Summary: George will move the sun and moon to ensure that Yn will have her dream wedding.
The villa in Greece still lived in Georges head like a soft echo that refused to fade.
Salt in the air. Warm stone under bare feet. The ocean stretching endlessly in front of them, painted gold by the setting sun. Yn standing there in a simple white dress she had bought that morning because it felt right, because she felt right. No cameras. No noise. Just the two of them and a question he had rehearsed a thousand times and still almost failed to say out loud.
“Are you sure” she had whispered back then, tears already in her eyes, hands shaking as he held her fingers.
George had laughed nervously. “I have never been more sure of anything in my life.”
She had said yes before he even finished the sentence. She had said yes three times, laughing and crying at once, throwing her arms around his neck so hard he almost lost balance. The ring had barely made it onto her finger before she kissed him.
Now, weeks later, back home, the world had exploded into congratulations, group chats, hugs, champagne, and endless questions. When they told everyone they were engaged and getting married in a year, it felt suddenly very real. Not just a private promise by the ocean but a future everyone could see.
George loved saying it out loud.
“My fiancée.”
It still made his chest swell every time.
Wedding planning began immediately, mostly driven by Yn and the women around her. Her mother. Her sister. Georges mum. His sister. A wedding planner who spoke calmly and confidently and always had a tablet in her hands. George stayed mostly in the background, listening, nodding, smiling, stepping in only when asked.
All he cared about was one thing.
“I just want her to have her dream wedding,” he told his mum one afternoon while Yn was in the other room on the phone. “Everything she ever imagined.”
His mum smiled softly at him. “I know. And you will.”
George meant it with his whole heart. Money was not the issue. Distance was not the issue. Logistics were not the issue. If Yn wanted the moon, he would ask how high.
So when she came home one afternoon and quietly closed the door behind her instead of calling his name like she usually did, he knew something was wrong.
He was in the kitchen, scrolling on his phone, when he heard her bag drop to the floor.
“Yn” he called gently. “Love”
No answer.
He turned around just in time to see her walking toward him, eyes glossy, lips pressed together like she was holding herself together by force. The moment she reached him, she broke.
“They dont have them,” she said, voice cracking as she buried her face into his chest. “They dont have them anywhere.”
George wrapped his arms around her instantly, pulling her in close, one hand cradling the back of her head.
“Hey hey,” he murmured. “Slow down. Talk to me.”
She shook her head against him, tears soaking into his shirt.
“I went to three different places,” she said between sobs. “Three. And they all said the same thing. That they cant get them. That theyre out of season. That no supplier nearby carries them. I just wanted those flowers. Just those. And now it feels like everything is going wrong.”
George tightened his arms around her, pressing a kiss into her hair.
“Nothing is going wrong,” he said firmly. “Nothing. This is one small thing.”
“But it matters to me,” she cried. “I have pictured them since I was little. I know it sounds stupid but I wanted them lining the aisle. I wanted them in my bouquet. And now everyone keeps saying maybe choose something else and I dont want something else.”
“It doesnt sound stupid,” he said immediately. “It sounds important. Which means it is.”
She sniffed, pulling back just enough to look at him, cheeks flushed, eyes red.
“What if I am being difficult”
He gently wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb.
“You are allowed to want what you want. Especially for your wedding. Our wedding.”
She took a shaky breath and nodded, leaning back into him.
“Theyre just flowers,” she whispered. “But they were supposed to be ours.”
George rested his chin on the top of her head, heart aching at how disappointed she sounded.
“It will be alright,” he said softly. “I promise you.”
Her phone started buzzing in her hand. She glanced at the screen.
“My Mama,” she said quietly.
“Go,” he said. “Ill be right here.”
She stepped a few paces away, answering the call, her voice still fragile.
“Mama… yes… I know… I tried… no, they really dont have them…”
George watched her pace slowly through the living room, nodding, sighing, wiping at her eyes. As she talked, he quietly reached for his phone.
He opened his notes app where he had written down everything Yn loved over the years. Foods. Songs. Places. And right there, under wedding ideas, was a line.
Favourite flowers.
He typed the name into his browser immediately.
One shop. Another. Another. Cities. Countries.
Vienna.
He clicked.
A small but elegant flower shop website loaded on the screen, photos of lush arrangements, rare blooms, reviews praising their quality.
George did not hesitate.
He stepped into the hallway, lowering his voice, and dialed the number.
The line rang twice.
“Good afternoon,” a warm voice answered. “This is Blumenhaus.”
“Hi,” George said. “I hope Im calling at a good time.”
“Yes of course,” the woman replied. “How can I help you”
“I am looking for a specific flower,” he said. “And I have been told it might be difficult to get.”
“Which flower”
He named it.
There was a brief pause.
“Yes,” she said. “It is not common right now, but we can source it.”
George exhaled slowly, relief already flooding him.
“I need them for a wedding,” he said. “In about a year. And I need them to be perfect.”
“We specialize in that,” she said kindly. “How many arrangements are you thinking”
“All of them,” George said without missing a beat. “Aisle. Tables. Bouquet. Everything.”
She laughed softly. “Alright. Lets talk details.”
By the time Yn finished her call and came back into the kitchen, eyes still sad but calmer, George was leaning against the counter, phone tucked away, trying very hard not to smile too soon.
Her Mama had reassured her, told her it would work out somehow, told her not to lose heart. Yn believed her Mama, but disappointment still lingered.
She sighed and leaned against George again.
“I hate crying over this,” she muttered.
“You can cry over anything with me,” he said. “You know that.”
She looked up at him. “I know.”
He brushed her hair back gently.
“So,” he said casually. “Tell me about the flowers again.”
She frowned slightly. “Why”
“Because I like hearing you talk about things you love.”
She hesitated, then smiled sadly.
“Theyre soft,” she said. “And they smell like summer. I always imagined walking down the aisle and seeing them everywhere. Like theyre welcoming us.”
George nodded, committing every word to memory even though he already knew.
“They make me feel calm,” she added. “And safe.”
He kissed her forehead.
“You deserve to feel that way.”
She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder.
“I guess I will have to let it go.”
He took a breath.
“Maybe not.”
She pulled back, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“What do you mean”
George smiled then, wide and proud and absolutely certain.
“I found them.”
Her breath caught. “What”
“I called a flower shop,” he said. “In Vienna.”
Her mouth fell open.
“You what”
“They have them,” he continued. “They can source them. They can prepare everything exactly how you want it. For our wedding.”
She stared at him, frozen.
“You are joking,” she whispered.
“I am not,” he said softly. “They will be our flowers.”
Her eyes filled with tears again, but this time they spilled over with joy.
“George,” she breathed. “You didnt have to do that.”
“Yes,” he said, stepping closer. “I did.”
She threw her arms around him, laughing and crying at once.
“I love you,” she said into his chest. “I love you so much.”
He held her tightly, heart full to bursting.
“I am so proud to be your future husband,” he said. “And I will move the world for you if I have to.”
She looked up at him, smiling through tears.
“I dont need the world,” she said. “I just need you.”
He kissed her then, slow and tender, sealing another quiet promise between them.
And this time, there were flowers waiting at the end of it.
Summary: After a long flight, both Charles and Yn are starving. This is the perfect opportunity for Charles to try Yn’s ✨️ Girl Dinner ✨️
The apartment door closes with a soft click that sounds way louder than it should. Yn drops her bag on the floor without even aiming properly and leans her forehead against the door for a second.
“I am officially deceased,” she mumbles.
Charles laughs weakly as he kicks off his shoes. “You cannot be deceased. You promised me dinner for the rest of our lives.”
Yn turns her head slowly. “I did not specify the quality of said dinners.”
He walks past her and presses a kiss into her hair, lingering there a second longer than necessary. “I missed you even though we were sitting next to each other for ten hours.”
“That is called being obsessed,” she says fondly, pushing herself off the door and following him into the living room.
“Engaged,” he corrects. “It is different.”
They collapse onto the couch at the same time, limbs tangling automatically like they have done this a thousand times. Charles lets out a dramatic groan and stretches his legs out, head falling back.
“I am starving,” he says. “Like actually angry hungry.”
Yn hums, eyes half closed already. “Same.”
Silence settles for a few seconds. The kind that only happens when you are completely comfortable and completely exhausted. The city hums faintly outside. Charles turns his head to look at her, hair messy, face soft, engagement ring catching the light when she shifts.
He feels that familiar rush in his chest. The one that hits him at random moments. Grocery stores. Airports. When she laughs at something stupid. When she exists.
“You know,” he says slowly, “we could order takeout.”
Yn’s eyes snap open.
She gasps so loudly that he flinches.
“Oh my god,” she says. “You are so right.”
Charles smiles, already reaching for his phone. “Pizza or sushi. Or both. We had a long flight. We deserve it.”
She sits up abruptly and grabs his wrist. “No.”
He blinks. “No as in no sushi or no as in you want burgers.”
“No as in this,” she says, eyes bright despite the exhaustion. “This is the perfect opportunity.”
“For what,” he asks cautiously.
“For you to try my girl dinner.”
He stares at her. “Your what.”
“Girl dinner.”
“I know what a girl dinner is,” he says quickly. “I am online. I am not ancient.”
She squints at him. “You say that but I do not trust you.”
“I know it is like random things on a plate,” he continues. “Cheese. Olives. Crackers. A single grape.”
Yn laughs. “Okay that was rude but also accurate sometimes.”
“So what is the plan,” he asks. “Because I am imagining us eating pickles and vibes.”
She grabs his hand and pulls him up. “Come on. Kitchen. Now.”
“I am scared,” he says, letting himself be dragged anyway.
“You should be,” she replies cheerfully.
The kitchen light flicks on and suddenly she is awake again, like someone flipped a switch. She ties her hair up, moves around with purpose, opens drawers.
Charles leans against the counter watching her, smiling despite himself.
“I love you,” he says randomly.
She looks over her shoulder. “I know.”
He snorts. “Rude.”
“You love that I know,” she shoots back.
She reaches into a cupboard and pulls out a bag of potatoes, placing it dramatically into his hands.
“Your task,” she announces, “is to peel these.”
He looks down. “That is it.”
“For now.”
He grabs a peeler from the drawer. “I am already contributing to girl dinner.”
“Exactly,” she says. “Bonding experience.”
He starts peeling, exaggeratedly careful. “I feel like I am on a cooking show.”
“You are,” she says. “I am judging you.”
“Do I get points for enthusiasm.”
“Minus points for commentary.”
He grins and keeps going. “So what exactly are we making.”
“Fries,” she says, opening the pantry. “But better.”
“Better than fries,” he repeats. “Bold statement.”
She pulls out olive oil, garlic, dried herbs. “Trust me.”
He watches her mince garlic, the familiar comfort of watching her do something ordinary hitting him harder than any race win ever did.
“You know,” he says, “I was actually ready to fight you if this involved raw vegetables.”
She laughs. “I would never hurt you like that.”
The potatoes are peeled and she hands him a knife.
“Cut them into fries,” she says. “Not too thin. We want them soft inside.”
“Yes chef.”
“Do not call me that.”
“Yes chef,” he repeats immediately.
She rolls her eyes but smiles. While he cuts, she pours olive oil into a bowl, adds garlic, herbs, salt, pepper. She leans in to smell it and hums approvingly.
“Smell this,” she says, holding the bowl out.
He leans in and inhales. “Okay that is actually incredible.”
“See,” she says. “Have faith.”
He drops the potatoes into the bowl and she gestures for him to coat them. He uses his hands and she pretends not to notice when he licks oil off his fingers.
“Disgusting,” she says.
“You are the one who made it delicious,” he replies.
They spread the fries on a baking tray, slide it into the oven, and set a timer.
“Thirty minutes,” she says.
He exhales dramatically. “I might pass away.”
She points to the couch. “You can suffer there.”
Instead, he steps closer to her, hands already reaching for her waist like muscle memory. “Counter,” he says softly.
She raises an eyebrow. “You are demanding for someone who almost ordered pizza.”
He lifts her easily and sets her on the counter, stepping between her knees. She automatically wraps her legs around his hips, arms sliding around his neck.
“This is part of the recipe,” he says.
“Is it,” she asks.
“Yes. Very important step.”
He presses his forehead to hers, hands slipping under her shirt, warm against her skin. She sighs and leans into him.
They sway gently as music plays from his phone, something soft and familiar. He presses kisses along her jaw, her neck, not rushing, just existing with her.
“You okay,” he murmurs.
She nods. “Just tired.”
“Me too.”
They stay like that, whispering about nothing. About the flight. About how weird airport coffee tastes. About how he almost cried when he saw their engagement announcement on Instagram again.
“You did cry,” she says.
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“Only a little.”
She smiles and kisses him. Slow. Warm. Home.
The oven timer beeps and they both groan.
“Rude,” she says.
He pulls back reluctantly. “Duty calls.”
He helps her down and they pull the tray out together. The fries are golden, crispy at the edges.
She grabs the Parmesan and showers it over the fries like it is snow.
He watches skeptically. “That is a lot of cheese.”
“There is no such thing.”
She slides a fry toward him. “Moment of truth.”
He hesitates dramatically. “If this is bad, I am ordering sushi.”
She laughs. “Deal.”
He bites into it and freezes.
“Well,” she says, watching his face.
He chews slowly, eyes widening. “Okay.”
“Okay good or okay bad.”
“Okay why is this actually amazing.”
She beams. “Told you.”
“They are crispy,” he says. “And garlicky. And cheesy but not too much.”
“I am a culinary genius.”
He grabs another fry. “You are.”
They eat straight off the tray, leaning against the counter, bumping shoulders.
“I would like to formally apologize for doubting girl dinner,” he says.
“Apology accepted.”
He kisses her cheek, then her lips, quick and happy.
“This is my new favorite meal,” he adds.
She smiles softly. “Good. You are stuck with it forever.”
Summary: Carlos will forever fulfil his girlfriends wishes. Even if all he has to do is pick her up.
The trend had been sitting in Yn’s saved videos for three days.
She lay on the couch, curled slightly on her side, phone held above her face, thumb flicking up and down as the same clip replayed again. A girl laughing. A guy bracing himself. Hands at her waist. A lift. A triumphant cheer when she landed on his shoulders.
“Okay, but that one was cheating,” Yn muttered to herself, rewinding. “He definitely goes to the gym twice a day.”
She bit her lip, eyes sparkling anyway.
Behind her, the sound of keys dropping into the bowl by the door echoed softly through the apartment. A familiar rhythm of footsteps followed, unhurried, relaxed.
“Amor?” Carlos called. “I’m home.”
“In here,” she answered quickly, already pushing herself upright.
Carlos appeared in the doorway a second later, still in his team polo, hair slightly damp from a quick shower at the factory. He smiled the moment he saw her, that easy, warm smile that always made her chest feel too full.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Hey,” she replied, mirroring it.
He leaned down, kissed her forehead first—always the forehead—then her lips, slow and unforced. When he pulled back, he noticed the look in her eyes.
That look.
The I have an idea look.
“What,” he said, amused already. “What are you planning?”
Yn grinned and sat up straighter, tucking her legs beneath her. “Okay, promise you won’t laugh.”
Carlos crossed his arms, pretending to think. “I can’t promise that.”
“Carlos.”
“I’m joking,” he said quickly. “Go on.”
She unlocked her phone and held it out to him. “There’s this trend.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Of course there is.”
“No, listen,” she said, laughing. “It’s actually really cute. Couples do it together.”
He took the phone, watching the video carefully. A guy stood behind his girlfriend, braced himself, then lifted her up so she sat on his shoulders. The girl squealed, clinging to his head, both of them laughing uncontrollably.
Carlos watched the whole thing without interrupting, then glanced back at Yn.
“And?” he asked.
“And,” she said, suddenly shy, “I want to do it with you.”
There it was. That little flicker of hesitation in her eyes, like she wasn’t sure if she was asking for too much.
Carlos handed the phone back without hesitation. “Okay.”
Her mouth fell open. “Wait—really?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
“You didn’t even—”
“I don’t need to think,” he interrupted gently. “If you want to do it, we do it.”
Yn’s face lit up like she’d just been given the best surprise of her life. She bounced slightly where she sat. “Really?”
“Really,” he repeated. “I mean, I think I can handle it.”
She stood up immediately, excitement buzzing through her. “Okay, okay, wait. Let me set the camera.”
Carlos watched her move around the living room, pushing the coffee table back, adjusting her phone against a stack of books. She kept glancing back at him, smiling like she couldn’t believe this was actually happening.
“You’re sure?” she asked again.
He chuckled. “You’re very light, cariño.”
She narrowed her eyes. “That is a dangerous thing to say.”
“It’s a compliment,” he said, hands up. “I swear.”
She laughed and went to stand in front of him, facing away. “So, how does it work? Do I jump? Or—”
“No jumping,” Carlos said immediately. “I don’t want you hitting your head.”
She nodded obediently. “Okay.”
He stepped closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her back, smell her shampoo. He placed one hand lightly at her waist, the other ready, testing balance more than anything.
“You ready?” he asked quietly.
She inhaled, then nodded. “Ready.”
In one smooth motion, barely any effort at all, Carlos lifted her.
Yn barely had time to gasp before she was rising, the floor moving away beneath her feet. His arm was firm, steady, like she weighed nothing at all. She let out a surprised laugh as he settled her onto his shoulders, his hands secure at her calves.
“Oh my - Carlos!” she squealed.
He laughed too, the sound deep and delighted. “See? Easy.”
“I thought I was going to die,” she said breathlessly, gripping his head. “But I’m alive. I’m so alive.”
“You’re dramatic,” he teased.
“I am on your shoulders,” she shot back. “I think I’m allowed.”
He adjusted slightly, making sure she was balanced. “You good?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, then softer, “I’m really good.”
She looked down at him, her hands tangled lightly in his hair, heart racing—not from fear, but from how safe she felt. How strong his arms were. How effortless it had been.
“You okay?” she asked.
He looked up at her, smiling. “I like hearing you laugh.”
Her chest tightened. “Carlos.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” she said, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt.
They stayed like that for a moment, the camera still recording, neither of them caring anymore.
Then Carlos shifted his stance slightly.
“Okay,” he said casually, “hold on.”
“Why?” Yn asked suspiciously.
“For fun.”
Before she could protest, he let her slide—just a little—just enough for her to gasp.
“Carlos!” she shrieked.
He caught her instantly, strong arms wrapping around her as she fell forward into his chest. He laughed as he lifted her again, this time cradling her bridal style like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Oh my god,” she said between giggles. “You’re evil.”
“Maybe a little,” he admitted.
He turned slowly, spinning her around the room. Yn threw her head back, laughter spilling out of her uncontrollably.
“Stop—stop—I can’t breathe!” she laughed.
“No,” he said, grinning. “You’re having fun.”
“I am,” she admitted, gripping his shoulder. “Too much fun.”
He hoisted her slightly higher, making her squeal again, then leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.
Her laughter softened into a breathless smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You love me.”
“I really do,” she said without hesitation.
He slowed, then stopped, still holding her securely. Their faces were close now, her arm looped around his neck.
“Did we get it?” she asked.
Carlos glanced toward the phone, still recording. “I think so.”
She laughed softly and rested her forehead against his. “That was amazing.”
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d say yes so fast.”
He shrugged slightly. “I like doing things with you.”
She looked at him, really looked at him, eyes warm and full. “You make me feel so small in the best way.”
He frowned just a little. “Small?”
“Safe,” she clarified quickly. “Taken care of. Like I don’t have to be strong all the time.”
His expression softened instantly. “You don’t.”
She smiled. “I know.”
He carried her to the couch and sat down carefully, still not letting go until she was settled against him. She curled into his side, tucking her legs over his lap.
“You’re going to break the internet,” he teased.
She laughed. “With my terrible balance?”
“With your laugh,” he corrected. “People like that.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I like doing silly things with you.”
“I like being silly with you,” he replied. “It’s easy.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on his arm.
“Can we watch it?” she asked.
He reached for her phone. “If you promise not to make me do it again.”
She grinned. “No promises.”
He laughed, shaking his head as he pressed play.
On the screen, her surprise, her joy, his laughter - it all played back, raw and unfiltered. Real.
Yn watched with a soft smile, then looked up at him. “I’m really happy.”
Carlos kissed the top of her head. “Me too.”
And in that quiet living room, with laughter still lingering in the air, it felt like the simplest thing in the world.
Summary: Yn tells Max that Lewis paid for her new nails. Max is everything but happy about this.
The apartment was quiet in that soft, expensive way Max liked. Late afternoon light spilled through the tall windows, catching on glass and metal and the edges of trophies that had slowly accumulated on shelves without him ever really noticing when or how. He was sprawled on the couch in sweatpants and an old Red Bull hoodie, controller abandoned on the cushion beside him, eyes half on the muted TV and half on the door.
He always knew when Yn was close.
It wasn’t a sound exactly—more like a shift in the air, the feeling that the room was about to get warmer, brighter. When the lock clicked and the door opened, Max’s mouth tilted into a smile before he even looked.
“Hey,” he called, lazy and familiar.
“Hey,” Yn answered back, voice light, pleased with herself.
She stepped inside, shrugging out of her jacket, her hair glossy and styled just enough to look effortless. She smelled like that salon she loved—warm oils, expensive creams, a hint of something floral that always clung to her for hours after. Max watched her cross the room, eyes drifting down automatically to her hands as she dropped her bag on the counter.
She didn’t say anything at first. Just held one hand up between them, palm facing him, fingers spread.
Max sat up straighter.
“Oh,” he said, interest sharpening immediately. “New nails?”
Yn beamed. “Do you like them?”
He stood, crossing the space between them in three long strides. He took her hand carefully, like he always did when she had a fresh set, turning it under the light. The nails were perfect—elegant, glossy, a deep neutral shade that somehow still felt bold on her.
“They’re beautiful,” he said honestly. “Really fucking nice.”
He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, slow and deliberate, lips lingering just a second longer than necessary. Yn’s smile softened, her shoulders relaxing the way they always did when he did that.
“I knew you would,” she said.
Max grinned. “I always do.”
She laughed quietly, leaning back against the counter. “You should’ve seen the place today. It was packed.”
“Mm?” He let go of her hand reluctantly. “Busy day for being pretty?”
“Very busy,” she said, eyes bright. “Massage rooms were full, hair section was chaos. Even the nail techs were stressed.”
Max snorted. “Sounds like my nightmare.”
“You say that now, but you love that I go there.”
He shrugged, unapologetic. “I love when you spend money on yourself.”
She tilted her head, studying him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said simply. “You work hard. You deserve it. And…” His mouth curved. “I like knowing I pay for it.”
Yn laughed again, softer this time. “I know you do.”
She pushed off the counter and wandered closer, kicking off her shoes. “Anyway,” she continued casually, “you’ll never guess who I saw there today.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Who?”
“Lewis.”
The name landed lightly, tossed into the air like it meant nothing at all.
Max blinked. “Lewis?”
“Mhm,” Yn said, nodding. “He was in one of the chairs near the back.”
Max frowned, processing. “At the salon?”
“Yeah,” she said, too casually. “He was getting his braids done.”
Max stared at her. “Lewis?”
She bit her lip, clearly enjoying this. “Yes, Max. Lewis.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t know he went to that place.”
“Well,” Yn shrugged, “apparently he does. Or at least today he did.”
Max crossed his arms, eyes narrowing slightly, more confused than threatened—at least at first. “Did you talk to him?”
“A little,” she said, reaching into her bag. “We were sitting close. He was really nice.”
Max hummed, noncommittal. “He usually is.”
Yn finally pulled something out of her bag and held it out toward him between two fingers.
His credit card.
She smiled sweetly. “Here. You can have this back.”
Max looked from the card to her face. “Why?”
“Well,” she said lightly, “the nails were super expensive today.”
He chuckled. “That’s fine. You know I don’t care.”
“I know,” she said quickly. “But you don’t have to worry.”
Something in her tone made his stomach tighten.
“Why not?” he asked slowly.
Yn shrugged again, eyes sparkling. “Lewis paid for them.”
The room went very still.
Max stared at her like she’d just switched languages mid-sentence. “What?”
“He insisted,” she went on smoothly. “We got along really well, and he said it wouldn’t hurt his bank account anyway. You know. Because he has so much money.”
Max’s jaw tightened.
“Lewis paid for your nails,” he repeated, voice flat.
“Yeah,” she said. “Sweet, right?”
He scoffed. “No.”
Yn blinked, feigning innocence. “No?”
“No,” Max said, taking a step closer. “Why would he pay for your nails?”
She smiled wider. “I don’t know. He offered.”
“And you accepted?”
“Well,” she tilted her head, “it would’ve been rude not to.”
Max ran a hand through his hair, a sharp edge creeping into his expression. “That’s weird.”
“It’s just a nice gesture,” she said. “You always say money doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t,” he shot back. “But that’s my girlfriend.”
Yn’s eyes flicked up to his. “And?”
“And I don’t like him paying for things for you,” he said bluntly.
“Oh,” she said softly. “You’re jealous.”
He scoffed again. “I’m not jealous.”
She laughed. “You are.”
“I’m not,” he insisted, but his ears were already turning red. “I just don’t like it.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he said, stepping even closer now, crowding her space, “I’m the one who takes care of you.”
Yn looked up at him, amusement dancing in her eyes. “You don’t own me, Max.”
His gaze darkened—not angry, but intense. “I know.”
She reached up, tapping his chest lightly with one finger. “Then why are you so bothered?”
He grabbed her wrist gently, holding it there. “Because I don’t want anyone else thinking they can buy you things.”
Her smile softened, something warm and affectionate beneath the teasing. “He doesn’t think that.”
“How do you know?”
“Because,” she said, lowering her voice slightly, “I told him I have a boyfriend who spoils me rotten.”
Max paused.
“You did?”
“Of course,” she said. “And he laughed and said he could tell.”
Max’s grip loosened, but the possessive spark was still there, simmering. “Still.”
She slipped her hand free and leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “He said you must be very generous.”
Max smirked despite himself. “I am.”
She placed the credit card in his hand, curling his fingers around it. “And generous men don’t need to be jealous.”
He looked down at the card, then back at her. “Did he actually pay?”
She held his gaze for a beat.
Then she burst out laughing.
Max blinked. “What?”
“I’m joking,” she said between laughs. “I paid with your card.”
He stared at her. “You—”
“I just wanted to see your face,” she said, still laughing. “You should’ve seen yourself.”
He exhaled sharply, half-relief, half-annoyance. “You’re impossible.”
“You love it,” she teased.
He shook his head, then suddenly straightened, decision snapping into place. “Put on your jacket.”
Yn paused. “What?”
“Your jacket,” he repeated. “We’re going out.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Where?”
“To buy you a Birkin.”
Her mouth fell open. “Max.”
“I also have a lot of money,” he said firmly. “And it doesn’t hurt my bank account.”
She laughed. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I don’t care.”
“Max, it was a joke.”
He stepped closer again, voice dropping. “I don’t care.”
She looked up at him, caught between laughter and something softer. “You don’t need to prove anything.”
“I want to,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because I like when you have nice things,” he said honestly. “And I like when they come from me.”
Her teasing faded, replaced by something warm and real. “You’re insane.”
He leaned down, kissing her hard—brief but full of intent. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers.
“Go,” he murmured. “Jacket.”
She sighed dramatically, but she was smiling as she reached for it. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?”
“Nope.”
As he guided her toward the door, hand warm and steady at her back, she laughed softly. “You know I was going to pay you back anyway.”
He opened the door, leaning down to murmur against her ear, “You can pay me back later in the bedroom.”
She shivered, heart light, already knowing she would.
Summary: Lando and Yn have been happily together for several years now. So when Yn calls Lando "accidentally" her husband in public, Lando couldn't be any happier.
The restaurant was warm in that quiet, golden way that only happened at night, when the city outside softened into distant lights and muted sounds. Candles flickered on each table, throwing gentle shadows across white linen and polished silverware. Soft music hummed in the background, barely loud enough to notice unless you focused on it.
Yn sat across from Lando, chin resting in her hand, watching him with a fond, amused smile.
He looked… nervous. Not in a bad way. Just that subtle, telltale kind of nervous that meant he cared a lot.
He had dressed nicely. Really nicely. Black button-down, sleeves rolled just enough to show his forearms, hair styled with more effort than usual. He kept straightening the cutlery, then stopping himself, then adjusting his napkin like it might escape.
“You’re staring,” he said, glancing up with a shy grin.
“Am I?” Yn asked innocently. “Maybe I just like the view.”
He laughed, a soft sound, cheeks tinting pink. “You’re dangerous when you flirt like that, my love.”
She tilted her head. “After three years, you’re still not immune?”
“Never,” he replied immediately. “Not even close.”
Their food had just arrived. Perfectly plated, exactly what Yn loved. Lando had remembered, of course. He always did. Her favourite dish prepared the way she liked it, and even a side she’d mentioned offhand months ago.
She noticed.
She always noticed.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” she said quietly, though her eyes were shining.
“I wanted to,” Lando replied, earnest. “Date night. Proper one. No schedules, no noise, no people asking for photos. Just us.”
He reached across the table and brushed his thumb over her knuckles. The gesture was casual, natural, practiced from years of loving each other.
Yn squeezed his hand. “You’re doing amazing.”
His smile softened into something tender. “Anything for you.”
They ate slowly, talking about everything and nothing-memories from their early days together, stupid inside jokes, plans that were half-serious and half-dreams. Lando told a story about a disastrous attempt at cooking pasta when they first moved in together, and Yn laughed so hard she nearly dropped her fork.
“You used sugar instead of salt,” she teased.
“I panicked!” he protested. “The labels looked the same!”
“They did not.”
“They absolutely did.”
She leaned back in her chair, laughing. “You owe me emotional compensation for that meal.”
“I’ve been compensating you ever since,” he said, smirking.
The wine bottle between them slowly emptied as the evening stretched on, the conversation flowing as easily as the drinks. At some point, Yn glanced at the bottle, then at her glass.
“Hey,” she murmured. “We’re out.”
Lando followed her gaze. “Oh. Should we-”
She was already turning, catching the attention of a waiter passing by.
“Excuse me,” Yn said gently, polite and warm. “Could we have another bottle of this wine, please?”
The waiter nodded. “Of course.”
Yn smiled. “Thank you. My husband and I really loved it.”
The words slipped out effortlessly.
Husband.
She didn’t look at Lando. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t react. She simply turned back to her plate and continued eating like she hadn’t just dropped a verbal grenade in the middle of the table.
For half a second, nothing happened.
Then-
Lando froze.
Completely. Utterly.
His brain short-circuited in real time.
Husband?
He stared at her, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. The word echoed in his head, loud and bright and impossible to ignore.
Husband.
She hadn’t stumbled over it. Hadn’t corrected herself. Hadn’t laughed.
She’d just… said it.
Casually.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He swallowed hard, heart suddenly racing.
Yn, meanwhile, remained infuriatingly calm. She took another bite of her food, hummed softly in appreciation, and reached for her glass like nothing monumental had just occurred.
“Yn,” he said, voice quiet and slightly breathless.
She looked up at him. “Yeah?”
“You-” He laughed nervously, then stopped. “You just called me your husband.”
Her eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. “Did I?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding quickly. “Very clearly. To the waiter.”
“Oh.” She shrugged. “Huh.”
Huh.
That was it.
No apology. No explanation.
Lando’s heart was doing somersaults.
He reached across the table again, this time taking her hand fully, fingers threading through hers. His thumb brushed over her skin in slow, affectionate circles.
“Well,” he said softly, eyes bright. “I like the sound of that.”
She smiled, still pretending to be oblivious. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he breathed. “A lot.”
The waiter returned with the new bottle, uncorked it smoothly, and poured. Lando barely noticed. His attention was entirely on Yn.
When they were alone again, he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Then another. Then another.
“You know,” he said, voice warm and emotional, “I’ve thought about that. About you calling me that. About being that.”
Yn tilted her head. “You have?”
“Every day,” he admitted. “I mean it. Every single day.”
Her teasing smile softened just a little, but she stayed quiet.
“I can’t stop smiling,” he continued, laughing softly at himself. “My face actually hurts.”
“It does look stuck, love,” she teased.
“Because you just-” He shook his head. “You have no idea what that did to me.”
“Oh, I might,” she said lightly.
He squeezed her hand. “I want you to have my last name someday, darling.”
The words were simple. Honest. Said without pressure, without theatrics.
Just truth.
“Soon,” he added quickly, cheeks flushing. “I mean-when you’re ready. When it feels right. But I promise you… I’m serious about us. About you.”
Yn’s chest tightened.
She had expected laughter. Maybe confusion.
She hadn’t expected this. This open, heartfelt rush of affection.
“You’re really happy about it,” she said softly.
“Are you kidding?” he laughed. “I’m over the moon. I’m floating. I might actually cry.”
She laughed gently. “You’re so cute.”
“I’m in love,” he corrected. “That’s what this is.”
He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret meant only for her. “Calling me your husband… it felt right. It felt like the future.”
Her lips twitched.
Oh, this was bad.
Or good.
Definitely good.
She let a few more seconds pass, letting him bask in the moment, watching how his eyes shone, how his smile refused to fade. He kept kissing her hand like he couldn’t stop himself.
“Lando, Honey,” she said finally.
“Yeah?” He looked at her immediately.
“There’s something I should tell you.”
His heart skipped. “Okay.”
She took a sip of wine, very calmly. Too calmly.
“It was a prank.”
Silence.
He blinked once.
Then twice.
“A… what?”
“A prank,” she repeated, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “You know. Like the ones we always do.”
The realization hit him all at once.
His mouth fell open.
“You-” He stared at her. “You did that on purpose?”
She burst out laughing. “Oh my god, your face-”
He leaned back in his chair, one hand covering his mouth, half laughing, half stunned. “You absolute menace.”
“You loved it,” she said, grinning.
“I did!” he exclaimed. “That’s the problem, baby!”
She reached across the table again, squeezing his hand. “I knew you’d react like that. You’re so soft, Lan.”
He shook his head, laughing helplessly. “You can’t just drop something like that and expect me to survive.”
“But you did,” she teased. “And you were adorable.”
He sighed dramatically, then smiled at her with that familiar warmth. “Okay. Okay. Prank acknowledged.”
She raised her glass. “Truce?”
He clinked his glass against hers. “Truce, my love.”
They drank, laughter lingering between them, the mood still sweet despite the reveal. Lando leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “even if it was a prank…”
“Yeah?”
“I still meant everything I said.”
Her smile softened completely now.
“I know,” she replied quietly.
He studied her face for a moment, then smiled that gentle, boyish smile she’d fallen in love with three years ago.
“And just so you know,” he added, “one day you’ll say it for real.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Oh,” he nodded. “And I’ll probably react the exact same way.”
She laughed, leaning over the table to kiss him, soft and slow and full of everything they shared.
“Good,” she murmured against his lips. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
He kissed her again, smiling into it, heart full, future bright, love steady and real.
And for the rest of the night, he couldn’t stop holding her hand.
Summary: Yn tells Max, her very possessive and protective boyfriend, that a guy did her Brazilian wax for her.
The apartment in Monaco smelled faintly like citrus and sea salt, the kind of clean, expensive scent that came from candles Yn kept buying and forgetting to light. Sunlight spilled through the wide windows, painting the living room in gold. Max was stretched out on the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, controller abandoned on his chest as the muted TV flickered with a replay of an old race.
He heard the door before he saw her.
Keys clattered into the bowl by the entrance. A soft hum followed. Then footsteps-light, bouncy, unmistakably hers.
“Helloooo,” Yn sang, drawing the word out like she always did when she was in an especially good mood.
Max smiled before he even looked up. “You’re back early.”
She popped into his field of vision, leaning over the back of the couch so her face appeared upside down above him. Her hair was tied up messily, a few strands escaping to frame her face. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright with mischief.
“Am I?” she asked innocently.
He lifted the arm from his face and squinted at her. “You are. Everything okay?”
“Everything is great,” she said, grinning far too wide.
That should’ve been his first warning.
Max sat up, immediately alert. Years together had trained him to recognize that expression. It was the same one she’d had when she replaced his shampoo with blue dye. Or when she convinced him there was a famous singer in the elevator with them, only to reveal it was just some confused accountant.
“What did you do,” he said flatly.
Yn gasped, hand flying to her chest in mock offense. “Wow. I come home happy and this is the welcome I get?”
“You’re never just ‘happy’ like that,” he said. “You’re planning something.”
She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “I would never.”
He snorted. “Liar.”
She laughed and finally walked around the couch, dropping her bag on the kitchen counter. Max’s eyes flicked to it automatically-designer logo peeking out.
“You buy another bag?” he asked.
She beamed. “Maybe.”
“How many is that this month?”
She shrugged. “Who’s counting?”
He wasn’t mad. He never was. If anything, he liked it. Liked seeing her excited over something new, liked knowing he could give her that freedom. He’d told her a hundred times. His money was their money, and if spending it made her happy, then good.
She kicked off her shoes and padded back toward him, plopping down beside him on the couch. She tucked her legs underneath herself, leaning into his side.
“So,” she said casually. “You’ll never guess what happened today.”
He raised an eyebrow. “At the salon?”
“Mhm.”
“You burned the place down?”
She laughed. “No.”
“You scared Amalia again?”
“Hey,” she protested. “She scares me. Have you ever seen her when she’s holding hot wax? Terrifying.”
Max chuckled. “True.”
She nodded seriously, then took a deep breath like she was about to announce something very important.
“So,” she said. “They have a new employee.”
Max didn’t react. “Okay.”
“A new waxing specialist.”
“Cool.”
“And,” she added, dragging it out, “he did my appointment today.”
Something shifted.
Max’s head snapped toward her. “He?”
She nodded, far too calmly. “Yeah. He.”
There it was. That cold, uncomfortable feeling in his chest. He didn’t like it. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but his jaw tightened before he could stop it.
“…What do you mean, he?” Max asked slowly.
Yn blinked at him. “I mean… a guy?”
“A guy,” he repeated.
“Mhm.”
“Did your Brazilian waxing.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Max stared at the wall ahead of them, brain visibly rebooting. “No.”
She tilted her head. “No?”
“No,” he said again, sharper. “That’s not… no.”
She frowned, pretending to think. “Why not?”
He finally looked at her, eyes narrowed. “Because that’s… that’s you. That’s-” He gestured vaguely. “That’s very personal.”
She bit her lip, like she was holding back a smile. “It’s his job.”
“Still,” Max said. “I don’t like that.”
“Oh?” she asked sweetly. “You don’t?”
“No,” he said, crossing his arms. “I don’t.”
She leaned back against the couch, studying him. “Huh.”
“Huh what?”
“It’s just interesting,” she said. “Because you’ve never had a problem with Amalia.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“She’s a woman.”
“And?”
“And you’re my girlfriend,” he said, like that should explain everything.
She nodded slowly. “I am.”
“And some guy is… down there,” he said, voice dropping. “Touching you.”
Her shoulders shook. “Max-”
“What?” he cut in. “You don’t see how that’s weird?”
She pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. “His name is Sam.”
Max stiffened. “Sam.”
“Yeah,” she continued, clearly enjoying herself now. “He’s from Somerset. Very polite. Very gentle.”
Max’s nostrils flared. “Gentle.”
“And super sweet,” she added. “Kept asking if I was comfortable.”
“That’s literally the bare minimum,” Max muttered.
“He even asked about you,” she said.
Max’s head snapped back to her. “He did what?”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “I told him my boyfriend is a driver and he was like, ‘Oh, you must be very proud.’”
Max scoffed. “He doesn’t know anything.”
She grinned. “He said you’re lucky.”
That did it.
Max stood up abruptly, pacing a few steps away. “No. I don’t like this.”
She burst out laughing.
“Max,” she giggled. “Your face.”
“This isn’t funny,” he insisted, though his ears were already turning red.
She followed him, grabbing his arm. “Babe.”
He looked down at her. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Because,” she said, laughing harder now, “I wanted to see your reaction.”
His eyes narrowed. “Reaction to what?”
She took a step back, unable to hold it in anymore. “Okay, okay-stop. I can’t.”
He frowned. “What?”
She wiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It was Amalia. Of course it was Amalia.”
He froze. “…What?”
“There is no Sam,” she said between laughs. “I made him up.”
It took a second.
Then another.
Then Max processed it.
“You-” He stared at her, incredulous. “You lied.”
She nodded proudly. “Yes.”
“You let me think-”
“Yes.”
“That some random guy-”
“Yes.”
“-waxed-”
“Max,” she interrupted, laughing, “stop.”
He stared at her for a long moment. Then he shook his head, a disbelieving laugh escaping him.
“You’re evil.”
She grinned. “You love me.”
“I don’t know why,” he said, but he was smiling now.
She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist. “You were jealous.”
“I was not.”
“You were,” she teased. “Very possessive.”
“I was concerned,” he corrected.
She snorted. “Sure.”
He sighed, looking down at her. “You enjoy this way too much.”
“I really do,” she said happily.
He suddenly grabbed her, hoisting her over his shoulder with ease. She squealed, laughing loudly as she kicked her legs.
“Max!” she laughed. “Put me down!”
“No,” he said, already walking toward the bedroom. “You think it’s funny to mess with me?”
“It is funny!” she protested between giggles.
“You’re going to pay for that,” he said.
She gasped dramatically. “Oh no. Whatever will I do.”
He smacked her lightly on the butt. “Behave.”
She laughed even harder, burying her face against his back. “You’re ridiculous.”
He carried her into the bedroom, dropping her gently onto the bed. She bounced, still laughing, hair falling around her face.
“You’re impossible,” he said, climbing over her.
She reached up, cupping his face. “But you love me.”
He leaned down, forehead resting against hers. “Yeah,” he admitted softly. “I do.”
She smiled, warm and affectionate now, the prank forgotten. “Good.”
He kissed her. Slow, familiar, full of laughter and comfort.
Next time, though, he was coming with Yn to her appointment.
Summary: Yn loves trying TikTok trends on Oscar. Which is why she has to try the "no-one would hear you scream" trend on her boyfriend while they are hiking.
The thing about being with Oscar for several years was that Yn had learned exactly three very important truths.
One: he was patient. Inhumanly patient, actually.
Two: he trusted her with his life in a way that was either romantic or deeply concerning.
Three: he would follow her into absolutely any situation if she looked at him with that grin.
Which is exactly why they were hiking.
“Why are we hiking again?” Oscar asked, calm as ever, even as he stepped over a root and immediately had to grab Yn’s backpack strap because she tripped on literally nothing.
She wheezed. “Because it’s romantic.”
“It’s muddy.”
“Romantic mud.”
He snorted quietly, steadying her before she could fall forward. “You’re going to end up rolling down the mountain one day.”
“Yeah, but you’ll catch me,” she said easily, already walking again.
Oscar watched her for a second, then followed, shaking his head with a soft smile. “You say that with alarming confidence.”
“Well,” she glanced back over her shoulder, eyes bright, “you’ve never dropped me yet.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
She stumbled again. He caught her again.
She pointed at him dramatically. “Exhibit A.”
Oscar sighed, but it was fond. Always fond. “You are the clumsiest person I know.”
“And you love me anyway.”
“I do,” he said immediately, like it wasn’t even a question. Like breathing.
That was the thing about them. It was never dramatic in the big, explosive way. It was quiet certainties. Easy touches. Him always walking slightly behind her on trails because he knew she’d trip, and her always stealing his hoodies because she liked how they smelled like him.
Yn had been weirdly quiet for the past ten minutes, though. Oscar noticed. He always noticed.
“You’re plotting,” he said.
She gasped, offended. “I would never.”
“You’re smiling like you’re plotting.”
“I just love nature,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the trees.
“You hate bugs.”
“I love… bug-free nature.”
Oscar hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t push. He never pushed. He just stayed close enough to catch her when she slipped on gravel again.
“Sorry,” she muttered.
“It’s okay,” he replied, hand still on her waist for a second longer than necessary. “I’ve got you.”
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Are you texting while hiking?”
“No,” she said too fast. “I’m… receiving inspiration.”
“That’s worse.”
She laughed and finally stopped when they reached the viewing point. It was high up, overlooking a massive stretch of forest and hills, the air crisp and quiet in a way that made everything feel smaller and bigger at the same time.
Yn stepped right up to the edge, arms spread.
Oscar’s heart stopped for half a second. “Okay, maybe take one step back.”
“I’m fine,” she said, bouncing on her heels.
“That sentence has historically been incorrect.”
She turned around slowly, grinning in a way that made his stomach drop—not from fear, but from knowing something was coming.
She tilted her head. “You know,” she said casually, “no one would hear you scream out here.”
Oscar blinked.
Once.
Twice.
“…What?”
She crossed her arms, clearly enjoying this. “It’s just us. No signal. No people. Long way down.”
She gestured behind him with her chin.
Oscar followed the motion, then looked back at her. His expression was unreadable for exactly three seconds.
Then he took a deep breath.
Yn squinted. “Why are you breathing like that?”
He stepped closer instead of back.
“Why are you stepping closer?” she asked, suddenly unsure.
Oscar stopped right in front of her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, the steady calm she always teased him for but relied on more than she admitted.
He looked down at her, eyes soft.
“Well,” he said gently, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t kill me.”
She burst out laughing immediately. “Oh my god—”
“But,” he continued, completely serious, “if you did… I’d support your decision.”
She choked. “Oscar.”
“That would mean I must’ve done something really wrong,” he said, nodding once like he’d thought it through. “And I trust your judgment.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“I am,” he said simply.
She laughed harder, bending forward, hands on her knees. “I was trying to scare you!”
“I figured.”
“You didn’t even flinch!”
“I did internally.”
“That doesn’t count!”
He smiled then, small and genuine, and leaned down to press a soft kiss to her lips. It was quick, warm, familiar.
“Please don’t murder me,” he murmured against her mouth. “I like our life.”
She grabbed his jacket, still laughing. “I would never!”
“You just implied—”
“I was doing a TikTok trend!”
Oscar froze. “A what?”
She pulled back just enough to look up at him. “There’s this trend where couples go hiking and the girlfriend says that and the boyfriend freaks out.”
He stared at her.
“…You thought I’d freak out?”
“Well,” she admitted, “I hoped you’d at least scream a little.”
“I don’t scream,” he said.
“I know! That’s why it’s funny!”
He exhaled, then laughed quietly, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You love me.”
“I do,” he said again, immediate.
She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I promise I won’t hurt or kill you.”
He hummed, arms coming around her automatically, pulling her into his chest. “That’s reassuring.”
“I mean it.”
“I know,” he said softly.
He rested his chin on the top of her head, swaying slightly from side to side without thinking, a habit he had when they stood still too long. Yn melted into him, still giggling.
“You’d really support me if I murdered you?” she asked.
He considered it. “Emotionally? Yes.”
“You’re insane.”
“Only about you.”
She looked up at him, smile soft now instead of mischievous. “You’re too good for me.”
“I disagree,” he said. “You make life interesting.”
“I almost threatened your life.”
“And now we’re watching a beautiful view together,” he said calmly. “It balances out.”
She laughed quietly, resting her head back against his chest as they both turned to look out over the landscape. The wind brushed past them, cool and peaceful.
After a moment, she said, “You weren’t scared at all?”
He shrugged slightly. “I trust you.”
Her chest tightened.
“That’s dangerous,” she muttered.
“Probably.”
She squeezed him tighter. “I really do love you, you know.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I know.”
They stood there like that for a long time. No screaming. No pushing. Just the view, the quiet, and the steady certainty that whatever chaos Yn brought into his life, Oscar would always be right behind her—ready to catch her before she fell.
Summary: George’s girlfriend Yn tries the "boyfriend melting into the kiss" tren with George. The result is no surprise
The hallway was quiet in that very specific way it only ever was when the world outside was loud.
It wasn’t silent—there was the low hum of the air conditioning, the faint sound of voices drifting in from somewhere far away, maybe a TV in another room—but it felt private. Safe. Like a little pocket of calm carved out just for the two of them.
Yn stood there barefoot, her phone propped up on a shelf between a framed photo and a forgotten hoodie. The camera was angled just right. Casual. Unassuming. If anyone looked at it later, it would seem accidental.
She checked the screen one last time.
Recording.
Her heart was already beating faster, and she laughed softly to herself, shaking her head.
“This is so stupid,” she murmured.
But her smile betrayed her. She loved stupid things when they involved him.
The trend had been all over her feed for days. Girlfriends lifting their boyfriends’ arms, pulling them into kisses, testing whether they “melted” or stayed stiff and awkward. Most of the videos were cute. Some were funny. A few were painfully uncomfortable.
But all Yn could think was George wouldn’t even hesitate.
She leaned back against the wall, folded her arms for a moment, then straightened and took a breath.
“George?” she called out.
Her voice echoed softly down the hallway.
There was no delay.
“What’s up, love?” came the immediate reply, followed by the sound of footsteps.
She grinned before he even appeared.
He rounded the corner seconds later, dressed comfortably—team shorts, a soft hoodie, hair still a little messy like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. He looked relaxed, unguarded, completely himself.
And the moment his eyes landed on her, his face changed.
It always did.
“Hey,” he said, smiling in that warm, easy way that made her stomach flip even after all this time. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said quickly, biting back a laugh. “Come here for a sec.”
He stepped closer without question, his brow furrowing slightly as he noticed her stance.
“Why do you look suspicious?” he asked.
“I don’t.”
“You absolutely do.”
She ignored that and reached for his wrists, lifting both his arms up gently until they were raised above his head.
George froze.
He blinked once.
Then twice.
“…What are we doing?” he asked, voice light but confused, eyes flicking between her hands and her face.
“Just trust me,” Yn said, trying—and failing—to keep a straight face.
His lips twitched.
“You always say that right before you do something weird.”
She laughed. “It’s not weird.”
“Yn.”
She stepped closer, standing right in front of him now, her hands still holding his arms up. He was taller, obviously, and even like this she had to tilt her head back to look at him properly.
He looked down at her, eyes soft, curious, amused.
“I feel like I’m being arrested,” he said.
“Shh,” she whispered.
Before he could say anything else, she released his wrists and brought both her hands up to his face, palms warm against his cheeks. Her fingers curved around his jaw, thumbs brushing lightly along his cheekbones.
George’s breath caught.
“Yn—”
She pulled him down and kissed him.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t dramatic.
It was just them.
The second their lips met, everything shifted.
George didn’t hesitate for even a fraction of a second.
His arms dropped immediately, wrapping around her like it was instinct—one hand settling firmly at her waist, the other sliding up into her hair, fingers threading through it gently. He sighed into the kiss, deep and content, like he’d been holding his breath all day and had finally been allowed to let it out.
Yn melted first.
She smiled into the kiss, her body relaxing completely against his.
There it is, she thought. Exactly like I knew.
George tilted his head slightly, making the kiss easier, softer, more comfortable. His hand in her hair moved slowly, unhurried, stroking like he was grounding himself in her presence.
She kissed him back with equal warmth, her fingers tightening just a little at his hoodie.
When she shifted her weight, barely even noticing she’d done it, George reacted instantly.
Without breaking the kiss, he bent slightly and scooped her up with one arm under her thighs, lifting her like she weighed nothing.
“George,” she laughed softly against his lips, surprised but not shocked.
He hummed in response, smiling into the kiss, and took two steps forward, guiding her back until her shoulders met the wall. He adjusted his hold easily, settling her there so they were finally on the same height.
“There,” he murmured. “Better.”
His forehead rested against hers for a brief second, noses brushing.
He didn’t stop kissing her.
The kiss deepened—not in a hungry way, but in a way that felt safe, familiar, full. His arm stayed firm around her legs, protective, steady, while his other hand cradled the back of her head like she was something precious.
Yn wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers slipping into his hair, and kissed him back just as gently.
This was why everyone said they were obsessed.
Because even moments like this—quiet, private, unplanned—felt like the rest of the world didn’t exist.
Eventually, she pulled back just enough to breathe.
George followed her instinctively, lips chasing hers for a second before he stopped, eyes opening slowly.
He smiled at her, soft and affectionate.
“What was that about?” he asked quietly.
She grinned, breathless, cheeks warm.
“You passed.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Passed… what?”
“The test.”
He laughed softly. “What test?”
She leaned in and kissed him once more, quick and sweet, before pulling back again.
“There’s this trend,” she explained. “Where girlfriends see if their boyfriends melt into kisses or not.”
He blinked. “Melt?”
“Mhm,” she nodded seriously. “Like, whether you stay stiff and awkward or whether you just—” she gestured vaguely between them, “—become all soft and clingy.”
George laughed again, this time louder, shaking his head.
“And I melted.”
“You melted,” she confirmed happily.
He smiled at her like she’d just told him he’d won a championship.
“Well,” he said, adjusting his grip on her slightly, “good. I’d be worried if I didn’t.”
She laughed, resting her forehead against his.
“You didn’t even think about it.”
“Why would I?” he asked simply. “It’s you.”
Her chest tightened at that, the familiar warmth spreading through her.
“I love you,” she said quietly.
His expression softened instantly.
“I love you,” he replied without hesitation.
He kissed her again—slow, lingering—and then pulled back just enough to look at her properly.
“You were recording that, weren’t you?”
She froze.
“…Maybe.”
He squinted. “Yn.”
She burst out laughing. “I hid my phone!”
“Of course you did.”
He shook his head, smiling despite himself. “You’re unbelievable.”
“But adorable,” she added hopefully.
He leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth.
“Very,” he said. “Still mine.”
“Always.”
He shifted his stance, tightening his arm beneath her thighs, and she instinctively held onto him more securely.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
He glanced down the hallway toward the bedroom.
“Thought I’d steal you,” he said lightly. “Unless you had other plans.”
She smiled, brushing her thumb along his jaw.
“Nope. I’m all yours.”
“Good,” he murmured.
He carried her down the hallway like it was the most natural thing in the world, kissing her every few steps—her lips, her cheek, her temple—never rushing, never distracted.
Summary: After Yn, the new Aston Martin rookie, gets cheated on, the whole grid is there to support her.
The paddock had always felt loud to Yn.
Not just the engines or the radios crackling or the fans screaming her name from behind the barriers, but alive. Like it breathed with her. She usually walked through it smiling, waving, stopping for selfies even when her press officer begged her to hurry.
People called her sunshine, and she never really argued with it. She liked being that person. The girl who laughed easily, who hugged mechanics, who brought cookies into briefings and somehow made an entire garage lighter just by existing.
Today, though, the paddock felt heavy.
Yn stepped out of the Aston Martin motorhome with her sunglasses already on, hood pulled up despite the mild weather. She moved quickly, head down, shoulders tight. No wave. No smile.
And that was how everyone knew.
Carlos was the first to spot her.
“Okay,” he muttered, nudging Charles with his elbow, “she looks… not okay.”
Charles followed his gaze and winced. “Oh. Oh no.”
George appeared from nowhere, coffee in hand. “Is that—yeah. That’s sunglasses-at-9am energy.”
Lewis, who had been mid-conversation with Fernando, turned slowly. The moment he saw Yn, his expression softened. “She’s hurting.”
Word had traveled fast. Faster than lap times ever did.
Social media had exploded the night before—screenshots, tags, speculation. Her boyfriend, very much ex-boyfriend now, caught cheating in a way that left no room for excuses. People had been furious on her behalf. Protective. Loud.
But none of that made it hurt less.
Yn walked past the familiar faces like she was underwater. She barely registered the greetings, the concerned looks. When she finally reached the Aston Martin garage, she slipped inside without a word and sat down on a folding chair, elbows on her knees, staring at the floor.
A beat of silence followed her.
Then chaos.
Carlos appeared first, holding a steaming cup like it was sacred. He crouched in front of her, offering it gently. “Hot chocolate,” he said softly. “With the tiny marshmallows. The good ones.”
She hesitated, then took it. Her fingers brushed his.
“Thanks,” she murmured, voice rough.
“Anytime,” he said. “Also, if you want, I can fight him. Or we can cry. Or both. I’m flexible.”
That earned the smallest huff of breath from her nose. Not quite a laugh. But close.
Charles slid in next, practically shoving a cup into her other hand. “Ice cream,” he announced. “I know it’s early. I don’t care. It’s vanilla. No thinking required.”
Yn blinked behind her sunglasses. “You carry ice cream in the paddock?”
“I plan ahead for emotional emergencies,” Charles replied seriously. “I learned from experience.”
George cleared his throat loudly. “Okay, everyone, please remain calm. I have prepared something.”
Lewis raised an eyebrow. “Prepared what, exactly?”
George pulled out his tablet, already swiping furiously. “A PowerPoint. Titled: Why He Was a Terrible Boyfriend Anyway.”
Yn looked up for the first time. “You—what?”
“Slide one,” George continued proudly, ignoring everyone else, “Exhibit A: poor communication. Slide two: suspicious Instagram likes. Slide three—”
“George,” Lewis interrupted, trying not to laugh, “she’s heartbroken, not in a corporate review.”
“I find structure comforting,” George said defensively. “And I included charts.”
Max leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, unimpressed. “Charts are stupid. He’s just a dick.”
“That’s… concise,” Lando said, peeking around Max’s shoulder.
Max shrugged. “I could say more. But it’d just be insults. And some of them aren’t allowed on television.”
Yn pressed her lips together, shoulders shaking slightly. Oscar had appeared beside her without her noticing, sitting close enough that their knees touched. He didn’t say anything—just rested his arm lightly around her back, grounding, solid.
She leaned into him automatically.
Lando crouched in front of her, tilting his head until he caught her eye behind the dark lenses. “Hey,” he said gently. “You don’t have to smile. But if you want to scream into a pillow later, I can provide one. I scream a lot. Very experienced.”
“I believe that,” she muttered.
Lewis waited until the others drifted back a step. He sat on the floor in front of her, calm, steady. “You want to talk?” he asked quietly.
She hesitated, then nodded.
“He made me feel stupid,” she said after a moment. “Like… like I missed something obvious. Everyone else saw it before I did.”
Lewis shook his head immediately. “No. You trusted someone. That’s not stupidity. That’s courage.”
Her jaw tightened. “I loved him.”
“I know,” Lewis said. “And that’s not something you should ever regret.”
Max scoffed softly. “He didn’t deserve it.”
“Max,” Lewis warned gently.
“What? He didn’t,” Max insisted. “If someone did that to you, I’d—” He stopped himself, glancing at the cameras nearby. “I’d be very unhappy.”
Yn finally cracked a real smile at that, fleeting but real.
Still, the weight didn’t lift.
By the end of the day, after press obligations she barely remembered completing, after a debrief she sat through silently, Yn felt exhausted in a way that sleep wouldn’t fix. The sun dipped low, painting the paddock gold, and she lingered by her car, unsure where to go.
That’s when Pierre grabbed her wrist.
“Hey,” he said, eyes bright with mischief. “Come with us.”
“Us?” she echoed.
Fernando appeared on her other side, already holding car keys. “Trust us.”
She frowned. “I have—”
“Nothing important,” Pierre cut in. “You have feelings. We’re handling them.”
“I don’t know if that’s reassuring,” she said.
Fernando opened the car door. “It will be fun.”
“That’s also not reassuring.”
But she got in anyway.
The drive was quiet at first. Yn watched the lights blur past, hugging herself, until Pierre cleared his throat.
“So,” he said, “hypothetically—if someone were a massive idiot—”
Fernando snorted. “Hypothetically.”
“And hypothetically,” Pierre continued, “if that idiot lived in a house with a very accessible front yard—”
“Pierre,” Yn said slowly, “what are you planning?”
Fernando smiled. “Healing.”
They pulled into a quiet neighborhood. Yn recognized the house immediately, stomach twisting. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, we absolutely did,” Pierre said, popping the trunk.
Inside were supplies.
A lot of supplies.
Toilet paper. Glitter. Spray paint.
Yn stared. “You’re joking.”
“Not even a little,” Fernando said cheerfully. “I brought the good paint.”
“This is vandalism,” she whispered.
Pierre shrugged. “Emotional vandalism requires physical expression.”
She looked between them. Her heart was still aching—but something else sparked beneath it. Something lighter. Warmer.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “Okay. But if we get arrested, I’m blaming you.”
They worked fast, laughing under their breath like teenagers. Pierre hurled toilet paper with impressive accuracy. Fernando shook glitter cans like maracas, coating the lawn in a sparkling mess.
Yn held the paint can, hesitating.
“Do it,” Pierre urged. “For closure.”
She took a breath and sprayed one word across the car door.
CHEATER.
She stepped back—and then she laughed.
It burst out of her, loud and real, echoing down the quiet street. She doubled over, hands on her knees, tears streaming—but this time, they weren’t only sad.
“Oh my god,” she gasped. “This is so stupid.”
“It’s perfect,” Fernando said proudly.
Pierre wiped his hands. “You feel better?”
She nodded, still smiling. “Yeah. I really do.”
As they climbed back into the car, Pierre added casually, “I did this once to Esteban.”
Fernando raised an eyebrow. “Once?”
“Okay, twice,” Pierre admitted. “He never found out.”
Yn laughed again, leaning her head against the seat. For the first time all day, the hurt didn’t feel so heavy.
Summary: Lando falls in love with Yn. A beautiful French girl that doesn't speak a word English.
Winter had settled gently over Oxfordshire. The kind of winter that looked poetic from a distance, all silver hedges and pale skies, but crept into your bones the moment you stood still for too long. The cottage Zak had rented sat at the edge of a narrow lane, its stone walls dusted with frost, windows fogged from the inside with warmth struggling to escape.
It was quiet.
Too quiet, some days.
That had been the point.
Andrea and Zak had cornered Lando at the factory barely a week after the final race of 2025. He was still running on adrenaline then, championship trophy barely cold in his hands, the season not quite finished echoing in his head. Andrea had smiled at him in that knowing way of his, the one that always meant he already had the answer.
“People will want to know how you did it,” he’d said calmly.
Zak, already grinning like a man who smelled a marketing opportunity from a mile away, leaned in. “Not just the racing. The pressure. The doubt. The growth.” A beat. “A book.”
Lando had laughed, loud and incredulous. “A book? Mate, I barely passed English.”
“Exactly,” Zak had replied without missing a beat. “Authentic.”
So here he was. Alone. Supposedly focused.
Fifteen pages deep into something that was meant to be the story of how he’d won the title and every time he reread it, his stomach twisted.
He stared at the screen, jaw tight, then let his head fall back against the chair.
“Absolute rubbish,” he muttered.
The cottage mirrored his mental state a little too perfectly. Mugs stacked precariously in the sink. Papers scattered across every available surface. A half-dead plant drooping sadly in the corner. Laundry he couldn’t quite remember washing or not washing.
He’d forgotten how bad he was at living when no one was around to keep him on some kind of schedule.
Which, apparently, was how Zak ended up calling a cleaning service.
Lando found out via text.
Zak: Don’t panic. Cleaning service coming tomorrow morning. Trust me.
Lando: I am panicking.
Zak: You’ll survive.
The next morning, there was a knock at the door.
Lando shuffled over in socks, hair sticking up in every direction, hoodie still creased from where he’d slept in it on the sofa. He opened the door fully expecting one of the familiar cleaners he’d seen during McLaren off-seasons.
Instead, he was greeted by a tiny, elderly Chinese woman with kind eyes and a warm, knowing smile.
“Hello, hello!” she chirped. “You Lando, yes?”
He blinked, then smiled automatically. “Yeah, yeah, that’s me.”
She dipped her head slightly. “Mrs Wang. Nice to see you again.”
“Oh! Yeah, of course. Hi,” he said, stepping aside quickly. “Come in.”
She moved past him with surprising speed, already scanning the cottage with sharp eyes that missed absolutely nothing. After a moment, she turned back toward the door and gently guided someone forward.
“And this is Yn. She help you,” Mrs Wang said proudly.
Lando looked up-
And forgot how to speak for half a second.
Yn was young, maybe his age or a little younger. Dark hair pulled into a loose braid, soft features framed by a tired but kind face. Her posture was polite, almost shy, hands gripping the strap of her bag like it was an anchor.
Mrs Wang said something to her in French. Yn nodded quickly, then looked at Lando.
“Bonjour,” she greeted softly, a small, careful smile forming.
“Oh, uh, yeah, hi. Hello,” Lando rushed out. “I’m Lando. Nice to meet you. Sorry about the mess, it’s just-yeah.”
He stopped talking abruptly.
Partly because he didn’t want to embarrass himself more than he already had.
Partly because Yn was looking at him with polite confusion.
Mrs Wang seemed to catch on immediately.
“Mr Lando,” she said gently, turning to him. “Yn is very helpful girl. Very good. But she speak no English. Only French.”
That caught him off guard, but only for a second.
“Oh-yeah, no, that’s fine,” he said quickly, waving a hand. “That’s no problem at all. We’ll… figure it out somehow, yeah?”
He glanced at Yn, hoping she might magically understand him.
She didn’t.
She just smiled again, a little uncertain.
Before the moment could stretch into something awkward, Mrs Wang clapped her hands once.
“Good, good,” she said briskly. “After work, please drive Yn to train station. No problem, yes?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Lando nodded, probably a bit too fast.
Mrs Wang said something else to Yn, who answered softly, and then, just like that, she was gone. Coat on, door closed, winter air sealing behind her.
Silence fell again.
The two of them stood there, facing each other, both looking equally lost.
“Euh… je pense que je vais commencer par la cuisine, si ça vous va,” Yn said gently. “Voulez-vous du thé ? Je peux vous en préparer.”
Lando stared at her, then let out a small, awkward laugh.
“Okay, so… I’m sorry,” he said, even though he knew she couldn’t understand him. “I actually have no idea what you just said. But I think-maybe-you mentioned tea?”
Yn blinked, then her face lit with understanding.
She gestured toward the kitchen, mimed holding a teacup with her pinky slightly raised, then pointed at him.
“Oh—tea,” Lando said quickly. “Yes. Yes please. That would be great. Thank you.”
She smiled, visibly relieved, and headed toward the kitchen.
Lando stood in the middle of the living room, watching her disappear down the hallway, feeling strangely aware of how quiet the cottage suddenly felt again.
“Okay,” he murmured to himself. “I’ll just… yeah. I’ll be in the office.”
He turned back toward his laptop, the blinking cursor waiting patiently for words he still didn’t quite know how to write.
The cottage settled into a quiet rhythm after that.
Yn moved softly through the rooms, almost like she was afraid of disturbing the walls themselves. Lando heard her only occasionally—the faint clink of dishes, the swish of a cloth, the low hum of water running. It was strangely comforting, background noise that didn’t demand anything from him.
A knock sounded lightly on the office door a while later.
“Yeah?” Lando called, eyes still on the screen.
The door opened just enough for Yn to peek inside. She held a tray carefully with both hands.
“Euh… tea,” she said softly, offering it to him with a hopeful look.
“Oh—wow, thank you,” Lando said, standing up too fast and nearly knocking his chair over. “That’s… that’s really nice.”
She smiled when he took it, nodding once, then gestured to the small plate beside the mug—toast, neatly cut, with a bit of jam.
“Oh. Food too? You’re actually saving my life,” he muttered, though she didn’t understand. He gave her a thumbs-up instead. “Merci. That’s… merci, right?”
Her smile widened just a little.
She slipped away again, and time blurred after that.
Every so often, she appeared quietly—another cup of tea, a small bowl of fruit, a gentle gesture asking if he wanted more. Lando found himself answering with nods, smiles, exaggerated hand motions, feeling ridiculous but oddly at ease.
By the time the clock on the wall ticked over to four, his brain felt fried.
“Okay,” he sighed, pushing his chair back. “That’s enough pretending I’m productive for one day.”
He stepped out of the office—and froze.
The cottage looked… different.
Clean. Properly clean.
The mugs were gone. Papers stacked neatly. The plant had been watered and somehow looked less tragic. And on the sofa—
His clothes.
Clean. Folded. Organized by size.
“Whoa,” Lando whispered. “Okay. Wow.”
Yn stood near the laundry basket, hands clasped in front of her, watching him carefully like she wasn’t sure if she’d done something wrong.
“No, no—this is amazing,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “You’re incredible. Honestly.”
She tilted her head, confused but smiling politely.
“Um… finished,” he tried, gesturing vaguely around the house. “Done for today.”
Her brows knit together.
“No more work,” he added, miming wiping his hands. “Finished.”
Still confusion.
“Oh—right,” Lando said, then made a very obvious steering-wheel motion with his hands. “Car. Station. Home.”
Her face lit up instantly. “Ah,” she said, nodding. “Oui.”
The drive was quiet.
Not awkward—just soft.
The heater hummed, the countryside rolling by outside the windows. Yn sat neatly in the passenger seat, hands folded in her lap, watching the road. Lando kept stealing glances at her, then quickly looking back ahead, unsure why the silence felt heavier than usual.
When they pulled up to the station, she unbuckled her seatbelt and hesitated.
She turned to him. “Merci,” she said gently. Then, after a small pause, “Au revoir, Lando.”
He smiled, something warm and unexpected settling in his chest.
“Bye, Yn,” he replied quietly.
She gave him one last smile before stepping out into the cold, disappearing toward the platform.
Lando sat there for a moment after she was gone, hands resting on the steering wheel, the car eerily still.
“…Huh,” he murmured.
Then he drove home.
They fell into a rhythm without ever really discussing it.
Every morning at exactly eight, there would be a soft knock on the door. Lando would open it half-awake, coffee already in hand, and Yn would stand there in her coat, hair braided, offering the same small smile every single time.
“Bonjour,” she’d say.
“Morning,” he’d answer, even though he knew she didn’t understand. “You’re on time. Like… scary on time.”
She’d nod politely, step inside, and get to work.
The cottage slowly stopped feeling like a place he was hiding in and started feeling… lived in. Yn moved around quietly, efficiently, always careful, always kind. And Lando—against his own expectations—started talking to her.
A lot.
“So, uh, I’m meant to be writing about my childhood here,” he said one morning from the kitchen table, laptop open, papers spread out. “Which is weird, because I don’t really remember most of it. I just remember karting. And being tired. And my mum yelling at me to eat.”
Yn wiped the counter, listening, nodding even if she didn’t understand a word.
“That’s good though, right?” he continued. “Means it mattered.”
She smiled softly.
Sometimes he tried anyway.
“Ça va?” he asked once, proud of himself.
“Oui,” she replied, equally polite.
He beamed like he’d just won another championship.
The book started to come together. Slowly, painfully—but it did. Pages piled up, crossed-out lines grew fewer. One afternoon, frustrated with himself, Lando tore out three pages, folded them, and slid them into his pocket so he could reread them later.
“Growth,” he muttered. “Or a breakdown. Hard to tell.”
Yn appeared in the doorway with tea.
She glanced at the torn pages, then at him, raising an eyebrow slightly.
“It’s fine,” he said quickly. “Creative process. Very professional.”
She laughed quietly—more of a breath than a sound—and handed him the mug.
At four o’clock every day, like clockwork, he closed the laptop.
“Okay,” he announced. “Taxi time.”
Yn never understood the words, but she understood the routine. Coat on. Bag over her shoulder. A small nod toward the door.
The drives stayed quiet. Comfortable. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel empty.
One afternoon, the radio crackled to life, and a song Lando knew well filled the car. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
“Oh—I love this one,” he said immediately. “This came out when I was, like, sixteen? Seventeen? I used to play it all the time.”
Yn turned her head slightly, listening, then looked at him and smiled politely.
“Yeah,” he added, chuckling. “I know. You have no idea what I’m saying. But still.”
He tapped his fingers along to the beat.
“It’s just… good, you know?” he continued. “One of those songs that sticks with you.”
She nodded, eyes warm.
Then, without thinking too much about it, Lando started singing.
Quiet at first. Then louder.
Very off-key.
Yn stared at him for a second—then burst out laughing.
Not polite laughter. Real laughter.
“Oh no,” Lando said, grinning. “That bad, yeah?”
She laughed harder, covering her mouth, shaking her head.
“Sorry,” he said between laughs. “I’m a driver, not a singer. Important distinction.”
The car pulled up to the station too soon.
Yn wiped her eyes, still smiling. She opened the door, then paused.
“Merci,” she said softly.
“Yeah,” Lando replied. “See you tomorrow.”
She gave him one last look—warm, amused—then disappeared into the crowd.
Lando sat there for a moment after, radio still playing.
The car felt quieter than it had all day.
The sky cleared on a day Lando hadn’t expected it to.
The clouds thinned slowly, reluctantly, until pale sunlight spilled across the garden and the lake behind the cottage. The air was still cold, but it felt lighter, less heavy. Like the world had decided to give him a small break.
Lando took it.
He dragged a chair outside, laptop tucked under his arm, a stack of printed pages clutched against his chest. The grass was damp beneath his trainers as he set everything down near the water. The wind tugged at the edges of the papers immediately.
“Absolutely not,” he muttered, grabbing his teacup and placing it firmly on top of the stack. “You’re not escaping. I fought for you.”
He opened the laptop and started typing, shoulders loosening as the words came more easily than they had in weeks. He paused now and then, rereading paragraphs, scrolling back, nodding to himself.
Behind him, soft footsteps approached.
“Morning,” he said without turning. “I’ve decided nature makes me smarter.”
Yn appeared at his side, holding a tray carefully balanced in both hands.
“Café,” she said gently.
He looked up, surprised. “Oh—coffee? That’s new. I feel incredibly spoiled.”
She smiled, crouching slightly to set the tray down. As she reached for his teacup to switch it—
The wind surged.
The pages lifted all at once.
“No—no, no, no—!” Lando jumped up.
Sheets tore free, racing across the grass, spinning wildly. Several skidded straight toward the lake.
Yn gasped sharply.
“Non—!” she cried.
“Merde !” she cursed as she ran after them.
“Wait—stop!” Lando called, chasing after her. “It’s fine! They’re bad anyway!”
She didn’t slow down.
“Ce sont des pages importantes. Nous devons obtenir!”
(These are important pages. We have to get them!)
“They’re really not important!” he insisted, breathless. “I promise!”
She reached the shore just as a few papers landed on the water, soaking instantly.
“Oh non…” she whispered.
Before Lando could react, she kicked off her shoes.
“Hey—what are you—no, don’t do that!” he protested.
She tugged her sweater over her head.
“Attends—attends !”
(Wait—wait!)
She peeled off her jeans with frantic determination, left in her underwear and a thin tank top, shivering already.
Lando froze.
“Oh. Oh wow. Nope. Not the time,” he muttered, tearing his gaze away. “Focus.”
Yn stepped into the lake.
“Putain—c’est glacé !”
(Fuck—it’s freezing!)
“IT WILL BE FREEZING!” Lando yelled. “That’s why you shouldn’t be in there!”
She waded deeper, teeth chattering, grabbing at floating pages.
"Peut-être pouvons-nous sauver certaines pages avant qu'elles ne soient !”
(Maybe be can save some pages befire they will be ruined!)
“Dont worry, they are really not worth it!” he argued, waving his arms helplessly. “I can rewrite them!”
She shot him a confused look, then turned back to the papers.
Lando stood there for exactly two seconds.
“…If I don’t go in, I’ll regret it forever,” he muttered. “If I do, I’m an idiot.”
He kicked off his shoes and ran in.
The cold hit him like a wall.
“OH—NO—ABSOLUTELY NOT!” he yelped. “WHY IS IT THIS COLD?!”
Yn turned, eyes wide..
She laughed despite herself, breath puffing in small clouds.
She grabbed a page and held it up. “Regarde !”
(Look!)
“Yes, paper,” he said, nodding. “Very wet. Very tragic.”
“Ces pages doivent être incroyables,” she said, shivering.
(These pages better be amazing.)
He shook his head furiously. “These pages are not worth it. They are so bad. Mediocre at best.”
She frowned, misunderstanding his tone.
“Je ne vais pas geler pour rien,” she muttered.
(I’m not freezing for nothing.)
“I agree with whatever you just said!” he said emphatically. "Those pages are horirbe and we are so stupid for risking our life for them!”
They stared at each other, both convinced the other was missing the point.
Something brushed against Lando’s leg.
He yelped.
“Oh—NO—nope—something touched me!”
Yn blinked, then burst out laughing.
“Si tu bouges comme ça,” she said, amused, “tu vas réveiller les poissons.”
(If you move like that, you’ll wake the fish.)
“There arent any fish here, are there?!” he squeaked. “I HATE FISH?!”
She smiled confusedly, clearly enjoying this now.
She laughed again, soft and bright, echoing over the water.
They gathered the last few pages in awkward silence, hands brushing accidentally, neither pulling away fast enough.
When they waded back to shore, soaked and shaking, the sun slipped out from behind the clouds again, warming their skin just slightly.
Lando wrapped his arms around himself, teeth chattering. “Worst writing session ever.”
Yn hugged herself too. “La pire idée de la journée.”
(The worst idea of the day)
They shared a look.
Same exhaustion. Same laughter. Same warmth blooming quietly beneath the cold.
The cottage smelled faintly of wet clothes and tea. They had both changed into dry layers—Lando in a soft hoodie, Yn in a sweater that was still slightly damp at the edges. She had wrung her braid free, letting it hang over one shoulder, and he couldn’t help but notice how the damp strands clung lightly to her cheek.
They sat across from each other at the small kitchen table, the steam from their mugs curling between them.
“Tea,” Yn said, lifting her cup toward him.
“Yeah,” Lando said, smiling. “Perfect after… whatever the lake thing was. Honestly, I think I’ll have nightmares about that water for a week.”
She laughed softly, shaking her head.
Lando sipped, then set the cup down and leaned back, fingers tapping on the table. “You know what I’m writing about, right?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at the stack of papers he’d rescued.
Yn tilted her head. “Non, je ne comprends pas.”
“Right, of course. English. Big problem,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m writing a book. About… well, about racing, but more… life in the pit, the pressure, the things nobody sees. The crashes, the wins, the… everything.”
She listened quietly, nodding once, her gaze calm and attentive.
“I know you don’t understand a word,” he added, raising one hand in mock surrender. “But it’s nice to say it anyway.”
Yn set her cup down and smiled faintly, tilting her head. She spoke softly, French flowing around the syllables like music.
“J'adore lire. Tu pourries peut-être me mentionner dans ton livre.”
(I love reading. Maybe yoh could mention me in your book.)
He stared at her for a moment, and a slow grin spread across his face. “You know what?” he said. “Maybe I should mention you. After all… you just saved my entire book from becoming soggy, tragic history. You deserve that.”
Yn’s lips curved in a quiet, almost shy smile. She nodded without understanding what he just told her.
They sat in silence for a moment, looking at each other. The air between them was warm now, even though the cottage still smelled faintly of damp clothes. His fingers drummed lightly against the wood of the table, her hands resting around the mug in front of her.
Lando glanced at the clock and froze. “Oh.”
Yn followed his gaze.
“Four o’clock,” he muttered. “Again.” He made the driving motion with both hands, exaggerating the gesture just slightly.
Yn blinked, then nodded.
They stood, a slow, quiet ritual unfolding in the stillness of the kitchen. Both of them lingered, neither moving toward the door for a moment longer than necessary.
“You know,” Lando said quietly, shrugging one shoulder, “I love driving you. Honestly. My favorite part of the day. Because… well, it’s just… time with you. Simple. Easy. Even if you don’t understand me, it’s… nice.”
Yn’s lips parted in a faint smile. She leaned just slightly closer and said softly, in French, “C’est la pire partie de la journée… parce que je devrai vous quitter.”
(The worst part of the day… because I will have to leave you.)
Lando’s chest tightened slightly. He didn’t understand the words, not really, but the way she said them—the softness, the quiet sadness—hit him in a way that words couldn’t explain. He smiled gently, nodding once.
Yn smiled back, a little sad, a little shy, a little brave.
They lingered there, staring at each other, both feeling something heavier than language could carry. And then, as if by mutual agreement, they both broke the moment at the same time. Slowly, deliberately, they walked to the door.
The walk to the car was quiet. Neither spoke, but neither felt the silence as awkward. It was a gentle quiet, the kind of quiet that said everything without words.
Yn settled into the passenger seat, bag in her lap. Lando took the wheel, glancing at her. She looked small in the seat, sweater soft against her arms, braid swinging slightly as she adjusted.
The road stretched out ahead of them. The countryside rolled past in shades of brown and green, bare branches reaching for the sky.
The car stayed quiet for most of the drive. The only sound was the occasional turn of the wheel or the faint hum of the tires.
Finally, she spoke, French spilling softly into the space between them.
“Au revoir,” she said gently, leaning slightly forward. “J’ai aimé travailler pour vous… et… tu vas me manquer. .”
(Goodbye. I loved working for you… and… I will miss yoy.)
Lando felt a sudden rush of warmth. He turned slightly toward her, eyes meeting hers. “I… I loved having you here,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “You… brightened my day. Every day.”
Yn’s eyes flicked down, then back to his, a shy, small smile curling her lips. She leaned just slightly forward, and though nothing physical happened—no kiss, no touch—the moment was heavy and soft and intimate, carrying more than words could hold.
The car slowed as the station appeared ahead. Lando’s hand rested lightly on the gear shift. Yn’s fingers tightened briefly around the strap of her bag.
They shared a long look, both knowing the same thing: this was goodbye, in a way.
She stepped out first, bag over her shoulder, coat snug around her. She paused, just at the edge of the car, and looked back at him.
“Merci… pour tous,” she said softly.
(Thank you… for everything.)
“Thank you for everything,” Lando whispered, trying to hold onto the quiet warmth of her gaze. “Thank you, honestly. For… saving my book. And… everything else.”
Yn’s lips quirked in a faint, fleeting smile. Then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd on the platform.
Lando sat in the car for a moment longer, hands still resting lightly on the wheel. The silence of the car felt heavier now, tinged with something sweet, something sad.
“…I’ll never forget you,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Outside, Yn turned once, just barely, and waved a small hand. He caught it in the corner of his eye and smiled faintly, a quiet, private smile just for her.
Then the train whistle blew. And she was gone.
The drive back was silent. But in that silence, Lando felt the strange warmth of connection. A connection that didn’t need words, that had survived the lake, the wind, the chaos—and even the barrier of language.
For a moment, he let himself imagine her smile, her laugh, the way her eyes had softened when she looked at him, even when she didn’t understand him.
And for a moment, just for a little while, the world felt a little lighter, a little warmer, and entirely theirs—even if only for a short drive, a short week, a fleeting afternoon.
Summary: They first time they enter the paddock as an engaged couple, Max and Yn get swarmed by paparazzi, journalists and fans.
The kitchen smelled like garlic and olive oil, the quiet kind of evening hum filling the space between them. Yn stood barefoot on the cool tiles, wooden spoon in hand, stirring the pan while Max leaned against the counter behind her, arms loosely wrapped around her waist.
“You’re going to burn it,” he said, voice low, amused, chin resting on her shoulder.
“I am not,” she replied, nudging him back with her hip. “You’re distracting me.”
“That’s my job.”
She laughed softly, tilting her head back to look at him. His hair was messy, hoodie sleeves pushed up, the picture of someone who had no intention of leaving the house for the rest of the night. This—quiet, warm, normal—was everything she loved.
“Can you grab the salt?” she asked.
Max reached for it, then paused. She felt him still behind her.
“Max?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned her gently, hands warm and steady on her arms. His expression wasn’t nervous exactly—more focused, thoughtful.
“What?” she asked, smiling. “Did I mess it up?”
“No,” he said. “I just… wait.”
He stepped away, disappearing into the living room. Yn frowned, confused, then laughed to herself and went back to stirring.
When he came back, he wasn’t holding the salt.
He was holding a small box.
She stared at it, brain lagging behind reality. “What’s that?”
Max swallowed. “I was going to do this later. Or… maybe some other way. But this feels right.”
Her heart started pounding.
“Yn,” he said, voice soft, completely unguarded. “We’ve been doing life together for a long time now. The good stuff, the hard stuff. You’re my calm. You’re my home.” He took a breath. “I don’t need fireworks or cameras or anything loud. I just need you.”
He opened the box.
The ring was simple. Elegant. So them it almost hurt.
She covered her mouth with her hand, tears already forming. “Max…”
“Will you marry me?” he asked quietly. “Right here. Like this.”
She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. Didn’t need to.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, of course.”
He smiled—wide, real, boyish—and slipped the ring onto her finger. Then she was in his arms, laughing and crying at the same time, his face buried in her hair.
“Dinner’s burning,” she muffled into his hoodie.
“Worth it,” he said, kissing the top of her head.
It was perfect.
And private.
Until it wasn’t.
The next morning, they stepped out together, sunglasses on, hand in hand, planning nothing more dramatic than groceries and coffee.
They didn’t even notice the photographer at first.
It was the flash that gave it away. Then another. And another.
Max felt Yn’s grip tighten.
“Max…” she murmured.
He turned instinctively, body angling toward her. And that’s when he saw it—the lenses, the zoom, the sudden frantic energy.
And then one of them spotted the ring.
“Hey! Is that—”
“Max! Engagement ring?”
“Yn! Can we see your hand?”
She froze, instinctively pulling her hand back. Max swore under his breath, already guiding her forward.
“Keep walking,” he said calmly, though his jaw was tight. “Don’t look.”
They didn’t answer anything. Didn’t stop. But by the time they got into the car, Max knew—it was out.
By the time they got home, it was everywhere.
Now, standing at the edge of the paddock days later, Yn could feel it.
The noise.
The eyes.
The energy was different today—sharper, louder, almost electric. Cameras swung toward them the second they appeared, fans shouting her name alongside his.
“Max! Congratulations!”
“Yn! Over here!”
“When did you propose?”
“Show us the ring!”
She smiled, small and shy, lifting her hand just enough to give a gentle wave. The ring caught the light anyway.
The crowd went feral.
Max immediately stepped closer, hand firm at her lower back.
“Eyes forward,” he murmured. “You’re doing great.”
“I’m okay,” she said, though her cheeks were warm. “It’s just… a lot.”
“I know.”
Reporters walked backward in front of them, shouting questions over each other.
“Was it romantic?”
“Are you planning a wedding soon?”
“Will she be traveling full-time now?”
Max ignored them all. His focus was entirely on getting her through the sea of people without anyone bumping into her.
“Please give them space,” a team member called out, but the cameras kept pushing.
Yn waved again, smiling politely, even as she leaned closer to Max. “I feel like a zoo animal.”
“You’re not,” he said immediately. “And this won’t last.”
When they finally reached the garage entrance, the noise dulled slightly. The mechanics tried to form a loose barrier, but lenses still poked through every gap.
“Max!” someone called from inside. “We need you for a minute.”
He hesitated, looking down at Yn. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll stay here,” she said. “Go.”
He didn’t like it, but he nodded. “Don’t move. I’ll be two minutes.”
The second he stepped away, the cameras surged again.
“Yn! How does it feel to be engaged?”
“Can we get a smile?”
“Mrs Verstappen!”
She flinched at that, though she kept her composure.
“I’m not answering questions,” she said gently. “But thank you.”
A mechanic stepped in front of her, trying to block the view, but the photographers just shifted angles.
She crossed her arms lightly, suddenly very aware of her hands, her face, the ring. She loved it. Loved him. She just hadn’t expected this intensity.
Then Max turned back.
And saw red.
He took in the scene in half a second—the cameras inches from her face, the way she stood small, polite, overwhelmed.
He didn’t say anything.
He just walked straight to her and placed himself fully in front of her, back to her, broad shoulders blocking every lens.
“That’s enough,” he said, voice cold. “Back off.”
The noise faltered.
Yn looked up at him, surprised. “Max—”
He turned slightly, hands coming up to cradle her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, just for her. “I should’ve taken you somewhere else.”
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I just wasn’t ready.”
“I know.” His forehead rested against hers. “You don’t ever have to be.”
He kissed her then—not for the cameras, not for anyone else. Slow. Protective. Real.
When he pulled back, he spoke low, steady. “I promise you, I will protect you. Your space. Your privacy. Always.”
Her eyes softened. “I know you will.”
“I’m going to get you somewhere calmer,” he said. “Somewhere safe. Yeah?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
He kissed her again, shorter this time, then wrapped an arm firmly around her shoulders and guided her away, ignoring the renewed shouting entirely.
Behind them, the cameras clicked like mad.
But for Yn, all she felt was Max’s hand in hers, solid and warm, leading her forward.
And for the first time since the news broke, she smiled—truly smiled—because whatever came next, she wasn’t facing it alone.
Summary: After Yn, Landos girlfriend, accidentally gets pregnant, Lando wants nothing to do with the baby. Carlos, the hero, appears and safes the day.
Attention: unplanned pregnancy
The apartment smelled like takeout and cold coffee, the kind of smell that clung to the air after too many late nights and too little rest. Yn sat on the edge of the couch, knees pulled to her chest, staring at the muted television without really seeing it. Her fingers kept twisting together, nails pressing half-moons into her skin.
The pregnancy test was hidden in the pocket of her hoodie.
She had taken it an hour earlier, locking herself in the bathroom, sitting on the cold tile floor while the seconds passed far too slowly. When the result appeared, clear and undeniable, she had laughed once—short and breathless—before bursting into tears.
She wasn’t scared of being pregnant.
She was scared of telling him.
The front door opened, and the familiar sound of keys dropping into the bowl made her heart jump.
“Hey,” Lando called out, voice tired but light. “You still awake?”
“In here,” she answered, her throat tight.
He walked into the living room, hair messy, hoodie still bearing the faint smell of the simulator room. He smiled when he saw her, leaning down to kiss her forehead.
“Sorry I’m late. The run data was a mess, and—”
“Lando,” she interrupted softly.
He paused, straightening. “What’s wrong?”
Her hands shook as she reached into her pocket and pulled out the test, holding it out to him.
For a moment, he just stared at it, brows knitting together.
“What is this?” he asked.
She swallowed hard. “I’m pregnant.”
The room went quiet.
Not peaceful quiet. Heavy quiet. The kind that presses down on your chest until it’s hard to breathe.
He blinked once. Twice. Then he laughed, a sharp sound that made her flinch.
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“That’s not funny, Yn.”
“I’m not trying to be funny.”
His smile vanished. “No. No, this—this can’t be happening.”
She stood slowly, heart pounding. “I know it’s unexpected, but we’ve been together for years. We can figure this out. We always do.”
He turned away from her, running a hand through his hair. “Do you have any idea what season this is?”
She nodded quickly. “I know how important this year is for you. I know what you’re fighting for.”
“Then how could you let this happen?”
The words hit her like ice water.
“Let this happen?” she repeated, voice barely above a whisper.
“This is the worst timing,” he snapped. “I can’t need a baby right now. I can’t afford distractions. I’m finally in a position to win the championship.”
Her eyes burned. “I didn’t plan this.”
“You’re the one who gets pregnant,” he shot back. “This is on you.”
Something inside her broke.
“My fault,” she said hollowly. “So that’s it?”
He didn’t answer right away. That silence said enough.
“I came to you because I thought you’d support me,” she said, tears spilling over. “Because I thought you loved me.”
“I do love you,” he said quickly, but his voice lacked conviction. “But this… this ruins everything.”
That was the moment she knew.
She grabbed her jacket, hands trembling. “I’m done listening to this.”
“Yn, wait—”
She opened the door. “If you don’t want the baby, then I don’t want you.”
And she left.
The night air outside was cold, biting at her cheeks as she walked without direction, tears blurring the streetlights. Her chest hurt, each breath sharp and uneven. She didn’t know where she was going until she pushed open the door of a small café a few blocks away, warmth and the smell of fresh coffee wrapping around her like a blanket.
She took two steps inside and walked straight into someone.
“Oh—sorry,” a familiar voice said.
She looked up, stunned. “Carlos?”
He frowned immediately, concern flooding his face. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
She tried to answer, but the words collapsed into sobs.
Carlos didn’t hesitate. He guided her to a table, handed her a napkin, and waited, patient and quiet, until she could breathe again.
“What happened?” he asked gently.
Piece by piece, she told him everything. The test. The fight. The words that still echoed in her head.
Carlos’s jaw tightened with every sentence.
“He said it’s your fault?” he asked, anger sharp in his voice.
She nodded. “He doesn’t want the baby.”
Carlos leaned back, hands clenched. “How dare he.”
She stared down at the table. “I don’t know where to go.”
“You come with me,” Carlos said immediately. “You’ll stay at my place.”
She hesitated. “Just for a few weeks.”
“As long as you need,” he replied.
Moving in with Carlos felt strange at first. Temporary. Like she was holding her breath, waiting for the ground to shift beneath her.
But Carlos made space for her without ever making her feel like she was intruding.
When nausea hit in the mornings, he appeared with ginger tea and crackers.
When she cried at random, overwhelmed and exhausted, he sat beside her, never rushing her tears.
When nightmares woke her in the middle of the night, shaking and gasping, he was there in the hallway, voice low and steady.
“You’re safe,” he would say. “I’ve got you.”
Weeks turned into months.
The bump became visible, her body changing in ways that felt both miraculous and terrifying. One evening, she felt a sharp flutter and grabbed Carlos’s arm.
“Did you feel that?” she asked breathlessly.
He placed his hand gently on her stomach, eyes wide when the kick came again.
“He’s strong,” Carlos whispered, awe in his voice.
Something shifted then.
It wasn’t sudden or dramatic. It was quiet. Slow. Built in shared breakfasts, late-night talks, soft laughter over burnt dinners. Built in the way Carlos always made sure she ate, the way he instinctively reached for her when crossing the street, the way he spoke to her belly when he thought she was asleep.
One night, sitting on the couch, Yn finally said it. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
Carlos didn’t smile. He didn’t joke. He just took her hand.
“I already am,” he admitted softly.
The birth was long and exhausting, pain blurring into something overwhelming. Carlos never left her side, his hand steady in hers.
“Breathe with me,” he murmured. “You’re doing amazing.”
When their son finally cried, Carlos broke down completely.
“He’s perfect,” Yn whispered, tears streaming down her face.
They named him David.
Life after that was messy and beautiful and real.
The nights blurred together at first. Feedings that felt endless. Crying that made Yn doubt herself and then, minutes later, laugh in disbelief at how much she loved this tiny human. Carlos learned quickly—how to warm bottles just right, how to walk David up and down the hallway until his cries softened into hiccups, how to let Yn sleep while he took over without ever making her feel guilty for it.
They argued sometimes. About who was more tired. About whether the baby was too cold or too warm. About nothing, really. And then they apologized, because neither of them wanted silence between them anymore.
Carlos kissed her forehead every morning before leaving. He kissed her temple when she cried from exhaustion. He kissed her shoulder when she fed David in the quiet hours before dawn. It wasn’t grand. It was constant.
That was how love settled in.
Months later, the paddock felt louder than Yn remembered. Engines screamed in the distance, people rushed past, voices overlapping in a familiar chaos. David slept in the stroller, bundled up and blissfully unaware of the world he’d been born into.
Carlos walked beside her, one hand on the stroller, the other resting protectively against her back. It wasn’t possessive. It was instinct.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded, smiling softly. “Yeah. I am.”
They stopped near the hospitality area, Carlos leaning down to adjust the blanket over David’s face. Yn watched him, heart full in a way that still surprised her sometimes.
That was when she felt it.
The pause in the air. The shift.
She looked up—and saw Lando.
He stood a few meters away, still in team gear, trophy ceremony long finished. There was noise all around him, but he looked detached from it, like he was underwater.
His eyes were fixed on them.
On the stroller.
On Carlos’s hand brushing Yn’s back.
On the way she leaned into Carlos without thinking.
Lando’s chest tightened. He had imagined this moment before—running into her, maybe exchanging awkward words, maybe pretending everything was fine. He had imagined anger. Bitterness.
He hadn’t imagined this.
Yn looked happy.
Not performatively happy. Not smiling-for-the-cameras happy. She looked… settled. Grounded. Like someone who had been held through the hardest parts and come out stronger.
Carlos straightened and kissed her. It was brief. Familiar. The kind of kiss you don’t think twice about.
Something in Lando’s chest collapsed.
He noticed the way Carlos spoke quietly to the stroller, noticed how Yn laughed under her breath at whatever he said. He noticed how the stroller rocked gently as Carlos nudged it with his foot, practiced, automatic.
That could have been him.
The thought hit hard and useless.
He remembered the night she’d stood in their apartment, hands shaking, asking him to be her partner.
He remembered the words he’d chosen instead.
The timing is horrible.
I can’t need a baby right now.
It’s your fault.
The championship trophy suddenly felt heavier than it ever had.
Yn turned then, finally seeing him.
Their eyes met.
For a split second, Lando hoped—stupidly—that she might look sad. Or angry. Or nostalgic.
She didn’t.
She looked calm.
She gave him a small nod. Polite. Distant. Final.
And then she turned back to Carlos.
“David’s awake,” she said softly.
Carlos leaned over the stroller, smiling immediately. “Hey, campeón.”
A tiny sound came from under the blanket. A soft, unmistakable baby noise.
Lando’s throat closed.
That was the sound of a life he would never be part of.
He watched as Carlos lifted David carefully, cradling him with practiced ease. Yn adjusted the blanket, her hands confident, loving. The three of them fit together naturally, like pieces that had always belonged.
Lando stood there as they walked away, swallowed by the paddock crowd.
People congratulated him. Cameras flashed. Someone clapped him on the shoulder.
He smiled when expected.
But inside, the realization settled fully, painfully clear.
Summary: When Yn has a scary accident on track, Nico is immediately there for her. After all, she is just a kid.
Rain still clung to the edges of the track from the morning showers, thin beads glistening on the curbs as the grid buzzed with anticipation. Spa had always felt alive, breathing with the mountains and forests around it, but today it throbbed with something else — excitement, nerves, a strange electricity in the air.
And for Yn, it meant everything.
At eighteen, standing in her Red Bull suit, helmet tucked against her hip, she felt like the world had finally opened up to her. Spa was her favorite track. She had told Max so more than once during the week — excitedly, shyly, and with that spark in her eyes that always made him smile.
“It feels like flying here,” she had whispered to him on the track walk two days earlier.
Max had ruffled her hair. “Then let’s make sure you fly in the good way. Not the other one.”
She had laughed. She always laughed with him.
Now, hurtling through Eau Rouge on lap 17, she wasn’t laughing — but she was alive with adrenaline, her heart hammering as she pushed the car as hard as she dared.
Max was P1.
Oscar was P2.
And she — she was right behind them in P3. Holding strong. Holding steady.
Except for the pressure behind her.
Lando.
He was quicker in the middle sector. She could feel him breathing down her neck through the radio static.
Her engineer’s voice crackled in. “Yn, Lando is half a second behind. Keep your line. You’re doing great.”
She swallowed. “Copy… but he’s moving weird. I— I don’t like it. He’s weaving a lot.”
“We see it. Stay focused.”
Her fingers tightened on the wheel.
She knew Lando wasn’t dirty. He was aggressive, sure, but never reckless — except today, something felt off. Maybe the pressure, maybe the championship, maybe the rain still lingering near the edges of the asphalt.
Or maybe he simply wanted P3 too much.
They approached Les Combes.
She exhaled shakily, trying to keep the car steady.
But Lando dove.
Too fast.
Too close.
The world snapped.
A violent jolt.
Metal against metal.
Her car’s rear lifted.
The radio dissolved into static.
She felt herself leave the ground — weightless — then slam, hard, as the car flipped.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Four.
She lost count after that.
Her helmet hit something with a crack that echoed inside her skull. Her arms curled instinctively into her chest, her body thrown around as the chassis spun like a toy in a storm.
When the car finally crashed down on its side and skidded to a horrid, scraping halt, everything went silent.
Her ears rang.
Her breathing was thin and sharp.
The world blurred.
Then, faintly, she heard it:
“Yn? YN! If you hear this, please respond!”
She tried to speak, but only a painful breath escaped her lips.
Everything felt far away.
The marshals were running before the dust even settled. Cameras zoomed. The crowds had gone eerily quiet.
Seven minutes.
Seven unbearable minutes.
The medical team waited for the car to be stabilized. The marshals surrounded her, one shouting instructions, another checking the fuel leak, another making sure the fireproof foam was ready.
Then — finally — she moved.
A trembling hand gripped the halo. Her helmet tilted up.
A collective gasp rolled over Spa.
She pushed herself free — legs shaking, arms weak — and slid out of the destroyed car. Her knees nearly gave out the moment her feet touched the ground.
A female marshal — mid-30s, kind eyes, blonde ponytail — reached her first. “Hey, sweetheart, I got you. I got you…” She wrapped Yn in her arms without hesitation.
Yn clutched her suit, shaking uncontrollably. She wasn’t crying yet — shock sat like cold hands around her throat — but she was close.
More marshals crowded around.
But someone else was running.
A figure sprinting across the runoff area, helmet discarded somewhere behind him, breath heavy with panic.
Nico.
Nobody had realized he had stopped his car on the side of the track. Nobody knew he had jumped out and ran straight toward her.
He slid the last few feet, catching himself with one hand on the ground before grabbing her shoulders.
“Yn! Yn, look at me. Hey— hey, look at me.”
She blinked, finally focusing on his face.
He gently removed her helmet, hands shaking. “Are you hurt? Talk to me. Come on, kid. Talk to me.”
Her lips parted.
No sound.
Her breath hitched instead, chest jolting.
“Yn, answer me, please.” He cupped her face now, thumbs brushing her temples. “Are you hurt anywhere, Liebling?”
A tiny nod. Barely perceptible.
His eyes softened, but fear still shadowed them. “Where?”
She swallowed a sob. “M-my ribs… and my head… and— I don’t… I don’t know…”
“Okay. That’s okay. It’s okay, you’re okay—” He pulled her against him, hugging her so tightly she finally let go.
The dam broke.
She sobbed — real, shaking, broken sobs — her fists gripping the front of his suit. Nico held her, one hand on her back, the other cradling her head.
“Shh… shh… you’re safe now. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, Liebes.”
The female marshal stroked Yn’s back, whispering soft words. “Just breathe, darling. Let it out. You’re okay. You’re so, so brave.”
Yn cried harder.
Her legs finally gave out, and Nico lowered with her, keeping her pressed to his chest as he knelt on the tarmac.
The medical car arrived minutes later.
“We need to get her checked immediately.”
Nico stood, still holding her. “I’m coming with her.”
Nobody argued.
They put her in the medical car. Nico climbed in beside her, taking her hand instantly when she reached for him without even looking.
Her voice was weak. “Don’t go…”
“I won’t. I’m right here.”
At the Medical Center, Max was pacing when they arrived, hands shaking, eyes red. Isaac and Ollie stood behind him, equally anxious.
He rushed toward the door the second it opened.
“Yn!” His voice cracked. “Zusje, come here—”
But she was still clinging to Nico’s arm, too scared to move without him.
Nico whispered to her, “It’s okay. Max is here. You’re safe.”
She finally released him.
Max pulled her into his chest instantly, wrapping both arms around her head, pressing a kiss to her helmet-less hair.
“I thought—” His breath broke. “God, Yn, I thought we lost you.”
She whimpered softly, burying herself into him.
Ollie arrived right after, eyes wet. “Yn, you scared the hell out of us.”
She reached a trembling hand toward him. He took it and squeezed.
Isack hovered nearby, unsure if he should hug her or not, but she leaned into him when he approached. Isack rubbed her shoulder gently while whispering, “You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
The doctor called her name, and she was guided into the exam room.
Max stayed outside, pacing again.
Ollie sat down, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “That crash— it didn’t look survivable…”
Nico was the only calm one, leaning against the wall, trying to slow his own breathing.
He had seen a lot in his career.
But nothing had hit him like watching her car flip through the air.
Max looked at him suddenly. “You were with her. Thank you. I mean it… thank you.”
Nico nodded once. “Anyone would’ve done it.”
But Max shook his head. “No. Not anyone.”
Nico didn’t respond.
The moment Nico stepped outside, cameras surged toward him.
“Nico! Why did you stop?”
“What made you run to her?”
“You abandoned your car on track — why?”
“Were you the first one to reach her?”
He lifted a hand to quiet them, jaw tight, eyes tired.
“Look…” He exhaled slowly. “If it were my kid out there flipping like that, I would want someone — anyone — to run to them. Not wait. Not watch. Act.”
The reporters fell silent.
Nico glanced back toward the medical center door.
His voice cracked just barely. “You can all thank God she’s alive.”
And for the first time in a very long time, the media didn’t ask anything else.
Inside, Yn was cleared for major injuries, but she had bruised ribs, a mild concussion, and emotional shock.
When she stepped out of the exam room, she looked smaller, wrapped in a blanket around her shoulders, eyes swollen and red.
Max walked to her. “Want a hug?”
She nodded.
He held her again, arms protective. Ollie hugged her after, gentle and careful.
“Don’t scare us like that again.” He whispered.
She let out a weak laugh. “Wasn’t… really my plan.”
Nico approached last.
She reached for him without hesitation.
He picked up her hand, squeezing it. “How are you feeling now?”
“Tired… sore… and scared.” Her voice cracked. “Thank you for coming to me. When I got out… I didn’t know where I was. And then you were just there.”
His eyes softened. “Of course I was. I’m glad you’re talking now.”
“I’m sorry I cried on you…”
“Don’t be stupid, kid. Cry all you want. I’ll be there again if you need it.”
She smiled weakly.
Max wrapped an arm around her shoulders again, pulling her gently against his side. “Let’s get you somewhere quiet, yeah?”
As they walked out together, Nico lingered behind for a moment, watching her.
Alive.
Shaken.
But alive.
He let out the breath he’d been holding since the crash.
Summary: Oscar and Yn meet again. The bad thing is that Carlos isn't all too happy about it.
One shot from "The cat" universe
Of all the races to go badly, Baku had been the worst kind.
Not because of the result alone—though DNF-ing after a weekend that had promised so much certainly stung—but because Oscar’s head had never really been there in the first place. Even now, weeks later, whenever someone mentioned Azerbaijan, his mind didn’t go to the walls, the bumps, the frustration on the radio.
It went to a quiet side street.
To a girl crouched on the pavement, laughing softly as she fed strips of bacon to a cat like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Oscar had nearly flattened her with his body that day.
He still cringed when he thought about it.
But as he turned a corner between hospitality units, he collided with something soft.
Or… someone soft.
“Woah—!”
A gasp, the shuffle of shoes against the pavement, and then—
A cup.
A very full cup.
A cup completely full of bacon.
A slice wobbled dangerously at the edge before the person grabbed the cup with both hands.
Oscar blinked. “Uh…”
The girl standing in front of him was beautiful — young, maybe twenty, bright-eyed despite nearly dropping her… breakfast? Snack? Entire meal of bacon?
She quickly looked around, almost panicked, and mumbled, “No, no, not here…”
Oscar stared. “Is that… bacon?”
She shot him a raised eyebrow and an expression that whispered don’t start. But she didn’t answer. Instead, she scanned the paddock again, searching for something.
Oscar instinctively took a half step closer. “Why are you—”
Before he could finish, she grabbed his wrist.
That had been it. That had been the moment.
The problem was, Oscar hadn’t known she was Carlos’s little sister until the very end. Until she’d glanced at her phone, cursed softly, stood up far too quickly, and promsied him the would meet again, “The next time I visit my brother’s garge.”
“Your brother?” Oscar had asked, confused.
Yn smiled, wide and amused. “Carlos.”
And just like that, she was gone.
Since then, Yn had lived rent-free in his head.
It was noticeable.
“Mate,” Lando had said one evening in the hotel gym, watching Oscar miss a rep entirely. “You gonna lift that, or are you mentally somewhere else again?”
Oscar blinked. “What?”
“You heard me.” Lando leaned against the rack, squinting at him. “You’ve been… weird. Quiet. Staring into space like you’re in a rom-com montage.”
“I’m not,” Oscar said automatically.
Lando snorted. “You absolutely are.”
Even the engineers noticed.
“Oscar,” one of them had said gently during a debrief, “you okay? You seemed… distracted during FP2.”
“I’m fine,” he’d replied. Again. Always fine.
But he wasn’t.
Because every quiet moment—every flight, every hotel room, every second where the noise died down—his brain replayed that afternoon. The sun on her skin. The way she talked to the cat like it understood her. The fact that she’d chosen bacon of all things.
And the fact that she was completely, disastrously off-limits.
Or so he’d assumed.
Which was why, a few hours before the Singapore Grand Prix, Oscar almost walked straight into her.
Literally.
The paddock was bathed in gold, the sun low and heavy in the sky, the heat finally easing into something bearable. The air smelled like asphalt and salt and something fried drifting in from outside the circuit. Oscar was half-focused on his phone, scrolling aimlessly, when he stepped around a corner—
—and nearly collided with a familiar figure.
“Oh—sorry—” he started, already stepping back.
Then he looked up.
And his heart did something genuinely alarming.
Yn stood in front of him, frozen mid-step, eyes wide for half a second before recognition dawned.
Then she smiled.
Soft. Easy. Like no time had passed at all.
“Well,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “You almost ran me over again.”
Oscar let out a breathy laugh before he could stop himself. “I swear it’s not intentional.”
“Twice now,” she teased. “I’m sensing a pattern.”
“I promise I’m usually more aware of my surroundings,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “This might be a personal record for me.”
Her smile widened, and he felt it in his chest.
“Hi, Oscar.”
“Hi,” he said, quietly. Then, more clearly, “Hi.”
For a second, they just stood there, the noise of the paddock fading into something distant and irrelevant. The golden light caught in her hair, turning the soft waves almost honey-colored. Her skin was warm and sun-kissed, that effortless Spanish tan that looked like she belonged permanently outdoors. Her brown eyes were exactly as he remembered—gentle, expressive, a little mischievous.
“So,” she said, rocking back on her heels. “Singapore.”
“Yeah,” he replied. “Singapore.”
She laughed. “Still not very good at conversation starters, huh?”
He grinned. “You noticed?”
“Immediately.”
They started walking without really deciding to, falling into step beside each other as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Oscar admitted. “I mean—I knew your brother would be, obviously. But you—”
“I came to support him,” Yn said. “He pretends he doesn’t need it, but he does.”
Oscar smiled. “That tracks.”
She glanced at him. “You look tired.”
He shrugged. “It’s been a season.”
“Bad strategies, huh?,” she said casually.
He blinked. “You watched?”
“Of course,” she said. “I always watch.”
Something about that made his chest feel warm and unsteady.
“And you?” he asked. “What have you been up to since… bacon-cat incident?”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh! I was hoping you’d ask.”
She launched into a story about traveling, about getting lost in Italy, about accidentally adopting—then un-adopting—a pigeon in Rome. She spoke with her hands, expressive and animated, her voice rising and falling with enthusiasm.
“And I was really hoping to find a cat here,” she continued, mock-sighing. “But no luck so far. Very disappointing.”
“No cats in the Singapore paddock,” Oscar said solemnly. “Tragic, really.”
“I know,” she said. “Though I did see some lizards earlier.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Lizards.”
“Yes,” she said seriously. “I was thinking maybe I could feed them bacon.”
He laughed, properly this time. “I don’t think that’s—uh—recommended.”
She grinned. “Neither was feeding bacon to that cat.”
“And yet,” he said, “you did it anyway.”
“And she loved me for it,” she replied proudly.
While she talked, Oscar barely registered the words anymore. He was too busy noticing the small things—the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the faint freckle near her cheek, the way her smile softened when she looked at him.
He was very, very gone.
She finished her sentence and looked at him expectantly.
“…Sorry,” he said. “What?”
She laughed. “You weren’t listening.”
“Not even a little,” he admitted.
She didn’t seem offended. If anything, she looked amused. “You were staring.”
“Was I?” he said weakly.
“Yes,” she said. Then, softer, “But I don’t mind.”
His heart nearly stopped.
Before he could summon the courage to say anything else—anything meaningful, like Can I see you again? or Can I have your number?—a familiar voice cut through the moment like a knife.
“Yn.”
Oscar stiffened.
Carlos stood a few steps away, arms crossed, expression unreadable but posture unmistakably protective.
“We have to go,” Carlos said, tone firm.
Yn immediately pouted. “Already?”
“Yes,” he replied, not taking his eyes off Oscar.
She sighed dramatically. “You always say that.”
Carlos glanced at Oscar. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Oscar replied, keeping his voice neutral, respectful.
There was a beat of silence. Carlos’s jaw tightened just slightly.
“Come on,” Carlos said to Yn. “Now.”
She rolled her eyes but stepped closer to Oscar instead, lowering her voice. “He’s like this.”
“I can see that,” Oscar murmured.
She smiled at him, then—quick as anything—pressed something into his hand.
“Don’t lose it,” she whispered.
Then she stepped away.
Carlos immediately placed a hand on her back, guiding her forward, his brows furrowed.
“¿Qué es esto?” he asked in rapid Spanish.
(What is this?)
“Carlos,” Yn said lightly, not even looking at him. “Relájate.”
(Relax.)
“¿Por qué estabas hablando con él?”
(Why were you talking to him?)
“Porque es amable,” she replied sweetly.
(Because he’s nice.)
Carlos glanced back at Oscar, suspicion written all over his face.
“No te metas en problemas,” Carlos muttered.
(Don’t get into trouble.)
She grinned up at him. “Siempre te preocupas demasiado.”
(You always worry too much.)
They walked away, Carlos still talking quietly, Yn nodding along with a look that said she was only half-listening.
Oscar stood there for a moment, heart pounding, before he finally looked down at his hand.
A small piece of paper.
He unfolded it.
A phone number.
And underneath it, in neat handwriting:
Yn.
Oscar smiled to himself, wide and unguarded, feeling lighter than he had in weeks.
For the first time since Baku, his head was exactly where it needed to be.
And somehow, he knew—this time—he wasn’t going to let her disappear again
Summary: Lando’s whole world revolves around Yn. While Max may not approve, Yn loves spending time with Lando.
One shot from "Shopping at Hermes"
Lando had always been restless.
He tapped his fingers, bounced his knee, scrolled aimlessly when he was bored, hated stillness. But this, this was different. This wasn’t restlessness. This was fixation. A very bad one.
His phone lit up again.
He smiled before he even read the message.
Max watched him from the kitchen doorway, coffee forgotten in his hand. It was early. Too early for the way Lando was grinning at a screen like it had personally told him a secret.
“You’re doing it again,” Max said.
Lando hummed, eyes glued to his phone. “Doing what?”
“That thing where you forget the rest of the world exists.”
Lando typed, erased, typed again.
“She just sent me a picture of her notes,” he said absently. “They’re color-coded. It’s kind of adorable.”
Max pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mate.”
Lando finally looked up, brows knitting. “What?”
Max sighed. “You’ve been like this for weeks.”
“So?”
“So you’re different,” Max said. “You’re distracted. You’re late. You’re smiling at your phone like it’s your girlfriend.”
Lando’s ears flushed. “She’s not- I mean-”
He stopped himself, then frowned, like the words had gotten stuck somewhere between his chest and his mouth.
Max’s expression softened just a fraction. “You really like her.”
Lando looked back down at his phone. “Yeah.”
There was no hesitation. No bravado. Just honesty.
“That’s what worries me.”
Lando’s jaw tightened. “Why does everyone think something’s wrong?”
“Because there is something wrong,” Max said gently. “Not with her. With the situation.”
Lando leaned back against the counter. “She’s not a situation.”
“She’s nineteen,” Max replied. “She’s in uni. She works retail. She lives at home. You live in a completely different universe.”
“I didn’t plan this,” Lando snapped. “I didn’t walk into Hermes looking for love.”
“I know,” Max interrupted. “And that’s why it scares me. You didn’t plan it, and now you’re in deep.”
Lando’s phone buzzed again. He glanced at it instinctively.
Max noticed. Of course he did.
“You ask if she’s eaten,” Max said. “If she’s slept. You text her first thing in the morning and last thing at night.”
“So?” Lando shot back. “That makes me… what? Caring?”
“No,” Max said quietly. “It makes you attached.”
Lando didn’t deny it.
“And she doesn’t know what comes with you,” Max continued. “The fans. The scrutiny. The comments. They’ll rip her apart just for existing near you.”
Lando swallowed. “You don’t think I’ve thought about that?”
“Have you told her?” Max asked.
Silence.
Lando stared at the floor.
“I’m protecting her,” he said eventually.
Max shook his head. “You’re protecting your feelings. That’s not the same thing.”
Lando’s phone buzzed again.
He looked at it.
Max threw his hands up. “See? You can’t even finish a conversation.”
“I’m sorry,” Lando said, already unlocking his phone. “She’s asking if I’m okay.”
Max stared at him for a long moment.
“Just don’t let this end badly,” he said quietly. “For either of you.”
Lando didn’t answer.
He was already typing.
Yn loved nights like this.
Curled up in bed, fairy lights glowing softly, phone warm in her hands. She had a textbook open beside her, untouched for the last half hour. Every time she tried to focus, her phone buzzed again.
Lando: did you eat dinner
She smiled.
Yn: yes
Yn: my mum made soup
Yn: are you checking up on me again 🤨
Lando: always
Lando: someone has to
Her cheeks heated.
She didn’t know how he did it. How he made the smallest things feel special. Like being asked if she’d eaten was proof she mattered.
Yn: uni was exhausting today
Lando: what happened
She told him. About the lecture that dragged on forever. About the girl who talked too loud behind her. About the way she felt like she was constantly running to catch up.
He listened. Always.
Lando: you’re doing great
Lando: I’m proud of you
She stared at the screen, chest tight.
No one ever said that to her like that. Not so simply. Not without expectation.
Yn: that means a lot
There was a pause.
Then:
Lando: are you awake?
Her heart skipped.
Yn: yeah
Another pause. Longer this time.
Lando: I can’t sleep
Lando: would it be stupid to ask if you want to go for a drive
She sat up immediately.
Her room felt too small suddenly. Her world too quiet.
Yn: right now?
Lando: only if you want
Lando: I don’t want to pressure you
She didn’t feel pressured. She felt wanted.
Yn: I want to
Yn: but I can’t have a car outside my house
Lando: why not
Yn: my parents 😭
Yn: they’d hear
She expected him to hesitate.
Instead:
Lando: okay
Lando: where can we meet
Her fingers trembled slightly as she typed.
Yn: a block away
Yn: by the old bakery
The reply was immediate.
Lando: I don’t love you being alone outside at night
Her lips curved into a soft smile.
Yn: I’ll be fine
Yn: promise
Another pause.
Lando: text me when you’re there
Lando: don’t wait long
She pulled on a jacket, slipped into her sneakers, and moved quietly through the house, heart pounding louder than her footsteps.
The night air was cool. Calm. Empty.
She hugged her arms around herself, checking her phone.
Then headlights appeared.
Lando pulled over, already climbing out of the car.
“What are you doing?” he asked immediately, eyes scanning the street.
She shrugged. “Waiting for you.”
“You shouldn’t be standing out here,” he said, concern etched across his face.
Before she could respond, he shrugged off his hoodie and draped it around her shoulders.
“Lando-”
“Put it on,” he said softly but firmly. “Please.”
She did, sleeves falling past her hands, his scent wrapping around her.
“There,” he murmured. “Better.”
She looked up at him. “You’re very protective.”
He swallowed. “Yeah.”
They got into the car. Music filled the space, low and familiar.
As they drove, she talked.
About her friends. Her classes. Her worries. Her dreams that felt too big to say out loud.
He listened with his whole body. One hand on the wheel, the other relaxed on his thigh, knee brushing hers every so often.
At some point, without thinking, she reached for his hand.
Her fingers slid between his, tracing the cool metal of his rings as she spoke.
He didn’t pull away.
He squeezed gently instead.
The city lights blurred past. Time stretched and softened.
Two hours disappeared.
When he finally slowed and parked, the silence felt loud.
She looked at him.
He was already looking at her.
Neither spoke.
Her heart raced. “I should go.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah.”
Still, neither moved.
She leaned in first.
Their lips met softly, hesitantly. A question more than a statement.
Then he kissed her back.
Slow. Deep. Careful, but full of want.
His hand slid to her waist, pulling her closer, lifting her gently over the console so she was half on his lap, breath catching against his mouth.
She laughed softly between kisses, hands curling into his hoodie.
It was intense, but restrained. Heat without crossing the line.
When they finally pulled apart, foreheads touching, breathing heavy, he whispered, “Text me when you’re home.”
“I will,” she promised.
She stepped out of the car, legs shaky, heart full.
She didn’t see him wait.
Didn’t notice him follow at a distance, careful, protective, watching until she was safely inside.
Only then did he turn back.
Max was right.
The world would be cruel.
But as Lando sat in his car, phone lighting up with her message "home safe", he knew one thing with absolute certainty.
If the world wanted to hurt her, it would have to go through him first.
