cw: minor injuries, bruising, crash, swearing, emotional distress, trauma response
mornings with billie always started the same on race days.
there was a difference you’d learned over time, the kind of quiet that soothed you back to sleep, and the kind that pressed against your chest, buzzing with things unsaid. race mornings were always the second kind. even before you opened your eyes, you could feel it in the air.
the curtains were still drawn, the city outside hadn’t fully woken yet, but billie had. she always was. her internal clock seemed wired directly with the anticipation humming through her body.
you heard her before you saw her.
soft footsteps padding across hardwood, careful but restless. the clink of ceramic as a mug met the counter. the low hum of the kettle starting up, stopping, starting again like she couldn’t decide if she actually wanted the coffee or not. everything she did this early felt slightly disconnected, like her body was here but her mind was already at the track.
you rolled onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow, peering through the bedroom doorway.
she stood in the kitchen, back to you, shoulders tense beneath her undershirt. it clung to her frame like a second skin, black fabric stretching across muscle and bone. her pants sat low on her hips, familiar enough that you could picture them without looking. mismatched socks, one black, one grey, peeked out beneath the cuffs, because she never remembered to pair them and never cared enough to fix it.
her hair was still down, dark and messy, falling into her eyes every time she tilted her head toward her phone. she kept swiping, scrolling through something you couldn’t see, stats, messages, notes, maybe nothing important at all. her jaw was tight, clenched in that way you recognized instantly. the way it always was before a race.
she looked like she was vibrating.
you smiled despite yourself.
there was something achingly familiar about this version of her, half-awake, half-somewhere else, already slipping into the mindset she needed to survive the day. you’d seen it dozens of times, and it still made your chest ache every single time.
you walked out the the kitchen settiing in the doorway.
“you didn’t wake me,” you murmured, voice still thick with sleep.
billie startled just slightly, shoulders lifting before she turned around. the tension melted the second she saw you. it always did, like your presence reminded her where she actually was.
“hey,” she said softly, the edge leaving her voice. “didn’t wanna.”
you stepped fully into the kitchen, bare feet cool against the floor, and wrapped your arms around her waist from behind. she leaned back into you immediately, like she’d been waiting for it, her head tipping until it rested against your shoulder.
for a moment, neither of you spoke.
you could feel her heart racing through her back, fast and uneven. adrenaline, anxiety, excitement, all tangled together. her hands came up to rest over yours, fingers lacing loosely like she needed the reminder that you were real.
“big day,” you said quietly.
she let out a breath that sounded like a laugh and a sigh combined. “yeah.”
you pressed your cheek against her hair, breathing her in. she smelled like sleep and soap and something electric underneath it all. the kettle clicked off behind you, forgotten.
“you okay?” you asked, even though you already knew the answer.
she hesitated. just a beat. “i will be.”
that was as honest as she ever got this early.
breakfast happened in fragments. half a piece of toast abandoned on a plate. coffee poured, stirred, barely touched. she paced while she ate, unable to sit still, checking the time more than once even though she wasn’t any where near being late.
eventually, when there was nothing left to distract her, she drifted toward the bathroom like gravity itself had pulled her there.
she sat down on the floor between your legs like she always did, back resting against your calves, knees drawn up loosely. the tile was cold beneath her, and she shivered once before settling. the mirror reflected the two of you, her cross-legged on the floor, you perched on the closed toilet lid above her, hair tie looped around your fingers.
she reached back without looking, fingers curling gently around your ankle, grounding herself. her grip wasn’t tight, just enough to remind her that you were there, that she wasn’t alone in this moment before everything went loud and fast and dangerous.
you threaded your fingers through her hair slowly, deliberately. smoothing it back. separating strands with care. your touch was gentle, practiced. you knew exactly how much pressure she could handle, exactly where her scalp was most sensitive.
she went still beneath your hands.
her shoulders dropped, tension easing out of her frame as if the world narrowed down to just this small bathroom, just your fingers in her hair. her breathing slowed. the buzz softened.
“don’t pull,” she muttered, more habit than concern.
you smiled, glancing down at her reflection. “i never do.”
you gathered her hair together, thumbs brushing along her scalp as you pulled it into a loose bundle. your fingers skimmed the nape of her neck, and she shivered again, a quiet sound leaving her throat before she could stop it.
“cold?” you teased gently.
she shook her head. “no. just—”
she didn’t finish the thought.
“you okay?” you asked quietly, voice softer now.
she nodded. then shook her head. then let out a long breath, shoulders sagging. “yeah. no. i don’t know. i’m just… ready.”
ready meant everything and nothing at once.
you secured the hair tie, twisting it once, twice, tugging gently to make sure it would hold through the helmet, through the speed, through the chaos of the day. she tilted her head back to look at you upside down, eyes soft and vulnerable in a way only you ever got to see.
for a second, she looked younger. not the fearless racer everyone else saw, not the unstoppable force tearing up the track. just billie. your billie.
“you look hot,” you said, because sometimes she needed that reminder too.
she snorted, rolling her eyes even as her mouth curved into a small smile. “you’re biased.”
she reached up, tapping your knee with her fingers. “stay like this a second.”
you stayed there, hands resting lightly on her shoulders, while the morning stretched on around you. the quiet didn’t disappear, but it softened for just a little while longer, before the engines started screaming.
at the track, everything was louder. brighter. sharper.
the air itself felt charged, thick with fuel and heat and anticipation. engines screamed in the distance, a constant roar that rattled your chest and sank straight into your bones. mechanics shouted over one another, voices urgent and clipped, tools clanging against metal as cars were wheeled, lifted, adjusted. radios crackled nonstop with updates you didn’t fully understand but had learned to recognize by tone alone, calm, tense, frantic.
and somehow, billie moved through it like it was hers.
she walked with purpose, shoulders squared, gaze fixed forward. people stepped aside without thinking, like her presence bent the current around her instead of forcing her to fight through it. this was where she made sense. where the noise didn’t overwhelm her but sharpened her, focused her into something precise and dangerous.
you followed close behind, familiar enough with the space to avoid getting in the way but close enough that she could glance back and find you if she needed to. her helmet was tucked under her arm, black and scuffed, marked with tiny scratches from past races. she carried it like it was part of her body.
a crew member stepped forward automatically, hand reaching out to take it.
“don’t touch it,” billie snapped, not even slowing down.
the words cut sharp, immediate.
they froze, hands lifting in surrender. “sorry. didn’t mean—”
billie didn’t respond. she didn’t need to.
instead, she turned to you.
her steps slowed. she moved closer, close enough that the noise around you seemed to dull just slightly. she lowered her head a fraction, just enough. not asking out loud.
you stepped into her space without hesitation, fingers finding the strap of her helmet. you adjusted it carefully, checking the fit, tugging it snug beneath her chin. your knuckles brushed her jaw, your thumb grazing the corner of her mouth.
she closed her eyes for half a second.
like she was assigning the feeling to a memory.
when she opened them again, they were steady, but softer than they were for anyone else.
“see you after,” she said quietly.
it wasn’t playful. wasn’t routine.
it was something she needed to say. something she needed you to answer.
“always,” you replied, without hesitation.
she nodded once, decisive, then turned back toward the car. but as she walked away, you saw her shoulders settle just slightly, like your words had locked something into place.
and then the engine roared, and she disappeared back into the noise.
it always was, but this one felt different from the second the cars rolled into position. the air vibrated with tension, heat shimmering above the asphalt, the crowd restless and loud in that barely-contained way that meant they were waiting for something explosive. you stood near the monitors with your arms folded tight across your chest, eyes locked on billie’s car as it idled.
she looked calm on the screen.
the lights above the track blinked on one by one.
your breath caught in your throat.
when they went out, billie launched forward like she’d been fired from a gun.
the sound was deafening, engines screaming in unison as they all surged ahead, tyres shrieking against the track. billie cut through traffic immediately, slipping between cars with surgical precision, her reactions razor-sharp. by the first corner, she was already pushing, braking late, accelerating earlier than anyone else dared.
“holy shit,” someone whispered behind you.
the first few laps blurred together. the camera struggled to keep up as billie carved her way forward, her car a streak of black and motion. every time she took a corner, she pushed the limits just a little further, turning in sharper, riding the edge of control, flirting with disaster like it was an old friend.
your eyes flicked between the live feed and the timing board.
her lap times were climbing.
“she’s pushing it,” someone near you muttered, concern threading their voice.
your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms as your eyes stayed glued to the screen. you knew her driving. you knew the difference between confident and reckless. this, this was billie daring the track to take her.
every time she dove into a corner, your heart lurched. every time the rear of her car slid just slightly before snapping back into line, your breath stuttered. she was riding the knife’s edge, trusting her instincts more than the physics, more than the margins of safety drilled into her by years of training.
“slow down,” you whispered under your breath, even though she couldn’t hear you.
halfway through the race, she was leading.
the camera cut to an overhead shot as she defended her position, blocking aggressively, forcing the car behind her wide. her tyres screamed in protest, smoke curling briefly into the air before disappearing behind her.
each lap dragged on like a lifetime. the crowd roared louder with every pass, every near-miss, every daring move. billie’s name echoed through the stands, chanted and shouted like a battle cry.
all you could hear was the engine, the tyres, the sound of her pushing harder and harder like the win mattered more than anything else.
when the final lap began, your chest ached.
she was still in the lead, but only just. the car behind her closed in, pressure mounting. billie responded the only way she knew how.
she took the final corner tighter than she had all race, clipping the apex so closely you were sure she’d lose it. the car wobbled for half a second, half a second too long.
then she corrected, straightened out, and shot down the final stretch.
billie crossed the line first.
cheers, screams, applause crashing over the track in a massive wall of sound. people around you jumped, hugged, shouted her name. confetti cannons went off somewhere, and the announcer’s voice boomed triumphantly over the speakers.
your knees felt weak, relief and fear tangling together so tightly you couldn’t separate them. she’d won. again.
you exhaled shakily, only realizing then how long you’d been holding your breath.
the camera cut to billie as she slowed the car, pulling into the pit lane. even through the screen, you could see it, her hands shaking as she lifted them from the wheel, her helmet dipping forward as she leaned back in the seat.
she climbed out of the car slowly.
sweat-soaked. shaking. chest heaving.
the moment her feet hit the ground, the cameras swarmed.
microphones were shoved toward her face, flashes going off relentlessly. someone pressed the trophy into her hands, metal cold and heavy. she barely seemed to register it, eyes unfocused as she pulled her helmet off, hair sticking to her forehead with sweat.
“another win!” the interviewer shouted over the noise, practically breathless themselves. “that’s seven in a row now. how does it feel?”
billie swallowed, dragging a hand down her face. her breathing was still uneven, adrenaline surging through her body. she glanced briefly at the trophy, then lifted her head, eyes scanning the crowd.
something in her expression shifted. softened. steadied.
“honestly?” she said, voice rough. “it’s… it’s a lot. i wouldn’t be here without her.”
the interviewer blinked. “her?”
billie didn’t look away from you.
“yeah,” she continued. “she keeps me grounded. keeps me sane. everyone sees the speed, the wins, all that—but she’s the reason i make it back every time.” her grip tightened on the trophy. “i race for myself, yeah— but i come back to her.”
the crowd reacted, cheers, a few awws, but it washed over you distantly.
the camera found you almost instantly.
it was the right shape. the right timing. but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.
the moment the interview ended, she pushed past the crowd and crossed the space between you in long strides. before you could say anything, her arms were around you, pulling you into her chest.
the hug was tight. protective. like she was anchoring herself.
you pressed your face into her shoulder, breathing her in, sweat, smoke, adrenaline, billie. your hands fisted in the fabric of her racing suit, holding on.
“you scared me,” you murmured, voice barely audible over the noise.
instead, she leaned down and brushed her lips against yours.
quick. careful. restrained.
not the kiss she wanted, but the one she knew you could handle right now.
her forehead rested against yours for a brief second after, eyes closed.
and she knew this wasn’t over.
but for now, she held you a little tighter, cameras flashing all around, like she could shield you from everything just by standing between you and the world.
the ride home was silent.
not the comfortable kind. not the kind where music played low and billie reached over to rest her hand on your thigh at red lights. no. this silence was heavy, pressing in from all sides, filling the car until it felt hard to breathe inside it.
the engine hummed beneath you, steady and ordinary, nothing like the violence of the one she’d just climbed out of. billie kept her eyes on the road, jaw tight, hands gripping the steering wheel a little too hard. you watched her knuckles whiten every time she shifted gears.
you wanted to say something.
you didn’t trust your voice yet.
when you finally pulled into the driveway, neither of you moved right away. the car idled, headlights washing the garage door in pale light. billie shut the engine off and sat there, shoulders stiff, staring straight ahead like if she didn’t look at you, the moment might hold itself together a little longer.
inside, the apartment felt too quiet after the track. no engines. no radios. just the soft click of the door closing behind you and the hum of the fridge from the kitchen.
you dropped your bag onto the counter harder than necessary.
“you scared the shit out of me,” you said.
the words came out sharp, brittle around the edges. you hadn’t planned to say them like that, but once they were out, there was no pulling them back.
billie turned slowly. her shoulders went rigid.
“it helped me win,” she shot back immediately, defensive instinct flaring. “that’s what you want, right? for me to win?”
“don’t do that,” you said. “don’t twist it.”
she scoffed, pacing a few steps across the kitchen, running a hand through her hair. “i’m not twisting anything. this is my job. pushing it—that’s how you stay ahead.”
“pushing it isn’t the same as risking your life,” you snapped.
she stopped pacing, eyes flashing. “you think i don’t know that? you think i just get in the car and don’t think about what could happen?”
“it didn’t look like you were thinking at all,” you said, voice rising despite yourself. “it looked like you didn’t care.”
billie’s face tightened, hurt cutting through the defensiveness. “that’s bullshit,” she said. “don’t say that. don’t ever say that.”
“then why do you drive like there’s nothing to lose?” you demanded. “why do you take corners like that, billie? i watched your lap times jump and my heart nearly stopped every single time.”
she turned away, hands braced on the counter now. for a moment, she didn’t say anything. then, quieter, “because that’s how you win.”
you laughed weakly, the sound breaking. “at what cost?”
she exhaled sharply, shoulders sagging just a fraction. “you don’t get it.”
“then help me,” you said. your voice cracked on the words. “because from where i’m standing, i’m watching the person i love flirt with death for a trophy.”
“i had it under control,” she said, but the words sounded rehearsed. hollow.
you shook your head. “your hands were shaking when you got out of the car.”
she turned back to you slowly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. you saw it then, the way her expression faltered, the way the memory replayed behind her eyes.
“…you saw that?” she said.
“i always see it,” you replied softly. “i see when you’re scared. even when you pretend you’re not.”
her mouth opened, then closed again. she swallowed hard.
“i didn’t plan to push that far,” she admitted, voice lower now. “i just— i felt it slipping. the lead. the control. and i thought if i backed off even a little, i’d lose it.”
“and that was worth scaring me like that?” you asked. “worth scaring yourself like that?”
her shoulders slumped completely this time.
“no,” she said quietly. “it wasn’t.”
she sank into one of the kitchen chairs, elbows on her knees, head in her hands. when she spoke again, her voice was muffled.
“when the car wobbled… i thought i fucked it. for a second, i really thought that was it.”
your chest tightened painfully.
“my hands wouldn’t stop shaking when i got out,” she continued. “i tried to play it off, but i was fucking terrified.” she looked up at you then, eyes glassy. “it scared the shit out of me too.”
the anger drained out of you all at once, leaving something raw and aching behind.
your voice broke completely. “i can’t lose you.”
she stood abruptly, crossing the space between you in two strides. her hands came up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes like she was checking you were really there.
“hey,” she whispered. “hey.”
you leaned into her touch despite yourself.
“i know,” she said, forehead pressing against yours. “i know. and i’m sorry. i swear to you, i never meant to make you feel like that.”
your breath hitched. “you promise?”
she pulled you into her chest, arms wrapping around you tight, protective, familiar. her chin rested on top of your head.
“i promise,” she murmured. “i’ll be smarter. i’ll listen. i’ll come back to you.”
you held onto her like the world might tip again if you didn’t.
and for the first time since the race ended, the silence between you softened, no longer sharp, just fragile.
later, the adrenaline finally wore off.
it always happened all at once with billie, one moment she was riding the high of the win, buzzing and restless, the next it drained out of her so fast it left her hollowed. by the time you were back on the couch, the house dim and quiet around you, she was slumped forward slightly, exhaustion written into every line of her body.
“sit,” you murmured, patting the space between your knees.
she didn’t argue. she rarely did once she was like this.
she peeled her shirt off slowly, wincing as the fabric dragged over tender skin, then let it drop to the floor. she settled back against you, careful, like she’d suddenly become very aware of all the places that hurt. the couch dipped beneath her weight, and she exhaled as your legs framed her, solid and familiar.
“don’t make a big deal out of it,” she said, already defensive.
you didn’t answer. you just reached for the med kit.
bruises were already blooming along her ribs, deep purples and blues spreading beneath pale skin, fingerprints of the harness and the impact. one side was worse than the other, swollen slightly, angry-looking. lower down, you spotted another dark mark along her hip, and when she shifted, you saw the way she favored her left leg.
“billie,” you said softly.
she shrugged like it meant nothing. “clipped it on the door on one of the sharp turns. it’s fine.”
you gently lifted her leg, resting her ankle on your thigh. there was a bruise just below her knee, mottled and dark, already stiffening. she hissed quietly before she could stop herself.
“fine, huh,” you murmured.
“don’t be annoying,” she said, but there was no bite in it.
you started with her ribs. you always did. slow, careful hands, cleaning the area with a damp cloth. she tensed the second the fabric touched her skin, breath catching.
“hey,” you whispered. “breathe.”
she tried. really tried. her jaw clenched, shoulders tight, putting on that tough exterior she wore so well everywhere else.
it cracked the second your fingers pressed just a little too firmly.
“fuck,” she breathed, the word falling out of her before she could swallow it back.
you paused instantly. “too much?”
she shook her head, eyes squeezed shut. “no. just— yeah. fuck.”
you smiled softly despite yourself. “don’t moan.”
she scoffed weakly. “i didn’t.”
you raised an eyebrow, meeting her eyes in the reflection of the dark tv screen.
she rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched. “okay, maybe a little.”
you wrapped her ribs carefully, each pass of the bandage slow and deliberate. she relaxed more with every layer, leaning back into you, trusting you with all the places she couldn’t protect herself from.
“this one’s gonna be sore tomorrow,” you said quietly.
“they all are,” she replied.
you moved to her shoulder next, where a lighter bruise curved along the muscle, then to her forearm, scraped, reddened, still a little dirty from the track. she watched your hands the whole time, eyes soft, unfocused, like she was grounding herself in the sensation.
when you lifted her leg again, she sucked in a breath.
“sorry,” you murmured automatically.
“don’t be,” she said. “just… warn me.”
you cleaned the bruise gently, thumb brushing along her knee. her hand found your wrist, not stopping you, just holding on.
“you don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt,” you said.
she was quiet for a long moment.
“i know,” she said finally. “i just don’t like feeling… breakable.”
you finished wrapping her leg, tying it off carefully. when you leaned back, she turned slightly, twisting just enough to look up at you.
her eyes were tired. open. vulnerable in a way she rarely let herself be.
“thank you,” she said softly.
you brushed a thumb along her jaw. “always.”
she leaned up then, slow and careful, one hand bracing on your knee. her lips met yours in a gentle kiss, not rushed, not hungry. just warm. grateful. like she was saying everything she couldn’t put into words.
when she pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours.
“i’ll try to be smarter,” she whispered.
you kissed her again, just as softly. “that’s all i want.”
she settled back against you, injured, exhausted, safe.
and this time, when she sighed, it wasn’t from pain, it was relief.
race day two came too fast.
the morning barely felt like it existed at all, just a blur between sleep and noise and the ache still lodged in both of you from yesterday. billie moved slower this time, a faint limp in her step that she tried and failed to hide. every few steps, her weight shifted instinctively off her sore leg, jaw tightening whenever the movement pulled at her ribs.
you noticed. of course you did.
but her eyes were sharp. brighter than they had been the day before. fierce in that dangerous way that meant she’d already decided how the day would go.
eight wins in a row if she pulled it off.
everyone was talking about it. commentators, crew, fans, numbers stacked on screens and headlines and expectations pressing in from all sides. billie wore it like armor, even as her body betrayed the bruises hidden beneath her suit.
at the track, she moved with the same quiet authority as always, but when she stopped in front of the car, something in her shifted. the noise faded just slightly. the bravado thinned.
cupped your face in both hands, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes like she needed to make sure you were really here, really looking back at her.
“promise me,” she said softly. “i’ll see you after.”
your chest tightened painfully. the words felt heavier today, sharper around the edges.
“don’t do that,” you whispered. “don’t say it like that.”
she leaned closer, forehead nearly touching yours. “promise.”
you swallowed, nodding once. “…i promise.”
her shoulders eased just a fraction at that, like she’d anchored herself again. she leaned in and kissed you, quick, careful, lingering just long enough to feel like reassurance rather than goodbye.
then she pulled away, helmet on, walls back up.
and as she turned toward the car, you watched her limp disappear beneath determination, hoping your promise wouldn’t be tested.
from the stands, from the monitors, from where you stood with your arms folded tight against your chest, it looked controlled. measured. billie eased the car off the line cleanly, no wheelspin, no sudden lurch forward. she held her position through the first few corners, letting the pack settle, letting the chaos burn itself out around her instead of charging headfirst into it.
you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.
the commentators praised her patience. the crew around you nodded, murmuring approval. this was what everyone wanted to see after yesterday, discipline, restraint, proof that she wasn’t just fast, but calculated.
billie knew how to do that too.
for the first several laps, she stayed within herself. her lap times were strong, but not reckless. she defended when she needed to, overtook cleanly when the opportunity opened. the car looked stable beneath her, hugging the track instead of skimming its edge.
your heart rate slowly settled into something closer to normal.
maybe she meant it, you thought. maybe she really listened.
it was subtle at first, something only you noticed because you’d learned how to read her like this. a half-second later on the brakes. a slightly sharper turn-in. the lap time ticking down just a fraction faster than before.
your fingers tightened around the edge of the table in front of you.
she was still in control.
“she’s found another gear,” one of the commentators said excitedly. “look at that pace.”
billie sped through with quiet ferocity, overtaking one car, then another. she didn’t hesitate. didn’t second-guess. she took lines that made your chest ache, carving through corners with a confidence that bordered on defiance.
your eyes flicked to the timing screen.
“no,” you whispered, barely aware you’d spoken aloud.
lap by lap, she edged closer to the front. the crowd’s energy shifted, excitement crackling through the stands as they realized what was happening. people stood. cheered. shouted her name.
your hands had started shaking.
“slow down, billie,” you whispered, leaning closer to the monitor like proximity might carry your voice to her. “please.”
she took the lead with a move so aggressive the people around you gasped, late braking, tight squeeze, tyres screaming as she forced the other car wide. it worked. she surged ahead, reclaiming first place like it belonged to her.
she didn’t ease off once she was in front.
every lap after that felt wrong. her car danced on the edge of grip, rear end stepping out just slightly before snapping back into line. sparks flew once when she clipped the curb too hard, showering the track in brief flashes of light.
“she’s really wringing the neck of that thing,” someone said, awed.
you shook your head, tears burning behind your eyes. “this isn’t worth it,” you murmured. “please, billie. please.”
the camera followed her through a high-speed section of the track, one you’d watched her take a hundred times before.
she entered it faster than she ever had.
for a split second, the car didn’t respond the way it should have. the back stepped out harder than before. too hard.
the crash didn’t sound real.
it wasn’t one clean impact. it was violent, metal tearing, tyres screaming, the sickening crunch as the car slammed into the barrier. the screen shook. the feed stuttered.
flames bloomed around the wreckage, bright and sudden, licking up the sides of the car like something alive. smoke poured into the air, thick and black, swallowing the track.
the crowd’s roar collapsed into screams.
your heart didn’t just break.
everything went distant and sharp at the same time. the sound around you dulled, replaced by a high-pitched ringing in your ears. your vision tunneled, locked onto the screen where billie’s car lay twisted and burning.
seconds stretched into eternity.
you didn’t remember falling, only the sensation of someone grabbing your arm to keep you upright. your mouth moved, but no sound came out. your chest burned like you’d forgotten how to breathe.
“oh my god,” someone sobbed nearby.
fire marshals ran onto the track. extinguishers hissed, white foam coating the flames. the camera zoomed in, then cut away, then cut back again.
“billie,” you whispered hoarsely. “baby, please.”
your body shook violently now, every nerve screaming. your hands clawed at your own jacket like you needed something to anchor you to reality.
a foot kicked out from inside the car.
the entire world seemed to inhale at once.
the door burst open, flung wide with sudden force. a figure stumbled out through the smoke, coughing, unsteady on her feet.
helmet still on, suit scorched and smeared with ash, moving like she was fighting against her own body. she ripped the helmet off as she staggered forward, hair wild, face streaked with soot.
and the moment they found you—
everything else disappeared.
the crew shouted at her to stop. someone reached for her. she shrugged them off without even seeming to notice, legs pumping as fast as they would carry her.
you collided in the middle of the chaos, bodies slamming together hard enough to knock the breath out of you both. her arms wrapped around you instantly, crushing you against her chest. your hands fisted in her suit, fingers digging in like if you let go she might disappear.
you sobbed into her shoulder, sounds ripping out of you uncontrollably.
“i hate you,” you cried, voice breaking apart. “i hate you so much.”
billie held you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other trembling against your spine.
“i know,” she whispered into your hair, voice wrecked. “i know. i’m so fucking sorry.”
you pulled back just enough to look at her. her face was streaked with tears cutting clean paths through the soot. her lower lip trembled. her ribs heaved with every breath like she couldn’t get enough air.
“i thought you were dead,” you sobbed. “i watched it— i thought—”
“hey,” she said desperately, cupping your face with shaking hands. “hey, look at me. i’m here. i’m right here.”
her gloved thumbs brushed under your eyes, wiping tears she couldn’t stop herself from causing.
“i was so scared,” she admitted, voice barely holding together. “when the car started going… i thought i lost it. i thought i wasn’t gonna get out.”
you broke again at that, pressing your forehead to hers.
“don’t ever do that to me,” you begged. “don’t ever leave me like that.”
“i won’t,” she said immediately. “i swear. i swear to you. i don’t care about the streak. i don’t care about the win. i just— i need to come back to you.”
your lips crashed into hers, desperate and messy and soaked with tears. the kiss tasted like smoke and salt and relief, like survival. she kissed you back just as hard, clinging to you like you were the only solid thing left in the world.
when you pulled apart, you stayed pressed together, arms locked tight.
this time, she didn’t let go.
even when the medics approached.
even when the world rushed back in around you.
she held onto you like proof that she was alive, and like a promise she intended to keep.
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as always lmk if u wanna be on/off my taglist!
taglist: @bilsluvbird @playfetchbabe @cmee1 @cookispark @g0ldwingedwildfl0w3r @b1lsblohsh @miloeilish @anklehurst @tinyumbrellaz @overseasandhavingdreams @emi-inspace @sluttyangelgirll
