? Absolutely," he replied with a smirk, "And I think you secretly like it."
"You're delusional," you muttered, feeling the alcohol clouding your judgment. "I can't stand you."
"Is that so?" he said, stepping closer. "Because you seem pretty invested in this conversation for someone who supposedly hates me."
True
"Maybe because you won't let me leave," you said, your voice rising in frustration.
"Or maybe because you've spent the entire season trying to get my attention by being rude to me and blasting me on social media, calling me a little bitch and all."
"I was defending Oscar," you snapped. "You kept messing with him on track. Someone had to call you out."
Carlos shook his head, his cocky smirk even bigger now. "It was never about Oscar, and you know it."
"God, I hate you," you said, ready to walk away but he blocked your way one more time.
"No, you don't," he replied, a knowing smile on his lips. "You just hate that you can't help but get all hot and bothered whenever I'm around."
"You're really are such a little bitch," you spat, but even as the words left your mouth, you felt a strange thrill.
"And you're a firecracker, Piastri. That's what makes this so fun."
"You're so full of yourself," you retorted, but the words lacked their usual bite. The alcohol was making it hard to keep up your defenses, and Carlos's close proximity was doing strange things to your resolve.
"Maybe," he conceded, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "But I think you like it more than you let on."
Before you could argue back, Carlos took another step closer, his body almost pressing against yours. The tension between you crackled like electricity, and despite your best efforts, you found yourself unable to pull away.
"You're infuriating," you muttered, your heart pounding in your chest.
"And you," he said, his breath warm against your ear, "are insufferable."
Without another word, he closed the gap between you, capturing your lips in a fierce, almost desperate kiss. It was a collision of anger, frustration, and undeniable chemistry, and you couldn't help but respond in kind.
Your hands found their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you kissed him back with equal fervor. His hands roamed down your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.
What the hell was happening?
For a moment, all the animosity, all the bickering, melted away. It was messy, it was intense, and it was everything you hadn't realized you wanted.
When you finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, you could see the same mix of surprise and desire reflected in Carlos' eyes.
Before either of you could say anything, you were interrupted by Lando's voice calling out your name. You quickly stepped back, putting some distance between you and Carlos as Lando approached, a curious look on his face.
"Everything okay here?" Lando asked, glancing between the two of you.
"Just fine," you replied, giving Carlos a final, challenging look. "Just fine."
Carlos nodded, his smirk returning. "See you around, Piastri."
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texts between lando and yn
texts between carlos and lando
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2024 SEASON
Formula 1 was back and in full swing. And with that your "nepo sister" privileges, which included traveling with Oscar for races came back too.
You were excited for this season, Oscar was no longer a rookie and he had a lot to prove, and you couldn't wait to see him rise to the challenge.
In addition to that, this season was going to be extra interesting, since the news of your least favorite driver on the grid (or at least the one you swore you hated) being replaced by Lewis Hamilton in Ferrari were announced a few weeks prior.
"Did you hear the news?" Oscar asked, making his way to you.
"What news?" you replied, setting down your coffee cup.
"Lewis Hamilton is moving to Ferrari next season," Oscar said, watching your reaction closely.
Your eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, what? So the little bitch is out?"
Oscar nodded. "Yeah, it's going to be an interesting season."
Carlos Sainz was both a source of irritation and inexplicable attraction. You had tried to push the memory of that kiss at Jimmy'z to the back of your mind all winter long, but you just couldn't stop thinking about it.
Plus, Lando was firm on his mission of making wither of you confess that apparently you "liked each other", which made ignoring the whole situation even harder.
You just hoped that he would keep it chill this season, not bothering either you or Oscar so you could just pretend he didn't exist.
With that thought on your mind, you made your way back to the hotel. You spent the day exploring around Bahrain with Oscar and Lando, and now you were ready to unwind in your room. The boys deciding to spend a few more hours walking around before heading back.
Once in the lobby, you stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for your floor. Just as the doors were about to close, a familiar hand slipped in, forcing them open.
Carlos Sainz stepped inside, his ever-present smirk firmly in place.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear, they say.
"Not going to say hello, querida?" he said after a few seconds of complete silence from you, leaning against the elevator wall.
"Carlos. Still popping up where you're least wanted, I see," you rolled your eyes, folding your arms over your chest.
"Missed you too, Piastri," he chuckled, pushing off the wall to stand closer you, "How was your break?"
"Great, thanks for asking," you replied coolly. "Did you enjoy yours, planning how to be a pain to other drivers this season too?"
"Is that really how you want to start our first conversation of the season?" Carlos raised an eyebrow, "I though we've left that in the past, specially after what happened at the end of last year."
You tensed at his statement. More than once during the break, you wondered if he remembered what happened that night. He was as drunk was you were, if not more, so you convinced yourself that he had forgotten about it.
"I don't remember much from that night. Must have been the champagne."
Carlos leaned in slightly, his voice low and teasing. "Oh, I think you remember perfectly well. Especially the kiss."
Your heart skipped a beat, but you kept your expression neutral. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Playing dumb doesn't suit you," he said with a chuckle. "But fine, we'll pretend it never happened. For now."
"Good," you replied sharply. "Because I have no intention of discussing it."
"Maybe you're playing dumb because you want me to kiss you again," Carlos teased, making you throw your head back in frustration.
"I'd rather choke on my own spit, little bitch,"
"Ahh, missed hearing that," Carlos said, his tone cocky and satisfied with your frustration. You mentally cursed the elevator for taking so long to get to your fucking floor.
"You know what? I hope you don't find a seat for next season at all. You act like a total peacock when everyone knows you're basically unemployed right now," you spitted out before you could even think twice.
Carlos raised an eyebrow, his expression momentarily serious. "Low blow, Piastri. Even for you."
You held his gaze defiantly, refusing to back down. "Just stating the obvious."
The elevator finally dinged, announcing your floor, and you stepped out swiftly, eager to end the conversation before it could escalate further.
Carlos Sainz had a way of getting under your skin like no one else, and the season had only just begun.
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ynpiastri and we’re back 🏁 i promise to make this season drama free
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username1 ICON IS BACKKKK
username2 nooo we need you to keep dragging sainz
mclaren Our favorite nepo sister 🧡
↳ ynpiastri that’s meeee
username3 yn always gives us lily x oscar content bless her
charles_leclerc What if I need you to fight someone from the grid for me?
↳ ynpiastri you know there’s one person i would gladly drag through the mood
↳ username1 HER HATRED FOR CARLOS LIVES
lilyzneimer love youuu✨
oscarpiastri Cute picture of me and Lily, thank u sis
↳ ynpiastri i’m just here for my babies 🫡
landonorris I know your reasons
↳ ynpiastri you’re so strange sometimes
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It was a sunny day in Melbourne, and the paddock was buzzing with excitement. The Australian Grand Prix was always a favorite, and this year was no exception.
You felt good to be back home, you always felt proud when you saw Oscar on the track, but seeing him racing in your home country was something even more special.
Carlos was also back from his emergency surgery and ready to race again. And even though you would never admit it out loud, you were relieved to see him back and healthy. The news of his appendicitis had shocked you more than you’d expected, and you’d found yourself genuinely concerned about his wellbeing.
I'm just being a decent human being, you tried to convince yourself, It would be really scary if that happened to Oscar or Lando.
Walking through the paddock, you looked for a familiar face to hang out with before it was time for the track action to start, spotting Lando's back talking to someone you couldn't quite identify, you decided to approach him.
As you got closer, Lando shifted slightly, revealing the person he was talking to, Carlos.
He looked well, a healthy glow back in his cheeks, his smile easy and relaxed. He was wearing his team gear, the Ferrari red suiting him perfectly. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and despite the casual setting, he looked effortlessly handsome for someone who had a major surgery just two weeks ago.
Your stomach did a little flip. You hated to admit it, but lately your hatred towards Carlos had cooled down. Maybe it was the memory of that kiss, seeing him vulnerable after his surgery or the fact that he had been decent to Oscar so far. You couldn't deny that there was something about him that made you feel… softer.
However, you decided to ignore those thoughts and feelings every time they got to your head, because at the end of the day, there was no way he could ever feel or think the same way. It was better to keep hating each other.
Lando noticed you approaching and gave you a teasing grin. "Hey, YN! Look who’s back from the dead!"
Carlos turned to face you, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. "Hey, Piastri," he greeted with a warm smile. "Back to your home turf, huh?"
"Yeah," you replied, trying to keep your tone casual despite the flutter in your chest. "It feels good to be back."
Lando gave Carlos a pat on the shoulder. "I'll catch up with you later, mate," he said, winking at you before walking away, leaving the two of you alone.
You stood there for a moment, awkward silence filling the air. Maybe he was still tired from what he had been through, but he didn't show any signs of cockiness or wanting to annoy you this time.
"You look well," you finally said, your voice softer than usual. "I'm glad you're back."
Carlos chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "I heard you were worried about me."
"Don't let it go to your head," you replied quickly, though the usual bite in your tone was missing. You felt a bit embarrassed that he knew, "I’m just being a decent human being."
"Of course," Carlos said, his voice nonchalant, "Decent human being, sure."
"I’m serious," you insisted, though your voice lacked the usual edge. "But I am glad you’re okay. It must have been scary."
Carlos’s expression softened. "It was. But I had good doctors, and I’m ready to race again. Thanks for worrying."
There was silence again, and you noticed that this was the first time you and Carlos had an interaction that didn't include biting each other's heads off.
It felt nice.
"Well," you said after a minute of silence, "don’t expect me to go easy on you just because you had surgery. You're still on my watch."
"Wouldn’t have it any other way," Carlos smirked, "But for the record, it’s nice to see you care, even if you won’t admit it."
"Don't push your luck, Sainz," you warned, but there was a hint of playfulness in your voice.
"I wouldn't dare, Piastri."
"I should get going," you said, pointing towards the McLaren hospitality, "Good luck out there."
As you turned to walk away, Carlos's voice stopped you in your tracks.
You glanced back at him, eyebrows raised in question.
"You know, this is the first time you don't call me a little bitch," Carlos said, a small playing on his face.
"What, you miss it already? Does it turn you own?"
"Maybe a little," Carlos chuckled, "Keeps things interesting."
You shook your head, trying to hide the smile that threatened to spread across your face.
"Well, good luck out there, little bitch."
You didn't wait to see his reaction, but you knew he was grinning from ear to ear.
Later that day, Carlos crossed the finish line first and won the Australian Grand Prix, sending the crowd into a frenzy. You watched as Carlos celebrated on the podium, spraying champagne with Lando and Charles and holding up the winner's trophy with pride.
You swore you played it cool, but everyone around you noticed the huge smile on your face.
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ynpiastri you’ll always find your way back hoooome 🎶
↳ username1 how pissed do you think she was bc he won in australia
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alexandrasaintmleux Mama piastri >> 🫶
↳ ynpiastri our real queen
lilyzneimer the third pic is my faveeee
username4 surprised that she didn’t blur carlos in the podium pic
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↳ username2 OMFG I NEED TO SEE THAT
↳ oscarpiastri Aussie traditions mate
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"You're not my best friend," Lando said, sitting on the plush couch of your hotel room, watching as you put a sweatshirt on, "You've been replaced with an alien or an evil twin, there's no way you're YN Piastri."
"Can you quit being dramatic," you rolled your eyes at him, "It's no big deal."
"You're grabbing sushi with Carlos Sainz," he stressed, moving his hands to emphasize, "You hate Carlos Sainz, it's been an issue for me for the last year because both of you force me to pick sides and I have to make sure you don't kill each other. And now you're suddenly going on dates."
"This is not a date," you protested, "Don't even say that out loud, it's gross."
"Then what is it? Because he asked you out and you said yes, that's literally a date."
You didn't give him a reply right away, hiding behind your your busy hands as you pretended to adjust your sweatshirt.
Truth was, you didn’t have an answer, at least not one that made sense. You couldn't blame Lando for thinking you've been replaced with someone else, because you'd never accept anything from Carlos last year, let alone willingly grab dinner with him.
But here you were, about to head out to meet him.
"I just want free dinner," you shrugged, "And he offered to buy it, so I'm taking advantage of it."
"Sure, free dinner," Lando gave you a skeptical look, crossing his arms, "Because you’ve never had other options for free dinner before, right? Your brother is rich, he could buy you whatever you want."
You huffed, trying to sound annoyed but feeling a bit defensive. "It's just sushi, Lando. Stop making it a big deal."
"You know, it's okay if you like him," he said, his tone genuine. "I mean, I get why you're hesitant, but it's fine to have feelings for someone, even if it's Carlos Sainz."
"Are you out of your mind?" you immediately said, your voice sharper than intended, "We're talking about the little bitch, what on earth makes you think that I could have feelings for him other than disgust and irritation."
"I don't know, maybe the fact that you're getting ready to get dinner with him, or that you were on the edge of your seat worrying the entire time he was recovering from the surgery, or the time I almost caught you kiss-"
"God, just shut up," you interrupted him, "Oscar would understand. He knows I'm never going to get all lovey-dovey over Carlos."
"Oscar might buy whatever you tell him," Lando raised an eyebrow, "But that doesn't mean you're being honest with yourself. It's not the end of the world to admit you might have a crush."
"I do not have a crush on him," you insisted, your cheeks heating up. "It's just... complicated."
"Complicated how?" Lando pressed, leaning forward. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks pretty straightforward. You’re intrigued by him, he’s intrigued by you, and you both can’t seem to stay away from each other."
You let his words sink in, Lando might be a year younger than you, and often perceived as a carefree guy who didn't have a serious bone in his body. But in reality, he was a very wise person who understood the complexities of situations better than most.
That was one of the reasons why he was your best friend.
"Look, it’s not that simple," you sighed, rubbing your temples, "We have history, and not the good kind. I don't trust him, and I don’t think he trusts me either. We're just… trying to be civil for once."
"That's good," Lando stood up from the couch, sitting beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, "Honestly I was tired of dealing with your constant bickering, if you didn't kiss and make up on your own, I was going to lock you up in a closet until you resolved it."
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username1 BESTIEEEE
username2 THIS LOOKS LIKE A DATE
alexandrasaintmleux I just texted you !!!
↳ username1 LET ME INNNN
f1gossip 👀
username3 CARLOS SAINZ ???
↳ username1 girl no way they hate each other
↳ username2 he’s in the likes tho 😭
landonorris IM FREEEEE WORST EXPERIENCE OF MY LIFEEEE
↳ username1 wtfffff
oscarpiastri Answer my texts right now please
↳ username1 IM SCREAMING
↳ username2 OSCAR 😩
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After a nice dinner and a couple of drinks, you and Carlos walked back to the hotel. The sushi had been surprisingly good, and the conversation… surprisingly pleasant.
The bickering between you was still present, but this time it wasn't harsh or spiteful, it was playful and and light-hearted. The tension that usually accompanied your interactions had lessened, and you actually acted friendly towards each other.
"I still can't believe you made me try that weird seaweed thing," you said, bumping your shoulder against his as you walked.
"You loved it, admit it," Carlos chuckled.
"Maybe a little," you conceded with a small smile, "How did you know this place anyways?"
"I like reading restaurant reviews online," he shrugged, "It's a random hobby of mine, and I'm going to need those in case I don't have a job next year."
You paused, his words sinking in. Carlos joked about it, but you knew the uncertainty of his future in Formula 1 must be horrible. The sport is cutthroat, and the thought of not finding a seat to race must be weighing on him heavily. It made you think about Oscar, and how that could happen to him too.
"I'm sorry for saying that I hope you don't find a seat next season," you blurted out, feeling a pang of guilt. "You're right, that was low, even for me."
"Are you really apologizing, Piastri?" he teased, "First you cared about my health, now you apologize. What's next? You'll stop calling me a little bitch?"
You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice behind it. "Don't push your luck, Sainz. Just take the apology and run with it."
"Alright, I'll take it," Carlos laughed, a genuine sound that made your heart skip a beat, "You must be praying I stay just so you have an excuse to argue with me, aren't you?"
"Don't flatter yourself," you shot back, grinning. "I can argue with anyone."
"But you like arguing with me the most," he said, his voice softening.
You didn't reply, the truth in his words making your heart race. From the corner of your eye, you saw the satisfied grin on his face.
Soon enough you reached the hotel lobby, and once you walked through the doors you spotted Charles and Alexandra by the reception desk.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Charles called out, drawing the attention of Alex, who looked at you with raised eyebrows.
"Just coming back from dinner," you replied, trying to keep your tone casual. "What are you two up to?"
"We were just about to head up," Alexandra said, linking her arm with Charles's. "How was dinner?"
"Surprisingly good," Carlos said, glancing at you with a smirk.
Charles raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "This is new. You two actually getting along?"
"Don't get used to it," you said, rolling your eyes. "I just wanted free dinner."
"Right," Charles said, not convinced. "Well, we're heading up, you coming?"
You all piled into the elevator, the small space filled with a mix of comfortable silence and light conversation. When the elevator reached your floor, you stepped out, Carlos following close behind.
"Goodnight, guys," Alex called out as the elevator doors closed, giving you a look that screamed 'TEXT ME ASAP'
Carlos walked you to your room, the hallway dimly lit and quiet. As you walked side by side, the occasional brush of his arm against yours sent small shivers down your spine.
"So, the only reason you agreed to come with me tonight was because you wanted free dinner?" Carlos asked once you reached your room.
"Exactly, what else do you think would make me want to spend an evening with you?"
Carlos chuckled, leaning against the wall beside your door. "I don't know, maybe my charming personality and good looks?"
"Charming?" you raised your eyebrows at him, "You're literally the most annoying person I know."
"Likewise, Piastri," Carlos shot back, his smirk widening, "But here we are, aren't we?"
"You really think you're that special, don't you?" you said, rolling your eyes.
"I know I am, querida," Carlos replied, stepping closer. "And you can't get enough of me."
You looked away from him, his stare suddenly becoming overwhelming. He was really close, as close as he was the night you kissed at Jimmy'z, and even thinking about it has your neck crawling away in sweat.
"See? You can't even deny it." Carlos grinned, his eyes locking onto yours again, his voice dropping an octave as he took another step closer.
"Don't get any ideas," you warned, but your heart was racing, and you were sure he could hear it.
"I can't help it," he said softly, his face now inches from yours. "You bring out the best in me, Piastri."
"I still hate you," you whispered, your breath hitching as he leaned in even closer.
"No, you don't," Carlos whispered back, his lips brushing against yours.
Before you could protest, he closed the distance and kissed you. It was gentle at first, tentative, as if he was giving you a chance to pull away. But when you didn't, the kiss deepened, becoming more intense and filled with a raw passion that took your breath away.
Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping tightly as you kissed him back, losing yourself in the moment. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you even closer.
When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, a small smile playing on Carlos's lips.
"Goodnight, Piastri," he whispered, his voice husky.
Unable to move from your spot, you watched him walk through the corridor and disappear into the elevator doors, your mind still blurry about what happened just seconds ago.
You were fucked.
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TWITTER
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A playlist full of pop classics played as you got ready for Lando's millionth win celebration.
He took the win at the Miami Grand Prix and the next following days were full of partying and champagne. You were beyond happy for him, and willing to put up with his multiple celebrations of his well deserved win.
This time, the setting was not that over the top, just a casual dinner at his place in Monaco with his close friends.
"Can I come in?" you heard after a knock on Oscar's guest bedroom, the place where you stayed when visiting Monaco.
"Sure," you replied, quickly meeting with your brother's figure.
Oscar entered the room, a casual grin on his face. He glanced around before his eyes settled on you. "Are you almost ready?"
"Yeah," you replied, adjusting an earring. "I hope this is Lando's last celebration, I can't keep up anymore.
"He's definitely on a roll," Oscar chuckled, "You know, Carlos is going to be there."
"I know," you said, looking away from him for a moment and trying to keep your tone nonchalant.
"You do?" Oscar raised a eyebrow.
"He's Lando's best friend, Osc, it's obvious he'll be there."
Oscar nodded slowly, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Right, of course. But you two have been getting close lately, haven't you? You didn't even come for his neck after Miami, and you always do that."
You sighed, knowing where this conversation was heading. There was no denying that there was something between you and Carlos, your friends might not know about the times you've kissed, but they definitely noticed the shift in your behavior towards each other.
You found yourself enjoying his company, looking forward to catch a glimpse of him every weekend and craving his touch. You don't know if he feels the same way, but the way he looks at you and finds ways to get you alone tells you he does.
Admitting this to Oscar felt like crossing a line, even though he had always encouraged you to be open about your feelings.
"We're just… getting along better. That's all," you muttered, "And you asked me to behave on social media this season, I'm trying to do that."
"That's bullshit, YN," Oscar shook his head, a teasing smile forming on his lips, "Come on, admit it. Maybe the real reason you didn't attack him this time is because you like him."
"Oscar, we're not having this conversation," you quickly became defensive, "I don't know why everyone insist on something that's far from the truth. I don't like Sainz."
"Sis, it's okay if you like him," Oscar said, his tone gentle but insistent. "You don't have to hide it from me."
You looked away, feeling conflicted. Ever since you first met Carlos, there was something about him that intrigued you, however, you were too caught up in convincing yourself that he would never see you as more than his brand new rival's sister. Things getting worse when his incidents with Oscar on track started and you took that as an opportunity to be reckless to him.
It was a self defense mechanism for your own feelings.
"It's complicated, okay?" you said, feeling vulnerable but knowing you could trust him, "We spent last year coming from each other's necks all the time, but now he's nice to me and I am too, we spend time together, we kiss. But at the same time, I feel like I can't trust him, that he's going to switch to little bitch mode again and I'll end up feeling stupid for potentially catching feelings."
"Holy shit you've kissed!" Oscar said, his eyes widening, "Lando was right all along."
"Oh god, I shouldn't have said anything," you threw your head back in frustration.
"Sorry, sorry," he put his hands up in defense, "But It's okay to feel confused. You can talk to me, you know. I'm your brother, and I just want you to be happy. I can tell that this is really bothering you."
You sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I just don't know what to do, Osc. One minute I think I might actually like him, and the next I'm terrified of getting hurt."
"Look, I know Carlos can be intense on track, but off track? He's a good guy," Oscar sat beside you, putting an arm around your shoulders, "When he's not trying to push me off the track, he's really supportive and a nice guy. There's a reason why Lando adores him. Plus, maybe he's figuring things out too."
You leaned into Oscar's side, grateful for his comforting presence. "Do you really think so?"
"Yeah, I do," Oscar nodded reassuringly. "And you deserve to give yourself a chance at happiness. If Carlos could make you happy, then why not see where it goes?"
"When did you become so wise?" you teased, giving him a small smile, "You're supposed to be my annoying little brother who picks his nose and runs around the house."
"Hey, I can be wise when I want to be," Oscar chuckled, giving you a playful shove, "But don't worry, I'll always be your annoying little brother, nose-picking and all."
You laughed, feeling some of the tension ease from your shoulders. "Thanks, Osc. I needed this."
"Anytime, sis," Oscar said warmly, giving you a quick hug. "Now, come on. Lando is probably drunk already and we haven't made it to his house yet."
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ynpiastri the rumors are true: lando norris keeps celebrating his miami win even tho it’s been a week
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username1 so iconic tbh
username2 EXCUSE ME MISS IS THAT CARLOS SAINZ IN THE LAST PIC ??
↳ username1 i thought they hated each other 😭
danielricciardo 🙌
alexandrasaintmleux 👀 I see you
↳ ynpiastri and i don’t see you over her which means your boyfriend sucks for not bringing you
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landonorris IM V DRVNK OMG
↳ username3 i love him 😭😭😭😩
username4 carlos sainz and yn piastri the ultimate enemies to lovers lowkey
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You're not sure how it happened, but Carlos' arm laid casually in the back of your chair as you chatted with those around you. His fingers gently brushed your bare shoulder from time to time, his thigh pressed to yours under the table.
Maybe it was the couple glasses of champagne you both had, you're not sure. But you definitely didn't want to move from your spot.
No one dared to say anything about it, but your friends had teasing grins at the sight. You knew you'll have to deal with them later, but you decided to ignore it for the night.
"Alright, I think I'm calling it a night," Oscar said as he got up from his chair, Lando immediately booed, "Are you coming, YN?"
You looked at him with raised eyebrows, you definitely didn't want to leave yet, feeling too comfortable in Carlos' presence. In addition to that, you haven't had a chance to get him alone, and that was enough to not want the night to end.
After a minute of silence from you, Carlos spoke up, "I can give her a ride home if she doesn't want to leave yet," he offered, his voice smooth and nonchalant.
"Oh, a private chauffeur service now, Carlos? How fancy," Max teased from across the table, making the entire group laugh.
Oscar hesitated, glancing between you and Carlos, his protective instincts kicking in. "Are you okay with that, YN?"
"Yeah, I'm okay with it," you met Oscar's eyes and nodded, "Or I can just crash here, Lando is too drunk to notice anyway, don't want to cause much trouble."
"It's really no trouble," he insisted, his hand still resting gently on your shoulder. "I'll make sure you get home safely."
Oscar seemed to relax a bit, though you could tell he was still a little uneasy. "Alright then. Just... be careful, okay?"
"Don't worry, Osc," you replied, standing up and giving him a quick hug. "I'll see you tomorrow."
As Oscar left, the group continued to tease and laugh. You always enjoyed when the drivers were in a casual setting like this one, where they could forget about competition and teams and just hang out and have fun.
You stayed glued to Carlos the entire time, getting even closer as the night went on, you could feel your eyelids getting heavy, so you laid your head on his shoulder.
"You're falling asleep on me, hermosa," Carlos whispered to you, not moving your head from its place.
"I'm not," you protested, but at the same time you did a yawn escaped your mouth, which made Carlos laugh.
"Come on let's get you home," Carlos offered you his hand.
You took Carlos' hand, not even thinking twice about it. As you both stood to leave, your friends couldn't resist one last round of teasing.
"No funny business, Carlos," Charles called out, grinning widely. You couldn't help but roll your eyes at him. "We have Oscar on speed dial."
"Yeah, don't make me come after you, that's also my sister," Lando added, too drunk to even make sense.
You laughed, waving goodbye to everyone as you and Carlos made your way out. The cool night air was refreshing as you walked to his car, your hand still in his.
The drive to Oscar's place was quiet but comfortable. Carlos kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console close to you. You found yourself stealing glances at him, admiring the way the streetlights played over his features.
At one point, Carlos glanced over and caught you staring. "You're staring," he said, a smirk playing on his lips.
You felt your cheeks heat up but didn't look away. "Maybe I am," you replied, a teasing edge in your voice. "You have a problem with that?"
"Not at all, Piastri. Not at all."
When you arrived at Oscar's place, Carlos parked the car but you made no move to get out. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words and lingering tension.
"Are you ready to stop pretending we hate each other?" Carlos asked suddenly, his voice low and earnest. "Because I am."
His words hung in the air, causing your heart to skip a beat. The intensity in his gaze made it clear he wasn't playing around or teasing you. He was being real and serious.
You took a deep breath, your eyes locking onto his. "Yeah, I am."
Your heart pounded in your chest as you closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss. His hand cupped your cheek, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with a mix of tenderness and hunger. The world outside the car ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the way his kiss made you feel.
Carlos' other hand found its way to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss as he pressed you closer. Your hands tangled in his hair, holding on as if letting go meant losing this moment forever.
When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath. Carlos' eyes searched yours, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.
"But… I'm not ready to stop calling you a little bitch, though."
Summary: It's 1987. You haven't spoken to Steve Harrington in nearly five years. Then Dustin Henderson tells you about a sweet deal he has at Family Video, where he can rent any movie he wants.
Pairing: ex-best friend!Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Word count: 8.8k
Warnings/tags: friends to strangers to lovers. the reader is twenty in 1987 and i technically made steve twenty-one/about to turn twenty-one. s4 happened but eddie's alive and vecna's dead. no earthquakes or anything like that; reader has no idea about what really happened. lots of angst, mentions of billy hargrove (yuck) and steve's s1 asshole friends.
A/N: oh my lord. i don't know where this eighteen-wheeler of a fic came from but here it is. there is a happy ending, not to worry. i'd never do that to y'all <3 feedback and reblogs are always always appreciated!
divider by firefly-graphics
August 1981
"I wish we could stay eighth graders forever."
You lift your head from your orange pool floaty. Steve drifts on the surface of the water. His hair is longer, way longer than you've seen it in the three years you've been friends. He says it's better for styling that way; he's even bought a gel and cream for his hair. You don't understand why he wants to change something that doesn't need changing.
"Why?" you ask. "I thought you were excited for high school."
He hums. The sound echoes in his backyard.
"It's bigger than middle school. More kids, more teachers, more work. I like eighth grade."
"I'll help you with your work," you say.
Steve turns his head and smiles at you. Part of his face is in the water, the image distorted.
"You'll do great," he replies. "You're so smart."
Steve doesn't say those things to get you to help him like other kids do. Steve means it.
"You'll do great too," you say. "You're funny and nice and my best friend. People will like you."
"You think?"
You nod. Steve turns his head and closes his eyes again.
"We'll stay friends, right?" he asks.
The floaty squeaks as you move to sit up. You paddle to Steve so you can look at his face.
"Why wouldn't we?"
"I dunno." His eyes are still closed. "You might make super smart friends. And I'll just be a dumbass holding you back."
You shove Steve's shoulder lightly.
"You are not dumb, Steve."
One muggy June night had had Steve admit he wasn't thirteen, like you and all the kids in your class, but fourteen. He had been held back in third grade after his parents moved from Illinois. It's why my brain's mush, he'd said. I was born dumb.
He had made you swear not to tell anyone.
"You're not dumb," you say again. "Say it, Steve. Say you're not dumb."
His frown deepens, but he still won't look at you.
"Tommy says I am."
"Tommy Hagan is a shithead," you shoot back with so much venom, Steve's eyes fly open. "It's not true, whatever he tells you."
You hate that they've been hanging out more this summer. You can't tell Steve that, because it's not like you own him. He can be friends with whoever he wants. But you can't help that your skin crawls when Tommy and his stupid girlfriend, Carol, drops by and pulls Steve away from you.
“Promise?” he asks.
“Yes, Steve. I promise.”
“‘Kay.” Steve smiles a little. “Thanks.”
You nod and lay back on the floaty.
“Wanna get ice cream after this?” he asks.
“Just us?”
“Just us.”
Now. (January, 1987)
You slam the phone back onto the receiver. A girl playing Pac-Man carefully glances at you.
Whoops. Right. You're still at work.
You smile and give a thumbs-up. She turns around. You return to your wallowing.
You’ve called three different video rentals. Jewel Films, which is about to go out of business; More Movies, whose attendant hung up on you before you could say Molly Ringwald; and finally, Blockbuster, which is thirty minutes outside of Hawkins. None of them have a copy of Pretty in Pink.
And okay. You could just watch another movie. You don't need that specific one. But this year has been shit. You'd thought after starting college, you'd finally break out of the Hawkins forcefield that had limited your social life. You'd thought you'd make friends and not be so terribly lonely. Life is supposed to get better after high school, isn’t it?
Obviously, whoever said that is a big, fat liar.
“Dude!” you hear a familiar voice exclaim. “Stop hogging the game!”
Tawny curls peek from under a green and yellow hat. The hat hovers over an older boy who’s glued to the Tempest booth. You go to them. Dustin Henderson lights up when he sees you. You can read his hat now; it says Camp Know Where ‘85.
“Hey, Y/N!” he greets brightly. “This guy has been here for a half hour. I left to get nachos and when I came back, he was still here.”
“I’m this close to beating my score!” the kid insists.
“Come on, guy," you say, one arm on the machine. "You gotta give other people a turn."
The kid, evidently demon incarnate, sneers at you.
“Who’s gonna make me? You?”
You lean against the side of the game, considering.
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen,” he says.
You snort.
“Sixteen? And you’re still on Tempest?”
He glances at you.
“So?”
“Everybody your age is playing Rampage, that’s all.”
You wink at Dustin. He beams.
“And, uh, I saw a couple girls hanging around Rampage,” you add.
The kid turns to you. You tilt your head innocently.
“Seriously?” he asks.
“Seriously. People always flock to the new games.”
Which is true. The girls part is not, but he doesn’t need to know that. With that attitude, he won't be getting many phone numbers anyway.
You drum your fingers on the game like you have all the time in the world. And sure enough, the kid takes his quarters and heads towards Rampage. Dustin jumps in delight.
“You’re awesome, Y/N!"
You grin. “I try. Where are the others?”
Dustin sours.
“They ditched me. To hang out with their girlfriends! Can you believe that shit?”
“No way!"
He shakes his head.
“I know, right? My friend told me that that’s what happens in high school. People change, y’know? And he’d know, I guess. He’s old like you.”
You scoff. “You make me sound like some kind of ancient. I’m not that old, Henderson.”
“It’s okay, Y/N.” He pats your arm. “In many cultures, the elderly are wise. Now in my experience, this hasn’t been the case. But I think you’re wise.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Dustin smiles like the little shit he is and puts his change in the slot.
“Well, contrary to what this other friend says, I’m sure it’ll pass,” you say. “You guys will hang out again."
You swallow your acidic truth. Dustin's a good kid, and so are his friends. You don't want him to turn cynical like you have. He's too young.
Dustin shrugs, starting the game.
“I guess so. I got a copy of The Lost Boys for us to watch on Friday. They said they’ll be there.”
“Whoa, seriously? That one just came out, how’d you get a copy?”
“My friend,” he says. “The one I mentioned. He works at Family Video and reserves stuff for me.”
“Huh. I thought Family Video was closed."
You'd applied to work there last year and never got a call back. You'd gone by once and it had looked abandoned. Hence why you now work at the arcade across town.
"It almost did, but Keith took over so now it's barely scraping by."
"Absolutely," he gushes. "He's a total badass too. He won his first fight last year. He used to be a jock but he's recovered."
"Wow. Impressive."
"Mmhm. I could ask him to hold stuff for you too, if you wanted.”
“You would?”
The game makes a sad game over noise. Dustin sighs and takes a gulp of his slushie.
“Yeah, totally,” he says through a mouthful of blue raspberry ice. “Which one do you want?”
“Pretty in Pink? I missed it in theaters."
“Sure. I’ll tell him to hold it tonight and tomorrow you can pick it up.”
“Cool. Thanks, Dustin.”
Dustin gives you an apple-cheeked grin.
“Gotta stay in good graces with the arcade attendant who lets me play Tempest as long as I want.”
"I don't know what you're talking about," you say, walking away. "Don't get slushie on the game."
"'Kay!"
Dustin only gets a little bit of slushie on the game, but he cleans it up with about a million of the cheap snack bar napkins. When he leaves, he tells you to mention his name at Family.
"Who do I ask for?"
"You can talk to either of them," Dustin says. "Doesn't matter. Except Keith. You know Keith, right?"
"Unfortunately.” Keith used to terrorize the arcade before he blessedly moved on. “He works there?"
"Barely." Dustin scoffs. "He's almost never there, so don't worry. And feel free to ask for more movies. They owe me one."
Your sole interactions are with professors and a gaggle of high school freshmen. But now you get to watch any movie you want. Maybe this year won't totally suck.
The bell rings pleasantly as you step inside. There's a few people on line, so you take your time walking in. There's a movie display with about thirty copies of RoboCop. A cardboard cutout of RoboCop stares back behind his red helmet.
"Can I help who's next?"
You go to the counter. A girl about your age with a choppy haircut smiles at you but it's sort of strained. She has a pin on her green work vest that says Ask me!
"Please don't ask for Adventures in Babysitting," she says.
"Oh. No, I'm, uh, Dustin's friend?"
You can't believe you're name-dropping a high schooler.
She nods in realization.
"Oh, yeah. God, I keep telling that dweeb not to promise holds."
You wince.
"Sorry. If it's going to get you in trouble…"
Her brows raise. She smiles a bit.
"No, it's okay. Usually my coworker deals with it but, well. He's taking an extra long break today. So, what movie was it?"
"Pretty in Pink," you say.
"Classic," she replies. "John Hughes fan?"
"Somewhat. I didn't get to see it in theaters. I like Molly Ringwald."
She grins.
"Me too. She's pretty."
"Super pretty," you agree.
The girl considers you, then sticks out her hand.
"I'm Robin," she says. "Nice to meet you."
You take her hand. "Y/N.”
"Did you go to Hawkins High?"
"I did. Graduated last year."
"Oh, cool. Are you in college?"
You nod.
"Hawkins State. Twenty minutes from here."
"Sweet! I'm taking a gap year, but afterwards, I’m gonna apply there. It's cheap. College is college, right?"
"College is college," you agree. "But I wish I'd gone away for school."
You don't know why you're telling her this. You've known Robin for all of two minutes. But she seems friendly. And her sense of style is cool. She wears a blue blazer and tie underneath her vest.
"How come?" she asks.
"Everybody from Hawkins is there," you say. "And I… I just want a new start."
Robin smiles sympathetically.
"They're jerks," she says.
You huff. "Yeah."
You'd turned yourself into a social recluse a million years ago. It's your own damn fault you can't befriend anybody in this town. At least, not anymore.
Robin types into the computer, then smacks the monitor. She groans.
"Ugh. Gimme a second," she says. "Stupid technology."
"No problem," you say, smiling. You like her. Maybe you can integrate Family Video into your regular routine, become friends. You can see Robin becoming a good friend. One you wouldn't grow apart from.
She disappears into the back room. You browse the old releases and stop at Die Hard. This one you saw in theaters. John McClane is a badass.
You think of Dustin, and his supposedly badass new friend. It's too bad you didn't meet today. Dustin has a good sense about people. If he says so, it's possible you and this friend really would get on.
The bell rings again. You're slow to look up. The entrance is empty when you do. You keep reading about John McClane's adventures.
"Have you been waiting long?"
You turn at the new voice. The video slips out of your hand and clatters onto the counter.
Steve’s hair has grown since you last saw it. He looks different too, though he has yet to break out of his signature church boy polos. There's a smattering of stubble on his jaw. His arms are lean with muscle. He wears a matching work vest like Robin's, name tag printed Steve in blocky font.
He looks at where you've dropped Die Hard and smiles.
"This is a good one," he says. "John McClane is a total badass."
You blink.
"Did you want to rent that one?" he continues, meeting your eye.
"No," you manage.
"Okay, no problem. Just browsing?"
He doesn't remember you.
You stare and stare. Steve leans in, concerned. He's changed, but he hasn't. He's still handsome with his swoopy hair and big, dark eyes, but the Steve you knew wouldn't have been caught dead working at a video store.
And he doesn't remember you.
"Are you okay?" he asks, sounding genuine.
You take a step back from the counter. The blood roars in your ears. Robin comes back in, Pretty in Pink in hand. She looks at you, then at Steve.
"Got it!" she tells you. "Computer should work now."
"I have to go," you say.
You don't look at Steve again, instead focusing on Robin.
Her brows rise.
"Oh. Is everything—"
"I forgot my wallet," you blurt. "I can't pay for the movie. Sorry."
"That's okay, we can just—"
You run. The bell chimes over her words. You keep running until you get to the bus stop, three blocks away.
Only there do you stop to catch your breath.
And then you cry.
February 1982
"What do you think about Marie?"
You look up from your textbook. Steve is doodling in the margins of his notes. You gently prod his arm. He returns to reading but his leg starts to bounce under the table.
"Marie Iverson?" you ask.
"Yeah."
Steve glances at you. He pushes his hair back. It had taken him freshman year to get his bearings with all the gels and creams, but now, his hair is a point of pride, always perfectly coiffed. Seniors call him "The Hair" and high-five him in the hallway. You hate it.
"I don't know. I don't know her that well."
"She's cute."
"I guess so," you say.
It's harder to get Steve to focus on homework these days. Last year, he happily made flashcards with you and even bought fancy gel pens to share for your notes. Now, he prefers to talk about girls or—
"I was thinking of asking her out."
The tip of your pencil breaks. You really ought to start using pens, but you don't like being unable to erase.
"Shit, here. Take mine."
Steve offers his still perfectly sharpened pencil. You stare at it.
"Y/N?"
"Yeah." You take the pencil. "Thanks."
"Sure. So what do you think?"
"I don't know, Steve. I thought you talked about this stuff with Tommy."
"I would, it's just…" Steve shifts uncomfortably. "He can be rude about it sometimes. He doesn't even get why we're friends, y'know? Doesn't understand why I don't just date you."
Tommy is a moron, but you've said that since last year, and Steve's never listened before.
"Some people don't get it," you say mildly, because you have an upcoming French test and there's no use in getting upset over Tommy Hagan right now.
"But you do. And you know about this stuff better than me. Girls and all."
"Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I know what girls are best for you to date, Steve. It's weird to talk about."
Steve deflates.
"Oh. Yeah, I guess so. Sorry."
You sigh and rub your temple.
"I thought you knew all about that," you say, extending an olive branch. "Asking girls out and stuff."
"Well, I mean, I've kissed girls but I've never… you're, like, the only girl I really know."
Something like pride swells in your chest. Selfishly, you want to keep Steve. You don't want to help him if it means losing him. Oh, you're so greedy, aren't you? You watch Steve run off with Tommy and Carol and nameless seniors and seethe, because Steve was yours first. Steve is yours.
"Y/N?"
"Yeah." You give him back his pencil and fish for another one in your bag. "Did you ever think about writing how you feel?"
"Writing?"
"Yeah, like a poem or a letter."
"I'm terrible at writing," Steve laments. "The letters get all jumbled and I never spell a damn thing right."
He'd told his mom once how letters melt into each other, how b's become d's. She'd taken him to get his eyes checked, and when the doctor said Steve was fine, Deborah Harrington had told her son to stop begging for attention.
"Someone who really likes you won't care about spelling mistakes, Steve," you tell him. "As long as you write from the heart. Don't do that cheesy shit and quote Romeo and Juliet. They're young, impulsive, and they die at the end, and that's not romantic."
Steve laughs, nose scrunched.
"What!" you demand. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing, 's just—of course you'd have something to say about quoting Shakespeare."
"It's overdone," you say, crinkling your nose. "And girls would much rather read your own words."
"So you think I should write Marie a letter?"
"If you really like her," you say. "Only write letters for girls you really like. Otherwise they lose their meaning."
Steve frowns. "I don't know if I should write her a letter, then."
Don't, you want to say. Don't write any of them letters.
You shuffle your papers into a stack.
"Can we study now?" you ask.
"Oh, sure, yes. Sorry."
"You don't have to keep apologizing, Steve."
He shifts closer to you. His leg has stopped bouncing.
"Lemme take you out," he says.
You nearly swallow your tongue.
"Wh–what?"
"For ice cream," Steve clarifies. "Like we used to. Dairy Queen."
"Oh. Okay, sure. But after we study."
Steve beams. "I'll drive you."
Steve's dad had bought him the BMW as a birthday present this year—not that Richard Harrington actually knows when his own son's birthday is, considering the gift was three months early. Still, it's another point of pride for Steve and about all anybody talks about whenever his name comes up. Steve is the only person in your grade with a car. Junior girls hit him up for rides. You make yourself scarce when they do.
You don't care. You liked Steve before the car. And the clothes. And the hair.
Your throat feels tight. You want your best friend back.
"Just us?" you check.
You can't tell these days. Steve seems to hang out with everybody but you. You're shocked he'd even asked to study together.
"Oh, sure," Steve says. "I just have to drop off Tommy and Carol first, okay?"
You check your watch and close your book.
"I have class," you lie. "I'll see you later."
Steve catches your wrist. He looks at you and you're struck by how sweet his face is. It's not like you didn't understand why girls want him but it's Steve. Your Steve, who still sleeps with a nightlight and who framed a picture of a sports car he cut out from a magazine because he'd thought it would make him cooler (it didn't. You still tease him about it.)
"Please," he says. "For helping me."
Your eyes slit. "I didn't help you to get stuff, Steve. I helped you because you're my friend."
Steve blinks like he's forgotten what it's like to be friends with someone just for the sake of being friends.
"You're right," he agrees. "You're not like that. I'll tell Tommy and Carol to find another ride. It'll be just us. I promise."
You perk up at that. "Really?"
"Really. You can sit in the front with me and we'll play Bruce Springsteen, like we used to. Please?"
"Okay, Steve." You ache. You’ve never been very good at telling him no. "I'll meet you in the parking lot."
And maybe… maybe your best friend is still in there after all.
Now
You ask your shift manager if you can work at the snack bar today. It's in the back and you won't have to deal with any game hogs.
"You didn't put enough syrup in my slushie."
You might have overshot the perks, though.
Slushie Girl's hair is bleach blonde and hairsprayed to God. You want to tell her that all that hairspray doesn't keep friends. Or brain synapses.
"I don't make the slushie," you say for the third time. "That's how it comes out of the machine."
She shoots you a mean look.
"I'm complaining to the manager."
You paste on a smile.
"You do that. Have a nice day."
She finally walks away, probably on the hunt for your manager, who's definitely smoking a joint outside to avoid this exact situation.
Dustin comes around the corner and this time, he's with the rest of his party. You smile.
"Hey, Y/N!" Dustin greets.
Lucas waves at you. Max and Mike are arguing and therefore are in their own world. And there's their newest addition, El, whose story you're still not clear on, as well as Will, quiet as always.
You lean your elbows on the countertop.
"What'll it be, gang?"
"Six nachos and six slushies, please. One blue raspberry, three cherry, and two Coke."
You fill up the slushies first. Dustin dances on his toes.
"So did you pick up the movie?" he asks.
"Oh." You try to smile. "I went there but I couldn't. I forgot my money. Pretty dumb of me."
Dustin accepts this with no argument.
"Well, you can go back. They'll hold it for a few days."
You're never setting foot in there again, but you don't tell Dustin that.
He takes his slushie and immediately starts drinking.
"Slow down, dude. You'll get a brain freeze," you say.
"You sound like Steve," Dustin informs you. "Doesn't Y/N sound like Steve?"
Lucas nods.
"Yup. They're both parents."
You feel queasy. You focus on making the nachos, the cheese pouring out thick and gooey.
"Did you meet Steve?" Dustin asks. "You probably know him from high school, but he's different now."
"Yes," you say quietly. "I knew him."
"I promise he's different. Even Mike likes him, and Mike hated his guts. Right, Mike?"
Mike pauses in his animated discussion with Max and looks at you.
"What?"
"I'm telling Y/N about how Steve is cool now," Dustin explains.
"Oh." Mike shrugs. "He's fine. Much better now that he's not dating my sister."
"He's not?" you ask. "But they were in love. I–I mean, that's what I heard, at least."
"She dumped his ass," El says, and it sounds a little ridiculous in her soft monotone.
Max scoffs, taking her Coke slushie.
"Did you live under a rock? It was a huge thing."
"Now Steve is lame," Mike says with a snort.
"Getting dumped doesn't make somebody lame," you say with an old ferocity you'd thought had disappeared.
"Okay, jeez." Mike holds up his hands. "Steve's alright. He's different, that's for sure."
"He's our paladin," Lucas says. "A protector."
Dustin nods eagerly.
You blink. "He protects you guys?"
Max elbows Lucas. You have no idea what that's about. El steps forward and smiles softly.
"Yes," she says. "He's our babysitter."
"Aren't you guys freshmen? I thought you were too old for babysitters."
"Oh no, Steve doesn't get paid for it or anything," says Mike. "He just does it 'cause he has nothing else to do."
"That's not true!" Dustin argues. Then he shrugs. "Well, it's a little true. But he does like us. He's a good guy. He cares about his friends."
You bite your tongue, not wanting to reply to that.
"That's great, guys. The girl, Robin? She seems pretty cool too."
"That's Steve's best friend," says Dustin. "She's great."
"Oh." You wince. "Best friend?"
Dustin huffs. “Yeah. They don’t date. He won’t say why."
"Platonic with a capital P," Max confirms. “It’s obviously because he’s in love with somebody else.”
“Not Nancy!” Lucas protests.
“There are other girls besides Nancy, Sinclair.”
You busy yourself with serving the last set of nachos. The kids pull out crumpled bills and coins in return. You count the money and stack it directly into the register; you know there won't be any change.
When you turn, they're still there. Dustin has his signature grin on, eyes squinty.
"Yeees," you drag out. "Can I help you?"
"We need a favor," Lucas says. "Please."
"Hmm." You lean over the counter. "What's up?"
"They're showing Prince of Darkness on Friday," Dustin explains. "But it's rated R."
"So just sneak in. Isn't that what you guys did at Starcourt?" you ask.
"We had an inside man then. They're a lot stricter at the new one," Lucas frowns. "They ask for IDs 'cause some mom complained after her kid snuck in to watch Risky Business."
"And why can't your babysitter take you?"
You sneer at the thought. Steve spending his Friday nights herding a bunch of adolescent teens into a movie theater. There's a reason you consider Dustin affectionately delusional.
"He has a stupid date," Dustin groans. "He's a serial dater, Y/N. It's terrible. He gets lucky once and totally ditches us."
Now that sounds like the Steve you knew.
"I see. I don't really like horror stuff."
"You don't have to stay!" Dustin insists. "You can watch whatever you want after we’re in. I'll pay you back for the ticket."
“This would be so much easier if Steve still worked at Scoops,” Mike grumbles.
You blank for a moment, the image of Steve in a sailor’s hat and those ridiculous shorts whiting your brain.
“Um,” you begin. “You know I don’t have a fancy BMW to cart you guys around in, right?”
“It’s cool. We’ll get there,” Max says.
“So?” Dustin bounces on his toes. “Sooo?”
You sigh. It’d been nice of Dustin to get you the movie, even though you’d chickened out and ran. And it’s not like you have anything better to do.
“Okay,” you say. “I’ll get you guys in.”
Dustin pumps his fist. “Thanks, Y/N! You’re my favorite old person.”
You roll your eyes. “Funny. Any funnier, and I might rescind my help, Henderson.”
“Byeeee!”
They all disperse to the arcade. You wonder how on earth Steve got involved with them.
March 1983
“Okay, but if you had to choose.”
“Pass. I would literally rather swallow pennies than kiss Principal Coleman’s bald-ass head, Steve.”
Steve takes a triumphant swig of beer. “So you’re saying you’ve got the hots for Benny the janitor.”
“No!” you insist through giggles. “I don’t. God, you’re gross. Can’t believe I’m being treated like this on your birthday.”
“Exactly! My birthday.”
He rolls onto his side in his deck chair and nearly faceplants on the cement. You reach out, reaction time delayed.
“Steve!” you yell. “Careful.”
“I am, I am,” he mumbles, and rights himself on the chair. “Jus’ wanna see you better.”
“I keep telling you you need glasses.”
“I do not,” he whines. “My vision’s ten outta ten. Could a guy who needs glasses do this?”
He crumples up a Twinkies wrapper and throws it towards the garbage. The wind picks up and sends the wrapped into the pool.
“Shit,” he says.
You belly laugh in delight.
“Wait, wait, redo. Go fish it outta there.”
“Oh, as if. I’m not going in there. I told you you need glasses. Even Mother Nature agrees.”
"She does not. Mother Nature thinks I'm a doll."
You hum and close your eyes. Alcohol always makes you sleepy.
The chair scrapes against the concrete. You hear a crinkle of a chip bag. Those are your only warning before you’re crushed by two hundred pounds of drunk boy.
“Steve!” You wheeze, squirming as his hair tickles your face. “Get off!”
"’M sleepy,” he mumbles.
“Well, don't sleep on me, weirdo.”
“‘S cold.”
“You run, like, a hundred degrees, don’t lie.”
He lifts his head. “So you’re saying I’m hot?”
“I’m saying all that booze cooked your brain,” you reply sweetly.
“I’ve been wounded,” he moans and plops onto your shoulder.
“Ugh.” You resign to your fate and lean back. Steve’s not actually that heavy; even drunk, he has a lot of control over his weight and he’s situated himself so he isn’t crushing anything important. No, you squirm underneath him for a very different reason.
“Steeeeve,” you whine. “You’re gonna squish me into a pancake.”
“Can’t believe no one else came.”
You still. Steve’s face remains buried in your shoulder. His body is beside yours, and he has an arm slung over your belly.
“I didn’t—didn’t want a party,” he continues. “I always throw parties. I thought I’d do somethin’ different. An’ none of them even wished me a happy birthday. ‘Cept you.”
You rest your hand on the back of his hair. It’s wind-blown and messy from the drinks, free of his heady hair gel. You’ve never loved it more.
“Did you tell them your birthday is today?” you ask gently, even though you know he did.
“Yeah,” he says. “Told all of ‘em. Guess they weren’t listening.”
“I listen.”
Steve looks up at you. His eyes are glassy.
“God, I miss you,” he says.
You feel the wall you’ve built this year crumble, just a little.
“I’m right here, Steve.”
“I know but—been a jerk lately. I know I have. You’re my best friend, okay? Nothing’ll change that. I–I love you so much.”
Your breath hitches. Steve barrels on, not noticing.
“And I’ll be better. We’ll hang out more. Not–not here, drunk. But for real. We’ll go to the movies. Y’wanna see a movie?”
“Yeah,” you whisper. “I wanna see a movie.”
“‘Kay, what movie? Anything you want. We’ll get popcorn and Raisinets.”
“You hate Raisinets,” you choke through a watery laugh.
“I’d eat Raisinets anytime with you.”
You lay there, in the dark, the only sound being the pool filter.
“Let’s watch the new James Bond.”
“Hmm, okay. But you’ll have to say the name eventually.”
Your nose crinkles. “I am not calling it by its name.”
His laugh is warm in your neck.
You don’t tell Steve to get up again. He snuggles into you, leg over yours. You fall asleep like that, curled underneath him.
Now
“Wait.” Max stops. “Shouldn’t we have, like, a game plan?”
“Game plan?” El asks quietly.
“Yeah. Some of us aren’t so great at playing it cool.”
She stares at Lucas.
“I play it cool!” he squawks. “I am so cool!”
“Right.”
“Just let Y/N do the talking,” Will says. “She’s technically the adult so she should act like this is a conscious choice.”
You shrug. “Makes sense to me.”
Dustin beams. “This is gonna be great!”
“Or a total disaster,” Max says.
You go to the counter, the kids trailing behind like ducklings.
“Six tickets for Prince of Darkness, please,” you say. “And uh, one for Dirty Dancing.”
The attendant looks at you, then at the kids.
“Don’t you mean seven tickets for Prince of Darkness?” she asks. “It’s rated R.”
Shit. “Right, yes. Sorry. Seven tickets. And one for Dirty Dancing. We have another friend who’s late.”
“Uh-huh.”
The attendant, whose bored expression you’ve recognized on your own face after long days in the arcade, hands you your tickets without any questioning.
“I think we’re in the clear,” Lucas whispers when you enter the concession area.
You wait for them to buy their snacks. Max persuades Lucas to let her mix M&Ms into their bucket of popcorn. He agrees and shuffles closer so they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder while they share.
“Okay, last stretch,” Mike says, shoveling a frighteningly large handful of sour worms into his mouth. “We just have to get past the ticket guy.”
Said ticket guy is a kid who can’t be much older than you. You think you might’ve gone to school together, but you’ve made it a point to eviscerate everything about high school from your mind.
“Hey,” you say, trying to act cool. Maybe you’re the one Max should’ve been worried about, instead of Lucas. “Uh, here are our tickets.”
He takes the tickets, then looks behind you.
“Prince of Darkness is only for people seventeen and older,” he says.
“I’m an adult, so I’m with them,” you explain. “I’m, like, their guardian?”
“Yeah, uh—” He hands you your tickets. “No can do. There needs to be an adult for each person under seventeen.”
“Come on,” you cajole. “They’re high schoolers. It’s not like they’re gonna be scarred for life watching some zombies, or whatever.”
He shrugs. “Rules are rules.”
“She’s an adult!” Dustin argues.
“Look, if you’re gonna hold up the line, I’m gonna have to—”
“Yo, Gillespie! That you?”
Dustin turns and lights up. The seven of you part for Steve Harrington and his date, a pretty strawberry blonde you think you had biology with.
“Harrington, man, what’s up!”
Ticket Prick gets up to slam Steve into a bear hug. You barely resist an eye roll.
“Shit, I haven’t seen you in a year! Where’ve you been all this time? Hey, did you hear about that shit with Munson?”
Steve flinches. It’s a tiny movement, indiscernible to the trained eye. But it’s there all the same.
“Gillespie, c’mon. Don’t bring the party down with that,” Steve says, all sweet charm.
“Sorry, sorry. Daisy,” he greets the girl attached to Steve’s arm.
“Gil,” she replies with a giggle. “You smell like popcorn butter.”
America’s future taxpayers. Terrifying.
“Are you gonna let us in or not?” Max interrupts, arms folded.
You feel a burst of pride.
Gil shoots her a dirty glare and puffs up, ready to fight a fourteen year old. Steve cuts in smoothly.
“Gillespie, listen. I know her.” He points to you. You bristle. “I can personally vouch that she’s just trying to do right by these kids. They wanted to see Prince of Darkness, y’know? Get away from the parents.”
“It’s a sick film,” Gil agrees. “You seen it?”
No, of course Steve hadn’t seen it. He hates horror.
“Planning on it,” Steve says, the ultimate image of playing it cool. “Look, you remember sneaking into the movies. Fast Times? Ring any bells?”
Max rolls her eyes. You’re inclined to do the same.
Gil laughs dopily, and nudges Steve. “Hell yeah, I do. That was a crazy night, Harrington.”
Steve smiles thinly. “Sure was. So whaddya say? For old times’ sake?”
Gil considers your little troupe. Then he shrugs.
“Why not. Manager’s not here anyway.”
He takes the tickets and tears them to stubs, then gives them back.
“Theater six. On your left. Enjoy.”
The kids stampede into the left theater wing. You hang back with your own ticket.
“Appreciate it, man,” Steve says, all smiles. “Take care, alright?”
“Hey, you too, Harrington! We gotta catch up!”
Steve and Daisy go in. You expect them to walk right past you, and Daisy does, predictably. But Steve stops.
“I’ll catch up, okay?” he tells her. “Find us some good seats?”
She paws at him a little, then goes, sodas in hand. You stiffen as Steve walks and stops three feet away from you.
“Hey,” he says. “Sorry about that. Gil’s an asshole.”
“I know. He yawned during my poetry reading sophomore year. And then you guys went to the movies together.”
Steve shrinks. “Your poems were great.”
You’re suddenly exhausted.
“What do you want, Steve?”
“I just… I wanted to see you. Say hi.”
“Okay.” You cross your arms. “Hi.”
“You forgot your movie,” he says. “The other day.”
“I didn’t want it that much.”
“Dustin said you looked everywhere for it.”
“Well, in the end, it didn’t really matter,” you say. “Not enough to stay.”
“Y/N—”
“I think your date’s waiting for you,” you interrupt. “Better get back to her. Wouldn’t want to taint your reputation.”
Steve makes a noise like he’s been wounded. You turn on your heel before you can think better of it.
“Wait.” He catches your wrist. Steve’s grip is light, like you’re something precious to hold. You wrench your arm away. “Y/N, I want to apologize. I’m sorry.”
“For what?” you ask. “For forgetting me? I didn’t expect you to remember, Steve.”
“I didn’t forget you,” he insists. “I could never forget you. I wasn’t—please, can I just explain?”
“I don’t need your explanations,” you snap. The hurt corrodes your tongue like acid. “I know what happened. We were both there. You left.”
Steve’s eyes are huge and dark. He looks like you just stabbed him in the heart, and that makes you feel worse. You’d thought telling him how much it hurts would put you back together, but all it did was break you more.
So you run. Again.
You slam through a back exit and rip your ticket into a million pieces. The wind is cold and unforgiving. Your eyes sting.
You call out sick for two days in a row. You kind of expect to get fired, but then again, people have been leaving Hawkins and if you’re not here to serve the masses their slushies, who will be?
So, after lying in bed not thinking about movies and strawberry blonde girls and how sick you are of this town, you get up and put on your arcade vest.
Now it is two in the afternoon. You’d heard it was supposed to snow today.
Robin eyes the snack counter like it holds the next plague outbreak. You don't blame her; you make it a point to wash up to your elbows after work.
"Slushie?"
She looks at you like she’d forgotten you were there. "What?"
You point a thumb at the machine. "Are you here for a slushie?"
"Oh. No, sorry. Red dye makes me insane in the brain. Steve actually—"
Robin stops, grimaces. So he's told her. Probably everything, if the kids had been telling the truth.
You're honestly surprised she's here. Unless it’s to, like, swirlie you in the vat of artificial cheese.
"Are you here to drown me in nacho cheese?" you ask.
Robin's eyes go wide as dinner plates. "What? No!"
"Just checking." You lean against the counter. "What can I do for you, Robin?"
Robin suddenly looks like she's never interacted with a human being before. You like her a lot. Steve probably does too.
"I came to drop off your movie." She holds the tape over the counter like it's a pool of lava.
"But I didn't pay for it." You shove your hand in your jean pocket; you only have a couple dollars on you. "I guess I can get you the money tom—"
"It's on the house. For a fellow Molly fan."
Robin wiggles the tape with two fingers. You take it and wait for a catch. There is none.
"Thank you," you say. "You didn't have to do that."
"Actually, it wasn't me," she confesses. "I'm just the mailman."
You prepare to hand it back but Robin shakes her head.
"He's not going to pop out of the slushie machine, okay? He's just trying to make it up to you."
"He doesn't need to make it up to me," you bite, except those aren’t the words you mean. "Why does he even care? We're not in high school anymore."
Robin smiles a sad smile.
"I know," she says. "We’re not. I know he should've known to fix things earlier. He's received a lot of blows to the head, though, so he's still catching up."
The thought turns your stomach. More? More you weren’t there to protect him from?
"He doesn't owe me anything," you say and wave the tape again. "You can take it back and leave it for somebody else."
"Y/N, I know we don't know each other, like, at all. But it's important to me you know that Steve cares about you, because you’re important to him. And you knew him way before I did, and you probably know a lot of stuff I don't, and that's good because he has a friend like me, but he should also have a friend like you too, Y/N."
"I don't want to be his friend," you mumble.
"Yeah," Robin says. "I figured. But I don't think that's a confession he should hear secondhand."
You look at her, stunned. She's such a clever girl. You hope she treats Steve well.
"If you two are—"
"We're not," she says, like this is a regular explanation she goes through. "Steve and I are friends. Steve has crashed and burned with every single date since his fall from regency. Steve is the best person I've ever met."
"Yeah, I’ve heard. You and Dustin are his biggest fans."
Robin snorts. "Trust me, I'm not proud of it."
You shake your head. Your eyes feel hot.
"This town is so shit," you say.
"Yeah," Robin agrees. "It really fucking is. But I'm not asking you to give this town a second chance. Just him."
"Why are you trying so much?" you ask. "You don't even know me."
Robin shrugs. "No, but you're the one person Steve used to be friends with who's not an asshole, and I think us non-assholes need to band together."
"I can sometimes be an asshole."
"Me too. So are those little dweebs. How about calling ourselves the Semi-Assholes Club?"
You laugh. "We'll get jackets."
"With partially drawn butts on the backs," Robin says with a giggle.
You look at the tape in your hand.
"Does Steve like John Hughes?"
"He does. He's a total sap for those. He thinks he's in his own coming-of-age movie because he's delusional."
He sounds perfect. He sounds like the friend you loved.
"I did want to watch this one," you say.
"It won't hurt you to," Robin promises.
You suppose not.
December 1984
You don't believe the whispers. All week, the rumor mill spins tales of Billy Hargrove finally pushing the King off his throne. There's no way he'll show his face, a girl at the adjacent lunch table astutes. I sure as fuck wouldn't.
Steve Harrington is a loser. Steve Harrington got dumped for Jonathan Byers. Steve Harrington may as well be dead, and on and on.
Every line gets you angrier. A boy who sits behind you in chemistry taps his pencil like he always does. Tap, tap, tap.
Halfway through class, you snap at him to quit it. He does, but not without a tinge of embarrassment. You’re so angry this year. Angry at your loneliness, angry at the unfairness of said loneliness. You might’ve done this to yourself, and that fact only gets you angrier.
You see Nancy Wheeler in the hallways with Jonathan Byers, and the confirmation of that rumor should make you happy. It doesn't.
A week later, most of the excitement has died down. Everybody’s moved onto the next big thing, which is to deduce who fucked in Vice Principal White's office. One look at V.P. White, and it had been decided that it can't have been White himself.
You can't care less. Once upon a time you might’ve laughed about it with a friend, but you don't have any more of those, and high school is bullshit with or without them. So.
Steve walks in twenty five minutes into the period. Mrs. Kaplan gives him a downright beastly glare and demands to know where he had been.
"I'm sorry," is all he says. "If you give me detention, I understand."
There are a few snickers that rub at an old hurt, one that had flared up whenever somebody dared to make fun of your best friend. It doesn't bother me, he'd said, and you'd known it was a lie.
It bothers me, you’d replied, and Steve had hugged you tight.
Mrs. Kaplan seems more stunned Steve hadn't swaggered past her like a peacock escaped from the zoo and lets him go sit down without a fight. He takes the only empty desk, two rows across from you. You stare. You can't not.
Half of his face looks like it was mashed in a garbage disposal. It's purple and a sickly yellow. His eye and lip are still swollen. You stare and stare. You feel queasy.
Billy had done that. You're so angry. You think you might never get past this grief, this loss of a once permanent fixture in your life.
No one wished Steve a happy birthday this year, you realize out of nowhere.
You stare and stare and stare until Steve looks right back. You're blindsided by thick guilt, like blinking through a milkshake. And then the familiar curl of anger returns because why the fuck should you feel guilty? You aren't the one who fucked everything up, who mascerated this good thing. Steve did this to himself. Steve deserves to walk the halls alone. It's Steve's fault.
But when you look at him, at his raw wounds, at his bruised knuckles, you know that he already believes he deserves every punch Billy Hargrove gave him.
You hate Steve Harrington. But you really wish you'd been there to drive him to the hospital.
Now (And Forever)
The tape sits buried in your drawer for three days. You don’t know what Family Video’s return policy is, but you hope you’re not racking up late fees. You doubt name dropping Dustin will work again.
It’s Saturday when you decide to watch Pretty in Pink. You remove the video from its sleeve. An envelope falls out.
The front has your name printed in squished, loopy script. You remember January at Steve’s house, a stack of thank-you cards courtesy of his mother awaiting the Harringtons’ sign-off. Steve’s hand would cramp and you’d take over while he made grilled cheese for the both of you. Love, The Harringtons, and there was no love in that house, but you think maybe Steve loved enough to make up for it.
Hi, the letter begins. I hope you’re good. Robin told me you’re going to Hawkins State.
That’s fucking amazing. I’m so proud of you. Are you still writing poetry? I liked that one you wrote about the birds who shared a branch and kept each other warm. I still have it in my notebook in my room.
I’m sorry for the other night. I’m sorry for every night since freshman year, honestly. I’m kind of a dumbass, but you know that, so it doesn’t really excuse anything. I think I’ve actually lost brain cells since we drifted apart.
You crumple the corner, suddenly hot with anger. Who keeps telling him he’s dumb? You want names.
I didn’t forget you, you know. I got scared and I thought maybe I could ease into it, but then you recognized me and… well. I don’t blame you for running.
Anyway. I’m talking too much about myself, when there’s nothing to say. I’m really sorry about what I did, or, actually, what I didn’t do. Somebody told me I was living on autopilot, and that it wasn’t really living at all. I think it was you.
I’m not living on autopilot anymore. I woke up. And I realized that you’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. I love Robin and the kids and this little family that has apparently invayd invaded your life too. Sorry about that. They never leave and they eat all your food. Good luck.
But I miss you. I always have.
Shit happened these last few years that I’ll tell you about one day, if you want. I’d rather not, though, because you’ve always been the paranoiac (like that one? Robin said it’s an SAT word) of the two of us and I feel like this would just make you even more of one. But I will tell you, if you want to hear it. I want to tell you everything. I want you to tell me everything too. Like we used to.
I want you to tell me how college is going. Who the annoying jerks in your classes are so I can go beat them up (kidding). I want you to stop by to rent movies so I can lend them for free and you’ll yell at me about taking advantage of fre friendships.
Fuck, I miss you. It’s always been there, bubbling below the surface. I never stopped missing you. I never stopped loving you. I’m sorry I didn’t write this sooner. I know you said writing is how we express things we can’t say. You were right. You always are. Can’t believe I forgot that.
It’s okay if you don’t want to be friends. I mean, it hurts, but I respect it. I understand. Most days, I can’t believe people can bear to be around me. But then I hear your voice in my head, telling me that most people are shitheads and that I’m golden and. Well, I don’t know if I believe that, but you were right that most of the people I surrounded myself with were shitheads. Except you, of course. And then I went ahead and fucked that up.
I’ve been working on finding the non-shitheads of the world. I think I’m doing pretty well. And I wrote this because I realized that while I will probably end up buried in this fucking town, you’re going to do something incredible. And nothing incredible ever happens in Hawkins, so I figure you’ll be far away when you do it.
I didn’t want to miss this chance to write things I never said. So here they are. And you can do whatever you want with them. You’ve always been the best of the two of us. I trust you.
You should watch Dirty Dancing. You’ll like it. I did. I’ll see it again if you want. I’ll watch anything with you.
Did you know there’s another Bond movie coming out in the summer? We could watch that one together too. If you wanted more time to decide.
Sincer
Lo
Your friend,
Steve
You don’t bother ejecting the tape. You run all the way to the bus stop, Steve’s letter in hand.
You have to see him. No other thoughts register except that one. You have to know if Steve wrote these words because he can’t say them or because you won’t listen.
It isn’t too late when you get to Loch Nora. The neighborhood is dead, which is weird. Steve’s house looks frozen in time: his parents’ car isn’t in the driveway. You wonder if they’ve ever come back since you’ve been gone. You wouldn't be surprised if the answer is no.
There’s a tarp over the pool. The gate is locked with a chain. You can’t sneak in through the fence like you used to. Not that you would. You don’t think strangers can sneak through pool gates.
You knock on the door three times. And wait.
Steve’s car is in the driveway, a duller burgundy than when he first got it. There are a few scratches in the paint. No longer a prized possession. Maybe well-loved instead.
The door swings open.
Steve says your name like a prayer. You swallow and steel your spine.
“I got your letter,” you say.
“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck. His hair is damp like he’s just showered. It curls around his ears. Waves of want hit you.
“I don’t want to be friends,” you continue before he can speak. “I don’t—I can’t do that again.”
Steve’s mouth draws into the saddest frown you’ve ever seen.
“Okay,” he says softly. “Thank you for telling me.”
“No.” You shake your head. “No, that’s not—I don’t mean it like that.”
His brows knit. “What?”
“I…” You pull out the letter and wave it. “Did you mean it? Do you love me?”
“Yes,” Steve whispers. It’s like a shout in the quiet street. “I meant it.”
“Like a friend?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“Will you love me like a friend forever?” you ask.
“Always.”
You squeeze your eyes shut.
“I love you as something more,” you blurt, watery. “I have for a long time.”
You hear the door shut. This is it: your heart on the line, all for nothing—
“Then I’ll love you as something more back,” Steve says. “I’ll love you any way you want me to.”
And he holds you the way you’d held him so many times. You inhale and wrap your arms around his neck. You’ve got an iron grip around the letter. Tears slip down your cheeks.
“I missed you,” you confess.
Steve nods against your shoulder.
“Yeah,” he says, and it sounds a little wet. “I missed you too.”
“You were wrong,” you say into his neck.
“Hmm?”
You pull back to look at Steve.
“Incredible things do happen in Hawkins.”
“Oh, yeah?” Steve smiles, cheeks blotchy. “Like what?”
Summary : Two best friends reunited during the Holidays after being apart for almost a year. What could possibly go wrong?
Word count: 4.8K
Author's note : This was written for @antoineroussel winter fic exchange. My giftee was @tinyhockey and I decided to get out of my comfort zone and write for a plaver that is not Canes related. I really hope you enjoy the fic! It was hard at first but I think it turned out pretty good in the end ❤️
“Mat… I don’t think it’s possible. Plus getting on a flight these days is just nearly impossible.”
“How about the bus? It wouldn’t take you too long to get there and I can pick you up at the station.”
You sighed, exasperated by his insistence.
You and Mathew had history. Not in a romantic way or anything even close to this, but it was a very strong friendship back in the days. You met him when you were attending college in Long Island. Unfortunately, it was probably in the most random and awkward way possible. You still remember running into him, as you were in a hurry and spilling your burning hot tea all over his pricey suit.
You remember how bad you felt about the situation and the rain of apologies falling out of your mouth. Thankfully, Mat was so kind and comprehensive about this unfortunate incident and even paid to replace your drink. Afterwards, you met several times in the same café and became fast friends. He introduced you to hockey and you even had tickets in the family section to go see the Islanders play at home. However, once you finished school you had to leave New York and return to Massachusetts much to the dismay of your best friend.
This was rough for both of you. Not only did Mat felt like he lost his best friend, but he was having a hard time dealing with the absence of you in his life. Of course you kept in touch, but a text message or a phone call could never replace that human interaction he desperately needed. On your end, not only you had to leave him and your life in Long Island behind, but it also meant returning to your toxic family.
After almost a year back home, you couldn’t do this anymore and decided to get an apartment near Boston at the beginning of December. A part of you wanted to go back to New York so badly to be closer to Mat, but realistically it was not financially possible. You were lonely. Imprisoned within your four white walls. Christmas was only a few days away and there was no way you were going to spend it with your family. You wanted to be alone with your cat, Lincoln. You were getting used to the idea that it wouldn't be as merry this year, but you were still determined to make it less gloomy.
That's when Mat called and asked you to come spend a few days with him in Brooklyn. It took you by surprise, but on the other hand he knew about your family situation and wanted you to know that he hadn't forgotten you despite the distance.
“Stop trying to find excuses!” He said. “Don’t make me pick you up, but I’ll do it if I have to.”
You rolled your eyes and smiled. What could go wrong after all? You hadn’t seen him in what felt like ages and after everything you’ve been through, you needed your best friend.
“Alright, you won.” You ended up saying. “I’ll buy some bus tickets tonight and start packing.”
“Wait? You’re serious right now?” He asked. You could feel the excitement and enthusiasm in his voice. His Canadian accent being thicker than usual.
“Yes Mathew I am serious. Do I need to remind you it was your idea in the first place?”
You heard him chuckle through the phone. “I’ll be waiting for you. We’ll have a blast I promise.”
You continued the conversation lightly before saying goodbye with the excitement of knowing that you would see each other soon. As you let yourself fall on your bed with a sigh of relief, a part of you couldn't help but feel butterflies in your stomach.
❅ ❅ ❅
True to his words, Mat had picked you up at the bus station and welcomed you with open arms. There was no better feeling than being in his arms, your head buried in the crook of his neck while inhaling the scent of his much too expensive cologne. You missed it. You missed him and judging by his embrace, the feeling was mutual.
After stopping to grab a bite, you headed to the condo where you would spend a few days. As soon as you walked in, you were immediately struck by the lack of Christmas spirit. Especially considering the fact that it was only 24 hours away.
“Mathew. You can't be serious,” you said with a sigh. He frowned, looking at you with a puzzled expression.
“Do you realize it's December 24th? Why don't you have a tree?”
The dark haired man shrugged before running a hand through his hair. “Ah you know... I didn't really see the point and with the schedule… Honestly I didn't have time either.”
“Oh no,” you challenged. “I refuse to spend Christmas here if there's no tree!”
Mat rolled his eyes before laughing. “Well... then I guess that's what we'll do today?”
You nodded before dropping your bags off in the guest room. “Let me get settled and then we'll go tree hunting. I don't care if it's natural or artificial, but there's no way we're not getting in the mood!”
Mat leaned back in the door frame, saying nothing. He was only content to watch you with a little smirk on his face. “What?” you finally asked, feeling his eyes on you.
“Nothing,” he chuckled. “I just missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
Even in your wildest dreams you couldn't have imagined yourself roaming the streets of New York City on Christmas Eve, looking for markets that were still open. The air was frigid, each breeze caressing your cheeks leaving them flushed. For his part, Mat was more or less dressed for the occasion. Wrapped in a long black coat and a small toque, his cheeks were as red as yours.
The sun was starting to set and little snowflakes were falling from the sky. It took a while but you ended up getting a decent sized natural tree on the streets. As Mat was putting it in his trunk, you realized that you still had some work to do.
“Do you even have decorations at home? Lights? Balls? Ornaments?” Mat shook his head as you gave him a lovely exasperated look.
“Like I said, usually I go home in Coquitlam for Christmas… this is like the first year that I don’t.”
You could feel how being away from his family made him a little bit sad. He wouldn’t explicitly say it, but you knew him enough to tell.
“It’s okay you don’t have to worry. We can stop at HomeSense on the way home.”
He nodded and smiled at you before getting in the car.
As agreed, you stopped along the way to pick up decorations. Mat could tell by the wonder on your face how much you loved this place. He let you go for a few minutes and found the Christmas ornament set that reminded him of you.
“Hey look what I found,” he said as he held up a package filled with glittery blue balls.
“Oh wow... that's... they're beautiful,” you replied as you contemplated the color.
“They remind me of you.”
You raised an eyebrow and he went on. “I know how much you love blue. Since you're helping me decorate, the least I could do is have something you like, right?”
There was a little sparkle in the color of his eyes that made your heart beat faster than usual. You blinked a little before putting the decorations in the basket.
He's your best friend. It's normal that he remembers the little details. It doesn’t mean anything else.
“We should hurry and get some lights before it closes,” you said.
“You want to decorate the tree and then order some takeout from that Chinese restaurant? You know the one we always went at.”
You lifted your head up to see him smile at you with his starry eyes.
“Yes - yes I would love that.”
Later in the evening, you sat down in front of the tree to eat your takeout. Like in the good old days when you didn't even bother to eat at a table. It was always sitting on the floor, in between giggles and smiles. The tree was beautiful. The combination of white lights and blue balls made it magical. Of course it wasn't perfect, but it was just like you. Mat had even bought Santa hats for you to wear tonight and tomorrow.
For a moment, it was like you had never left New York. Like you had never been separated from Mat. Your relationship had remained intact. If anything, it was even stronger.
“Mhm,” he said, satisfied with his meal. “You know tomorrow night there's going to be fireworks not far from here. We'll probably even see them from the balcony if you feel like it.”
You nodded as you took another bite. “Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. After all, it's Christmas!”
Mat didn't answer. He simply admired you. As if he couldn't realize that you were finally in front of him. He had missed you so much. He still remembers the emptiness he felt inside as he watched you leave. It was then that he realized that maybe there were things he would have liked to say to you, but he never had the courage. He was afraid of losing you forever, and he promised himself to bury those hypothetical feelings far away. And never let them show up again.
But you were there.
Having you near him again brought out some of the feelings he really thought he had bottled up. He knew it was only for a few days, but part of him didn't want you to leave him again.
“Mat?” you snapped your fingers. “Earth to Mathew?!”
He shook his head to snap out of his reverie. “You want to tell me where you were?” You laughed. “You were thinking about your girlfriend, right?” You mocked him.
“Wh-what? No... no I don't have anyone in my life.” You frowned. “Yeah sure.”
“What? I swear!”
“You're telling me that you. Young hockey star and multi-millionaire doesn't have a girlfriend? Not even a conquest?”
Mat shook his head. “No. None of that.”
Because I already have someone in mind. He thought to himself.
“Oh well,” you replied with a shrug. “You'll find the right one for you Matty I'm sure.”
He took another bite and there was a small silence. The words you had just spoken sounded bitter in your mouth. Of course you wanted your best friend to be happy, but part of you secretly wished you were that person. But what could he possibly find in you, you thought. You had never been successful in relationships or found true love at this point. So much that you had simply given up. So to think that you would be the right person for Mat was utopian in your eyes.
“Would you like to watch a movie?” He offered as he got up to throw his plate away.
“Yeah, sure! I'll just take a shower first. With the bus this morning and all I feel gross.”
“Make yourself at home! How about a Disney Christmas movie?”
You smiled, your eyes dazzled by his ability to remember the smallest details.
“Yeah. You know, it's quite impressive how you can remember the little things,” you said.
“Sometimes the little things like you say are what makes the difference in the end.”
For once, he was absolutely right about everything.
You really had good intentions of staying awake, but halfway through the movie you felt sleepy. Considering you had to wake up at dawn to take the bus, it was only normal. Wrapped in a fuzzy blanket your head fell on Mat’s shoulder, making him jump at the contact. You were half awake. Your eyes were still fixing the screen but also closing from time to time.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stop it so we can go to bed? We have all day tomorrow to finish this movie,” he said softly.
“N-no I’m good,” you whispered back.
You leaned against him, resting your head on his chest. He wrapped one arm around your back, pulling you closer to him. It was a nice feeling. You used to cuddle with him sometimes. Especially when he had bad games or needed comfort. Never did it feel like you were crossing the line. Everything was always clear between the two of you. You are friends. Simply friends.
It felt so soothing but strange to be in his arms after so much time spent apart. Mat could only chuckle when you fell asleep on his chest. He didn't dare wake you up, nor did he dare carry you to the guest room. He was too focused on watching you sleep so peacefully. Feeling your every breath on him. You were so beautiful and he caught himself thinking what it would be like if you were his.
That night, the young man closed his eyes and fell asleep with the woman of his dreams in his arms.
❅ ❅ ❅
“Hey... wake up,” said a silvery voice with a Canadian accent you could recognize anywhere. “Merry Christmas.”
You opened your eyes, slightly blinded by the sun reflecting through the large windows. Mat stood in front of you, shirtless, in a pair of gray joggers and a smile on his face. You rubbed your face and sat down on the couch where you had obviously spent the night.
“I slept here?” You asked. The dark haired man put his hands in his pockets before answering, “Yes... hum... we fell asleep on the couch.”
We.
“O-Oh.. okay,” you added as you stood up to stretch. “Are you hungry?” Mat asked. “I was thinking of making pancakes, but before that I have something for you.”
You looked at him confused, until you noticed the little box at the bottom of the tree.
“Matty...,” you protested. “I - I didn't think we were going to give each other’s presents. I didn't buy anything.” The young man stopped you immediately. “Hey. It's been a long time since I bought that. I just didn't want to send it to you in the mail. It's the kind of thing you give in person and now that you're here the opportunity is perfect.”
You walked to the tree and he handed you the little box. You looked at him, as if seeking his approval and he nodded. Once unwrapped, you opened the box. It was a beautiful white gold blue topaz necklace. Your eyes widened. Completely in shock.
“Oh Mathew,” you began, unable to continue your sentence. Emotions were getting the better of you.
“If you don't like it we can always return it,” he added. “I had a year to return it.”
“No,” you whispered. “No, I love it. It's just...I...you didn't have to do that.”
Mat laid his fingers under your chin to lift your head. “I wanted to. You mean a lot to me and I wanted you to have something on you at all times that reminds you of our friendship.”
Friendship. You gulped. Did he only see you as a friend?
Mat helped you fasten the clasp of the necklace, the feeling of his fingertips on your skin making you shiver. You hesitated for a moment, but you threw your arms around his neck. He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, as he put his arms around your waist. Pulling you snug against him. He buried his face in your shoulder breathing you in. It was silent save for your breaths. You were not sure how long you were going to need to hold him but you weren't going to be the first to break the hug. He was starting to think he might just kiss you, but instead he finally leaned forward and brushed a kiss across your cheek. Then he let you go.
“Thank you Mathew. For everything,” you whispered, shedding a tear. “I’ll forever remember this Christmas.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, caressing your back. “Let’s make something to eat now.”
You nodded, fidgeting with the new jewel around your neck while following him into the kitchen. Just by the way your heart was pounding in your chest and the butterflies in your stomach you could tell you were screwed. That hug shouldn't have made you want to kiss Mat. But that was all you wanted.
Holy shit, you were falling in love with Mathew Barzal.
All day Mat couldn't help but watch you from the corner of his eye. Suddenly, every smile, every laugh, every word had a different meaning for him. He was fascinated by the fact that you couldn't keep your hands off the necklace. As if you constantly needed to touch it to remind yourself that this was real and not a dream. He knew that soon reality would catch up with him. He would have to go back to playing hockey and you would go back to your normal life. But he didn't want to. He didn't want you to leave again. He couldn't help it.
The only problem was that he was in the dark about your feelings. Talking about how he felt might also mean losing your friendship and that... he couldn't afford. He felt caught. Torn between keeping his feelings a secret and making sure nothing would be broken between you. Or talking and hoping that it turns out for the best and that you feel the same way. The young man sighed before sipping a glass of water and returning to sit on the couch with you to continue the movie.
“Is everything okay?” You questioned.
“Yes. Yes I'm fine.”
He knew very well that he couldn't fool you so he only said, “it's just weird spending Christmas away from my family.”
In comfort, you grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “You know you can always call them.”
Mat looked into your eyes and squeezed your hand a little tighter. “I will.”
You felt your cheeks flush and let his hand go, before returning your eyes to the screen.
There's no doubt about it. Mat was really screwed up.
The rest of the day went by too quickly. Between the many movies, chocolate cookies and reminiscing too many memories, the sun had already set and the moon and stars had come out. The fireworks were supposed to take place around 9 o'clock and you had planned to watch them from the balcony with a good bottle of champagne and several blankets to fight the cold.
While you were putting on a toque and gloves, Mat had already gone outside to light the fire pit on the balcony. The view from his condo was breathtaking. You always thought there was nothing better than a perfect view of New York and all the lights. Even though it was the city that never sleeps, nothing could make you calmer than the bright lights in the distance.
“Oh damn it's cold!” you exclaimed as you closed the door behind you. Mat had already set up a ton of blankets on the outdoor couch so you could stay warm.
“You can settle in I'll be with you in a few seconds,” he replied before heading back inside.
You made yourself at home, wrapping yourself in the blankets. You really couldn't have wished for a better Christmas scenario. Away from all the problems, with your favorite person and in this city you missed so much. You didn't wanted to go back. You wanted to stay. Here. With Mat. To go back to the way things were. You sighed, creating a fleeting, misty cloud as you exhaled into the cold air.
That's when he came back, with two flutes and an overpriced bottle of champagne in his hand. You scoot over to give him room and he popped the bottle, before pouring you a glass with a beautiful smile on his face.
“Madam,” he said, handing you the flute. You smiled back at him and waited for him to serve himself so you could make a toast.
“To our first Christmas together. Here's hoping it won't be our last.”
You froze for a moment. Did he really just say those words? You took a sip and swallowed hard. Before you could even ask a question, you were distracted by the sound of explosions in the sky. Tightening his grip around your waist, Mat found a comfortable position to enjoy the show.
At first, the detonations and crackles of the fireworks seemed perfectly insipid. It felt like something was missing, until there was multiple colors flooding the sky over New York.
Even though your eyes were focused on the sky, you couldn't help but shiver at the touch of Mat's hand on yours. Taking it as if you were cold, the young man readjusted the blanket and held you even tighter. Your cheeks were red. Partly because of the cold wind, but also because this seemed to go way beyond the boundaries of friendship. Mat watched the show with admiration, his eyes shining with every reflection of the lights inside them. He was so beautiful and you only wanted to put your lips on his. To make this moment etched in your memory forever.
And then the show began its crescendo towards the final bouquet and the fireworks filled the sky. A cameo of reds and greens, purple lightning and vibrant sparks. Tentatively, you squeezed Mat's hand as you watched the enchantment in front of you intently, wishing this moment would continue forever.
“Can I ask you a question?” He asked.
You nodded, taking a sip. “Are you really happy in Boston?”
“Do you want a lie or the truth?” You scoffed. The young man raised his eyebrows and you continued. “No. No Matty I'm not happy there. I miss New York, I miss my life in college, I miss you.”
“Then why don't you come back here.”
Mat faced you and your eyes locked with his. “For many reasons. Mostly because financially I can't afford a room in New York.”
You didn't understand why he was so insistent. “You can live here. With me. It's too big anyway! I'm not here most of the time when we go on the road and...”
“Mat! Stop,” you cut him off. You took a deep breath and tried to remain rational. “This doesn't make any sense. I can't drop my job overnight and come here with no stability.”
Mat obviously didn't understand. His eyes were filled with incomprehension, so you had to explicitly say the words you wished you hadn't.
“And what are we going to do when you get a girlfriend? Are you going to kick me out?” You said with a sarcastic laugh.
But he couldn't hear the laughter and raised his voice before saying curtly, “I WILL NOT HAVE A GIRL! Let go of me with that, will you!”
You froze for a moment. You could see the anger on Mat's face. It was the same tone he had used on the phone when you told him about your family situation. Unwillingly, tears welled up in your eyes and you closed them to avoid crying in front of him.
“I-I'm going to go inside,” you whispered. Your best friend said your name in a pitiful voice, realizing he shouldn't have gotten so carried away. However, you ignored him, trying to fight the tears that threatened to fall at any moment. This moment that seemed so perfect all of a sudden was turning into a nightmare and all because there was too much left unsaid between you two.
You slammed the door and went to lock yourself in the guest room to regain your composure. Why did Mat wanted you to stay so badly? Did he have feelings for you? And if he did... why wouldn't he talk. You sighed before taking off your coat and curling up on the bed.
Mathew Barzal couldn't have feelings for you. It was as simple as that.
❅ ❅ ❅
Oh how Mat felt about it. He didn't want to raise his voice at you. He wished he could have told you he wasn't going to get a girlfriend, because the one he wanted was standing right in front of him. He had two choices. Either he could talk. Or he could keep his mouth shut, but either way he didn't want to hurt you. And most importantly, he didn't want to ruin such a perfect evening.
He silently picked up items on the balcony before going inside. In the next few minutes, Mat was about to make the biggest decision of his life outside of hockey. He was scared, but he knew it was for his own good and for yours.
A small knocking was heard at your bedroom door.
“I - I just wanted to tell you that I'm really sorry,” he began softly. “I didn't mean to raise my voice at you. I don't want to force you, but if you feel like it I'll be in the living room. I need to talk to you.”
You heard him walk away and stood up. You weren't the type to hold a grudge in life and you certainly didn't want this to ruin the last 24 hours you had just spent. Without wasting too much time you opened the door and headed to the living room where Mat was waiting for you on the couch. He beckoned you to join him in front of your tree and stopped to face you. He took your hands and locked his eyes with yours.
“Earlier I got carried away..”
“Mat,” you interrupted him.
“Please let me finish.” You nodded and he continued. You could feel his hands shaking. “I got carried away when you started talking about a potential girlfriend... because the one I want is right in front of me right now.”
You remained silent. Unable to say anything. Was it a dream?
Mat took a deep breath. “I should have told you that a long time ago.”
You were completely in shock. Your eyes drifted up and down trying to find the right words to respond to this revelation.
“It... it's been a long time Mat? How long? What do you mean by long?”
He squeezed your now sweaty hands a little tighter.
“Before you even left. I was just trying to shut down those feelings there. I was scared to death of losing you. Of losing our friendship.”
Unwittingly, due to your hyper-sensitivity, the tears rolled down your cheeks and he quickly wiped them away with his thumbs.
“Hey,” he cooed. “Why are you crying?”
“How long were you going to wait to tell me all this?”
“I...” Mat lowered his eyes. “I don't know. I don't want to lose you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you all this sooner.”
You let his hands fall before wiping away your tears. You had to confess to him too, but you were so shocked that the words wouldn't come out. A silence settled in the room. Mat rubbed the back of his neck and kept his eyes on you. You grabbed the blue topaz of the necklace between your fingers and took a breath.
“The first time we met, what was I wearing?”
He frowned before saying with conviction, “blue jeans, blue striped sweater and a cream cardigan.”
Your eyes lit up. “What was I drinking?”
He smiled, “a cup of black tea.”
“H-how can you remember that?”
He took a step forward, letting the back of his hand slide across your cheek.
“Because I love you.”
He leaned forward. Your lips brushed his, softly, delicately, like butterfly wings, just long enough that he could inhale your soft breath, feel the warmth of your skin, and the taste of your chapstick. His insistent mouth was parting your shaking lips, sending wild tremors along your nerves, evoking from you the familiar sensations of safety and love. You had never experienced this before, true love.
“And I love you too Mathew Barzal.”
The dark-haired man smiled and pulled you into his arms for another deep kiss as midnight struck. Although Christmas was officially over, the magic was still happening.
It was scary to cross that fine line between friendship and love, but it was also the right thing to do for you both.
It was everything you had ever wanted. To have someone love you for who you are. Safe from toxic relationships and family drama. A fresh start, a breath of fresh air.
It was everything Mat had ever wanted. To not have to watch you leave him with a lump in his throat while hiding his feelings. He felt free, happy, loved. He had the girl of his dreams in his arms and that was what he needed.
