The next morning, as the Riviera city stirred slowly awake beneath lemon-colored light, (Y/n) stood behind the boutique counter, pretending to rearrange a display of silk scarves. Her hands trembled, betraying her nerves.
Amara was there too, unpacking a new box of accessories, but kept sneaking glances toward the door.
Carla, humming softly to herself, was fixing a jewelry stand near the window when the bell above the door jingled.
And there he was.
Baseball cap low, sunglasses on, hoodie zipped halfway to the neck.
Lando Norris.
No entourage. No camera flashes. No press.
Just him.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at her, really looked.
Carla froze. Her mouth dropped open slightly as recognition hit.
She glanced between (Y/n) and Lando, then mouthed to Amara across the room: Is that Lando freaking Norris?
Amara rolled her eyes playfully, nodded once, and signed to her to be quiet.
Then quietly, Lando said: “Can we go somewhere?”
(Y/n) glanced at Amara, who raised both brows but gave a single, slow nod of encouragement.
Without a word, (Y/n) stepped out from behind the counter.
“Let’s go,” she said.
The door jingled behind them.
Silence.
Then—
“What in the actual Monaco was that?” Carla hissed, rushing over to Amara. “Was that seriously Lando Norris or did I eat expired yogurt this morning?!”
Amara just grinned, folding tissue paper like nothing had happened. “Yep. That was him.”
Carla smacked her arm lightly. “And you’re just—what—chill about it?! Do you know how many people would scream if he walked into their shop?”
“I mean, I could scream,” Amara teased, “but I think (Y/n) would kill me.”
Carla narrowed her eyes. “Okay, but why was he here? Why did he look at her like she just slapped him with a love letter? And why did she just… leave?”
Amara gave her a pointed look, lips twitching. “You ask too many questions.”
“Oh my God,” Carla whispered dramatically, hand over her mouth. “Is this like… a thing?”
Amara only smiled again and turned back to the accessories box. “Not our story to tell, Carla.”
Carla gasped. “So it is a thing!”
“Shhh,” Amara warned, laughing now. “Let them figure it out.”
The walk from the boutique to Lando’s car was quiet.
He didn’t speak, just opened the passenger door of a discreet black SUV and waited for her to get in. She hesitated only briefly, just long enough to question if this was a mistake, then climbed in. The door shut with a quiet click, sealing them inside a space too silent and too small.
Lando slipped into the driver’s seat, pulling away from the curb like he’d done it a thousand times before, like this wasn’t the most surreal morning of either of their lives.
He drove up the winding hillside roads, far from the city’s hum, until the coast stretched wide and blue on one side, villas on the other. After ten minutes of tension-thick silence, he turned onto a small overlook tucked behind flowering hedges and parked.
Still, he didn’t speak.
(Y/n) unbuckled her seatbelt, but didn’t move. “You said five minutes.”
“I know,” he said, gripping the steering wheel. “I just… didn’t want anyone to see.”
“You’ve said that before.”
His head turned sharply at that. “Yeah. And you walked away before I could explain.”
“I didn’t need an explanation,” she replied, staring out the window. “I got the message when you offered me money.”
Lando winced.
“Look,” he said after a pause. “I was drunk. Not as drunk as I should’ve been to justify what I said, but drunk enough to think I was solving a problem instead of… making one.”
He wasn’t looking at her, and she wasn’t looking at him. The car was a capsule of half-swallowed truths.
“I remember more than I let on,” he continued. “Not everything. But enough. You were quiet. Sharp. You asked about the stars.”
(Y/n) turned to him slowly. Her voice barely above a whisper. “You said you didn’t even know my name.”
“I didn’t,” he admitted. “But I haven’t stopped thinking about you since.”
A beat of silence passed. Wind rustled the hedges outside.
“I don’t want anything from you,” she said, eyes fierce now. “This isn’t some trap. I didn’t track you down. You showed up.”
“I know.” He finally looked at her. “And I’m not here out of guilt. Or pity. I’m here because... I think something happened that night that matters. More than just a mistake.”
She scoffed lightly. “You think?”
He exhaled. “I’m trying, okay?”
“Trying what, exactly?”
“To understand. To be decent. To make this right.”
(Y/n) stared at him, lips parted like she was about to speak, but nothing came out. Her hands curled in her lap.
Finally, she asked, “And what would right even look like?”
Lando didn’t have an answer. Not one he trusted yet. But he looked at her then, not her sunglasses, not the tension in her jaw, but her. And he saw the weight she was carrying. The exhaustion. The fear.
“You’re not alone in this,” he said quietly.
Tears threatened the edges of her vision. She blinked them away quickly.
“You say that now,” she murmured.
“I’ll keep saying it,” he said. “As long as you let me.”
They sat there, still as the air around them.
Then she said the words she’d been holding in for days:
“I’m pregnant, Lando.”
There was no dramatic music. No gasp. Just the words, dropped between them like a fragile, living thing.
Lando blinked. Once. Twice.
“How far?”
“About seven or eight weeks.”
His brows knit together.
“So... right around then.”
She nodded slowly.
He stared straight ahead. “And... there’s no chance it’s someone else’s?”
📝 Note from the Author:
This is the third post for today (I know, I know 😭), again, I hope you like it! Don’t forget to like, reblog, comment, or anything your heart feels like doing 💭
Authors Note: Hello! Here I am again hahah I'm just getting excited because things are starting to happen and im also ifuhoidsajd lol so here's another chapter!
I might also be writing like a crazy person to distract myself of the fact that they are almost back and the days cannot pass faster hahah
lots of love!
Kiki
ps:
hehe sooooo....
Also, for my people who are waiting on Jungkook, patience my young padawans, his time will come. Fear not ;)
---------
You didn’t mean to fall asleep.
But the light in your apartment is different now — not the pale, unforgiving kind from earlier, but something warmer, stretched long across the floor like the day is trying to leave without making a sound. Late afternoon, maybe. Or early evening. The kind of in-between light that makes everything feel a little softer, a little slower. Dust floats lazily through the air, catching in the golden slant that filters through the half-closed blinds.
It still smells like peppermint. Faint, but still there. Soft and clean and ghostlike. The mug on your coffee table is empty — no trace of warmth left in the ceramic, but the shape of it feels recent. Like someone placed it down gently. Like someone didn’t want to wake you.
The blanket over your legs is still tucked neatly at the sides, folded in at the edges like a quiet gesture you almost missed. You blink slowly, staring at it for a few seconds before it registers — Jimin is gone.
He didn’t leave a note. He didn’t need to. You also hadn’t expected a goodbye, not really. He moves through space like water — he fills it, carries you if you let him, and then leaves without asking for anything. And somehow, what he leaves behind feels more meaningful than words ever could.
The apartment is quiet now. Still.
The kind of stillness that makes you aware of your own heartbeat. The soft hum of the refrigerator. The faint creak of the wood under your couch as you shift your weight. Every sound amplified by the absence of another presence.
But it’s not a lonely kind of quiet. Not quite. But a bit lonely, nevertheless.
You exhale, long and slow, letting your head fall back against the cushion.
There’s a light pressure behind your eyes — the last trace of the hangover, maybe, or just the ghost of the dream you had before Jimin showed up. You can’t remember it now. Just a feeling. A sharpness. That sensation of being underwater without knowing how you got there.
Your limbs feel heavy, but not weighed down. Just… warm. Like you’ve been wrapped in a cocoon you didn’t realize you needed.
And now, you feel the absence.
Your eyes flutter shut again — just for a moment. Not to sleep, but to feel the room. The shift.
It's strange how easy it is to feel when he's gone.
You stay there, breathing. Letting the quiet wrap around you, slow and padded, like the world is giving you a little more time before it starts spinning again. Your fingers curl slightly under the edge of the blanket. The couch cushions dip just the slightest beneath you. Everything feels still in a way it hasn’t for days.
And yet…
It’s not just stillness that settles in your chest.
It’s something else, too.
A hum you can’t quite place. A presence that doesn’t belong to the peppermint or the folded blanket or even to Jimin’s echo.
You try not to name it. Try not to go there.
But your thoughts are already pulling in another direction.
His direction.
The way Jungkook had looked at you yesterday — not during a conversation, not in any obvious way, just in a moment you happened to glance up — like he saw something he hadn’t expected to see. The way his mouth had twitched like he wanted to say something but didn’t. The way he didn’t look away until you did.
You hadn’t thought about it much at the time.
Now you can’t seem to stop.
The silence stretches again.
And then — the buzz.
Sharp against the cushion. One short vibration. Then another.
You open your eyes, slowly. Turn your head toward the sound.
Your phone is still facedown. Like it knew you wouldn’t be ready.
You reach for it, thumb dragging across the screen. It lights up — too bright at first — and you squint, blinking against it.
Two notifications.
The first one makes you snort softly, right on cue.
[My one and only true love 3:43 PM]: Okay. I’m really giving you a break today.
[My one and only true love 3:45 PM]: But tomorrow? I want names.
[My one and only true love 3:45 PM]:And context.
[My one and only true love 3:45 PM]:And height-to-hotness ratios.
You consider replying. You even start to type.
But the second notification catches your eye — and suddenly your fingers pause.
[JK 1:12 PM]: Still alive?
Your thumb stills above the keyboard.
The words are short. Barely anything. Just enough.
But you feel them settle in your chest anyway.
You stare at the screen, heart thumping slightly out of step.
You don’t know why it feels heavier coming from him.
Maybe because everything from him feels like it might mean something — even when it doesn’t.
Maybe because you still don’t know how much space he’s meant to take up in your day.
Or maybe because… you kind of hoped he would text. And now that he has, you don’t know what to do with that hope.
You type back, simple.
[ You 3:46 PM]: Depends who’s asking.
The reply comes faster than you expect. Like he has been waiting near the phone the entire time.
[JK 3:46 PM]: Just someone who heard you lost a fight to soju.
Your brows lift.
So he knows. Somehow. Someone told him.
But who?
You hesitate, then reply:
[JK 3:47 PM]: Amazing. Didn’t realize my downfall was public info.
[JK 3:47 PM]: It is now. You set a new record, apparently. Very dramatic.
You roll your eyes. But you’re already smiling. Just a little.
You tap your fingers against the edge of the phone, then type:
[You 3:47 PM]: Glad to know I’m leaving a legacy.
And then — a pause. A longer one.
Not longer then a minute. Just long enough to make you wonder.
Then his message blinks across the screen:
[ JK 3:48 PM]: You always do.
You stop.
You stare at the words until the screen begins to dim, and you tap it once to keep it lit. You don’t reply. You don’t know how.
Because you’re still figuring out what any of this is.
Still figuring out what it means when someone like Jungkook says something like that — not just to you, but about you.
And if you’re being honest with yourself — really honest — you know it’s not just the words.
It’s the way your pulse stutters now.
The way your stomach tightens, just slightly.
The way you let your phone rest gently on the blanket beside you, like the weight of it might say too much.
You exhale, slow.
Outside, the city is still moving. Somewhere far off, a car honks. Someone laughs in the hallway.
But inside your apartment, it’s just you. And that message. And the strange little ache blooming behind your ribs.
-----
The next day at work passed in a strange kind of haze.
The hangover was gone. The peppermint scent had faded from your hoodie, and the apartment felt emptier than it did the night before — though a blanket still folded neatly on the couch gave away that Jimin had really been there. You hadn’t heard from him since, just a message in the morning saying “Hope today’s kinder to you.”
You hadn’t answered.
There was too much noise in your head already — leftover static from dreams, memories, text messages that said you always do. And then there was work. The usual rush of prep before a Run BTS shoot, the whole office tense but pretending to be casual. Scripts, gear, last-minute call time changes. People bumping into each other and pretending it wasn’t on purpose.
By 6:40, someone shoved a clipboard into your hands with a breathless “Can you take this to Studio B?”
You were already halfway down the hall when you realized you didn’t mind the errand.
You didn’t really want to be around anyone.
Except when you open the door to the smaller recording studio, it isn’t empty.
Jungkook’s already there.
He’s lounged back on the old leather couch, hoodie hood bunched behind his neck, legs sprawled comfortably. One of his feet bounces in the air, heel tapping the ground. He’s got his phone in hand and one earbud in, but it’s hanging halfway out, like he forgot about it.
He doesn’t see you at first. He’s grinning — really grinning — shoulders shaking with that soundless laugh you’ve seen when something online catches him just right. You freeze for half a second in the doorway, not sure whether to step back or knock or just stand there like a forgotten extra.
Then he looks up.
And you don’t know why it feels like you’ve been caught.
“Oh,” he says, still half-laughing. “You scared me.”
“I knocked.”
“You didn’t.”
You blink. “…I thought I did.”
He smiles, and it makes your stomach shift a little too fast.
You hold up the clipboard in your hand. “Dropping these off. Tomorrow’s call sheets.”
He nods and nudges the coffee table with his foot. “You can leave it here. Unless you want to read it out loud. Make it dramatic.”
You roll your eyes but cross the room anyway, placing the clipboard down gently on the edge of the table. You don’t miss the way his eyes flick toward you as you do — just for a second. A blink. But it’s there.
“Did you volunteer for this?” he asks, voice light.
“Why?”
He shrugs, stretching his arms behind his head. “I mean, it’s almost 7. Kind of feels like you wanted the walk.”
You glance at him, trying to keep your voice neutral. “Kind of feels like you’re reading too much into it.”
He laughs again — not unkind. Not sharp. Just… amused.
“I’ve been told I do that,” he says shrugging. “Once or twice.”
You hover by the table a moment longer, unsure if you’re dismissed or just lingering. But before you can move toward the door, he speaks again — this time a little quieter, but still casual.
“By the way… thanks. For the whole… mess the other day.”
You blink. “You mean—?”
He nods once. Doesn’t elaborate. Just lifts his hand in a little wave like he’s acknowledging something in the air between you both.
“I didn’t know you knew I helped with that.”
He gives a soft scoff. “Please. You’re the only one who would’ve made the managers sound like a calm older sister who’s also on the verge of quitting.”
You almost smile. “That’s… disturbingly accurate.”
“I thought so.”
Silence settles again, but it’s not uncomfortable.
He leans forward to pick up his phone, scrolling aimlessly now. You turn toward the door.
“You’re on the schedule at 8:45,” you say over your shoulder. “Try not to be late.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“More like a prayer.”
He huffs another laugh behind you. “See you tomorrow.”
You don’t look back when you leave, but you do catch your reflection briefly in the narrow studio window — the way your shoulders are still a little too stiff, your expression a little too carefully blank.
But your heart?
It’s doing that thing again.
The quiet kind of racing.
-------
The studio was already buzzing by the time you arrived.
Staff filtered in and out of the side doors, trailing wires and clipped walkies, the usual pre-shoot chaos humming under every breath. You tucked your phone into your back pocket, tried not to think about the last conversation you’d had with either of them, and slid the call sheet onto the production table like it didn’t weigh more than it should.
Run BTS days always carried a different kind of energy. It wasn’t just content — it was the boys being themselves, half-scripted and half-chaotic. You’d noticed, over time, how even the quietest ones came alive here. Something about being in front of the camera without the full weight of an idol performance made them playful in a way that was rare to catch elsewhere.
You were adjusting the mic list when you heard your name.
“Y/N!”
It was Taehyung, waving dramatically from across the set like you were half a football field away.
“Come settle a bet,” he called.
You squinted. “Do I want to know what the bet is?”
Jimin appeared beside him, grinning like he’d already won. “You absolutely do.”
That’s when you noticed the screen behind them — the large monitor propped up for playback — currently displaying a paused Mario Kart track. Two controllers were sitting on the table, one already gripped tightly in Jungkook’s hands.
“Jungkook challenged me,” Jimin said, bouncing lightly on his heels. “Then he lost. And now he wants a rematch. But I refuse, so he wants to show he can beat anyone else. So we chose you.”
You blinked and pointed at yourself in disbelief. “Me?”
Jungkook, seated in one of the gamer-style chairs with his legs kicked up like he owned the place, smirked. “You talk a big game.”
You crossed your arms. “I’ve never talked any game.”
“That’s what makes you dangerous,” he replied, eyes gleaming.
Someone from the staff handed you the second controller, and it felt suspiciously like a setup — the way all the boys slowly started crowding behind the monitor, how Jimin was suddenly perched on the arm of the couch beside you, offering unsolicited tips.
“Watch the drifts in the third lap,” he murmured. “That’s where he gets cocky.”
You looked at him out of the corner of your eye. “Are you helping me or sabotaging me?”
He smiled, all sugar and mischief. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Jungkook chose the track. Something fast. Of course.
When the countdown began, your focus narrowed. Just you, the controller, and the digital chaos on screen. Around you, you were vaguely aware of voices — cheering, laughing, someone (probably Jin) commentating like it was the Olympics.
Jungkook was fast. Annoyingly fast.
But you were patient. Quietly calculating.
And in the last stretch of the final lap, you drifted perfectly around a corner, dodged a red shell, and zipped across the finish line less than half a second ahead.
The room exploded.
Hobi’s laugh was unmistakable as Jin threw his hands in the air. Taehyung screamed something unintelligible. Jimin laughed so hard he nearly fell from where he was sitting on.
Jungkook stared at the screen, jaw slack. Then he turned to look at you.
“That was luck.”
You leaned back, tossing the controller gently onto the couch. “Skill. Coated in humble confidence.”
“Rematch.”
“You’ll need time to recover.” You patted him on the shoulder.
He huffed, half a laugh escaping before he could stop it. And then he smiled — a real one this time, boyish and bright.
Jimin passed behind you as the camera crew started setting up for the next segment. He didn’t say anything at first — just brushed his knuckles lightly across your shoulder in passing, a touch no one else would notice.
When he came back around, slipping into place beside you as the others were getting miked, he handed you a bottle of water without meeting your eyes.
“You okay?” he asked under his breath.
You nodded. “I think I just made a mortal enemy.”
He smiled. “Nah. That’s just Jungkook’s love language.”
Your stomach flipped — not because of the words, but the quiet way he said them. Like he knew exactly how light to make it. Exactly when not to push.
You looked at him then, and for a second, neither of you said anything.
Then the director called for first positions, and the moment scattered like loose change.
Still, when Jungkook passed you on the way to his mark, he bumped your shoulder lightly, a grin tucked half into the corner of his mouth.
“Round two’s coming,” he said.
You didn’t answer.
But you smiled anyway.
-----
The hallway beyond the studio felt quieter than it should. Dimmer, too, the bright set lights replaced by the low ambient hum of backstage fluorescents. You rubbed your fingertips along your temple, trying to will away the strange buzz still dancing in your chest after the shoot.
Your badge swung slightly with each step as you wandered past stacked lighting gear and garment racks. A few of the stylists were packing up, their conversations soft and distant. Most of the boys had already vanished into dressing rooms or out the back exit.
You stepped into the green room without knocking — just enough to drop off the folder you’d been handed. Inside, it was quiet. A jacket draped over the couch, an open water bottle on the table. Jungkook was seated on the edge of the couch, scrolling through his phone, his expression unreadable until he glanced up and noticed you.
"Hey," he said, straightening slightly.
You held out the folder. "Call sheet for the weekend. You guys have a rehearsal slotted Sunday."
He set his phone down and took the folder from you, glancing at the cover. "Thanks."
"No problem."
You turned to leave, but his voice followed. "You know... you kind of crushed me today."
You blinked. "At Mario Kart?"
He let out a low chuckle. "I’m gonna pretend it wasn’t personal."
"Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I’m just that good."
Jungkook tilted his head like he was considering that. "Dangerously humble. It’s a deadly combo."
You smirked, letting the moment stretch just long enough to make your heart feel a little too aware of itself.
“How’s your recovery from trying to beat Sana in drinking?” He asked casually.
Your eyebrows shot up. "How do you—"
His grin widened. "Let’s just say... death by soju doesn’t go unnoticed."
You narrowed your eyes, trying not to smile. "I’m going to start interrogating people."
"You won’t need to. I’m very susceptible to guilt. And bribery."
You laughed despite yourself, glancing down at the call sheet again. Something about this was easier than it should’ve been.
Then footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Taehyung appeared, slowing as soon as he saw the two of you. He stopped a few paces away, taking in the scene without saying a word.
You braced for something.
He didn’t disappoint.
"You know," he said, pointing between the two of you, "if you’re gonna stand that close and smile that much, at least try to look a little less obvious."
Jungkook groaned, head tipping back with a dramatic sigh. "Hyung—"
Taehyung raised both hands, backing away slowly. "Hey, hey. Don’t mind me. I’m just an innocent bystander. An observant one. But innocent nonetheless."
Then, just before turning the corner, he added over his shoulder, "Cute, though. Seriously."
You stared after him.
Jungkook scratched the back of his neck, then looked at you with something caught between amusement and apology.
"He’s going to milk that for weeks."
You sighed. "Guess we’re doomed."
"Could be worse," Jungkook said.
And the way he looked at you — not teasing, not intense, just quietly sure — made it very hard to argue.
----
The studio floor had emptied out more than you realized. One minute you were dodging prop boxes and laughing with Yoshi while the post-filming chaos still lingered, and the next — you were standing by the stairwell with a half-empty water bottle in hand, waiting for the elevator that seemed determined not to arrive.
"You always disappear right before the fun part," Jimin’s voice cut through the quiet like a familiar song.
You turned, half startled, half expecting him. He was already walking toward you, hoodie draped loosely over his shoulders, hair still damp from the earlier shoot, and something soft behind his eyes. Like he’d been waiting for a moment alone just like this.
You gave a weak smile. "Didn’t know there was a fun part."
He stopped in front of you, leaning a shoulder lightly against the wall. "There’s always a fun part."
The hallway buzzed gently with silence. A light flickered above you, casting slow-moving shadows. You tightened your grip on the bottle.
"Tired?" he asked, glancing down at your hands.
You shrugged. "A little. I think the last twenty-four hours finally caught up to me."
He nodded slowly, like he understood more than you were saying.
"Thanks for yesterday," you said after a moment.
"You already said that."
You looked up. "Well, I’m saying it again."
He smiled at that, then tilted his head slightly. "Want a ride home? I’ve got time."
You hesitated. For a breath. Maybe two. Then nodded. Why not?
----
The city passed in fragments outside the window, a patchwork of late-night haze and quiet. Yellow-tinted streetlights blinked over sidewalks. Neon signs flickered half-heartedly from the windows of half-closed stores. Inside the car, it was warm — too warm — and you didn’t bother removing your coat. You felt the press of it, like a shield. A weight you weren’t quite ready to shrug off.
Jimin didn’t put on music. You didn’t ask. The air between you hummed with an unspoken rhythm, one you couldn’t place.
"You’re quiet," he said, glancing at you as the car slowed at a red light. "I thought I’d at least get a dramatic monologue about the evils of filming variety shows in the cold."
You gave a soft huff, the corner of your mouth twitching. "You’re lucky I’m too tired to perform."
"I’m devastated," he said, placing a hand dramatically over his chest.
Your gaze drifted back out the window. You traced the fog from your breath with a fingertip on the glass. "It’s just been... an intense week."
"I know the feeling," he murmured. His tone didn’t shift. He didn’t offer advice. He just agreed, like it was the only thing worth saying.
"It’s not even anything specific. Just… the internship. The schedule. The pace of it all. Its been almost three months but feels like im here for much longer but at the same time much less. It’s weird." You gave a little shrug, as if brushing the weight off your shoulders could make it lighter. "Everything’s just a bit much sometimes."
He stayed silent. The hum of the car filled in what you didn’t say.
Then, his voice returned, lighter this time. "If it makes you feel better, I’m very impressed by how professional you looked while holding a bag of cucumbers today."
That pulled a laugh from your chest. You shot him a side glance. "Stop."
"Dead serious. Iconic. Might be the most glamorous thing I’ve seen all week."
The light turned green, and he eased the car forward. You leaned into your seat and sighed. Something about him — the way he let the serious and silly fold over each other — always managed to unravel you in pieces. Quiet ones.
"You’re good at this," you said softly.
"At what?"
"Disarming people."
He glanced at you, his smile widening. "You make it sound like I’m a spy."
"Maybe you are. The charming kind. Gets people talking when they don’t mean to."
"Ah," he said, mock-serious. "So I’m dangerously persuasive. Noted."
You lifted an eyebrow. "I’m saying you’re sneaky. Subtle. The kind of person who probably gets away with way too much."
He gasped in mock offense. "I’m wounded."
"You’ll survive."
He turned onto your street, the familiar row of buildings falling into place outside the window. But he didn’t stop in front of yours. Instead, he pulled up further, into a quieter spot shaded by trees and dim streetlight.
The engine ticked as he cut it. Neither of you moved.
You sat in the silence, eyes on your hands folded in your lap, while Jimin’s rested casually on the wheel like he wasn’t in a rush to end whatever this was.
"We’re okay, right?" he asked after a moment. Quiet. Careful.
You nodded slowly. "I think so."
He didn’t speak right away. You could feel his gaze, warm and open.
"You’ve seemed different lately. Not bad. Just… like your head’s somewhere else."
You traced another foggy line on the window. "Maybe it is. Everything just feels different, like something shifted and I haven’t caught up to it yet."
He didn’t press. Just waited.
"It’s not really about the job," you added quickly. "It’s nothing. And also… not nothing. I guess I’m still figuring it out."
His voice was low when he answered. "Want to know what I’m figuring out?"
You turned to him, surprised by the question. "What?"
"How long I can sit here before I do something really dumb."
Your breath caught.
He gave a small, knowing smile. "And it gets harder everytime you look at me like that. "
You didn’t look away. Your fingers tightened just a little in your lap. "Then maybe stop thinking about it."
He waited. A pause that felt like a held breath, long enough to ask without asking.
And then, slowly — like testing the weight of it — he leaned in.
The kiss was light. Barely a whisper between you. A question posed in silence. A warmth you hadn’t realized you were craving.
It wasn’t a hot or passionate kiss, but rather something soft, uncertain — like both of you were trying to remember how to breathe through it. It was the kind of kiss that didn’t demand anything, didn’t burn its way through your chest, but settled there gently, like the warmth of a hand over your heart. It asked nothing but permission. It didn’t shout. It didn’t shake. It just… existed, tender and fleeting. Like a pause between thoughts. Like a secret neither of you had the words to speak yet.
But it didn’t last for long.
Because just as the moment settled — just as the softness of it bloomed in your chest — you pulled away.
The car felt too close now. Too still. Your hand reached for the door.
"I should—"
He nodded.
You stepped out into the cold. The night air stung your cheeks in a way that reminded you where you were. Grounded you.
The door shut behind you. Your boots clicked against the pavement as you walked towards the door of your apartment building.
And then—
Your name.
Spoken low. Firm.
You turned as he caught up to you.
No hesitation this time.
His hand found the back of your head softly but firmer. His eyes found your mouth.
And he kissed you again.
Fuller. Warmer. Still careful, but more certain — like he’d decided he didn’t want to let you walk away wondering. This kiss wasn’t rushed, but there was urgency beneath the tenderness. A silent insistence that said: I meant that. It carried something heavier than the first — not pressure, but presence. His thumb brushed along your jaw as the kiss deepened just slightly, grounding you where you stood.
Your breath caught somewhere between surprise and surrender.
For a moment, you let yourself sink into it. The world narrowed. The streetlamp above you flickered. Somewhere in the distance, a car horn echoed and faded. But here — with his forehead resting lightly against yours — everything else disappeared.
You could feel your heart knocking against your ribs, too fast, too loud. Like it hadn’t caught up to what your body was already answering.
"I get to do dumb things sometimes too," he murmured resting his forehead against yours. You were with your eyes closed still trying to process what just happened.
You didn’t answer.
But you didn’t let go either.
You didn’t know how long you stood there, in the middle of the sidewalk, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat, Jimin’s warmth still lingering on your lips.
The street was quiet. Only the distant hum of a passing car reminded you the world hadn’t completely stopped. But in your body? In your chest? Everything felt like it had come to a sudden, terrifying standstill.
He kissed you.
He kissed you.
Again.
And then he—
He just turned around and left.
No last word. No clever tease. Not even a backward glance.
He walked back to his car like that kiss hadn’t just rearranged your entire central nervous system.
You were still standing there like a glitch in a simulation when the car engine started. It purred low, then faded as the wheels rolled down the block.
Only when the red taillights disappeared from view did you finally move.
You turned slowly, let yourself walk the last few steps to your building, and fumbled with the code on the door twice before getting it right. Your fingers didn’t work properly. Your brain certainly didn’t.
Inside, the air felt colder than you expected. Or maybe that was just your skin trying to forget the way his hand held the back of your head.
You dropped your bag at the entrance. Your coat somewhere near the couch. Your shoes half-on, half-off by the mat.
And then you just stood there.
Completely and utterly flabbergasted.
What the hell had just happened?
You touched your lips. Once. Lightly. Like you could still trace the shape of him there.
This was a joke. It had to be.
No.
This was your life.
You spun in place, hair swishing with the motion, like pacing would make your thoughts more manageable.
It didn’t.
He kissed you. Again. And it wasn’t some lingering almost-moment. Not some near miss like before. No. It was real. It happened.
And you let it happen.
You kissed him back. Oh God, what have you done? You should’ve kept your mouth shut. Never said anything. To anyone. Ever. In fact, you believe you should’ve just been able to speak ever again.
You groaned and collapsed face-first onto the couch, muffling a scream into the nearest cushion.
What were you supposed to do now? Text him? Pretend it never happened? Throw your phone into the sea? Take a rocket and launch yourself into space and disapear forever?
You rolled over dramatically, now staring at the ceiling, limbs sprawled in defeat.
Should you call Evi?
No.
Yes.
No. Definitely not. She would ascend into a whole different plane of existence if she found out. You could already hear her voice in your head, pitch climbing with every syllable:
“YOU DID WHAT? With PARK JIMIN?! Girl, are you INSANE?”
You covered your face with both hands.
God. This was bad. This was… good? No. Complicated. This was very complicated.
And you were very possibly losing your mind.
You hadn’t even taken your makeup off. Your phone buzzed against your thigh, and you flinched like it had burned you.
But it wasn’t him.
Of course it wasn’t.
You lay there for another minute before sitting up and grabbing your phone anyway. You opened your notes app and typed exactly two words:
He kissed me.
Then you stared at them.
Then you deleted them.
Then you opened a new note:
What the fuck is happening.
You closed the app.
Typed Evi’s name in your contacts.
And stared.
You hadn’t done anything wrong.
Right?
But why did it feel like your entire body was filled with static electricity?
You groaned again and launched yourself backward onto the couch. You needed to sleep. Or scream. Or invent a time machine.
Anything but this.
Your phone buzzed again.
This time, not a message. A FaceTime.
My one and only true love is FaceTiming…
You screamed.
Not a little gasp, not a startled “oh”—a full-on, sharp yelp that shot out of you like a reflex. The sound echoed off your apartment walls, and you instantly slapped a hand over your mouth.
Your thumb still hit "accept."
Evi’s face exploded onto the screen, perfectly framed and flawless. Hair smooth and curled at the ends, lips lined with something expensive and terrifyingly red. Her brows looked like they were carved by gods.
“Why are you screaming like someone broke into your house?” she asked, calmly sipping from a matcha glass.
You blinked at her. “I thought you were a murderer. Or my boss.”
“Charming. This is the welcome I get?”
“You scared the hell out of me.”
“You scare easily for someone who’s been hiding a man in her apartment.”
Your soul left your body.
You coughed. “What—what are you talking about?”
“Oh, don’t play dumb.” She leaned in dramatically. “I know that look. You’re flushed. Your hair’s doing that thing it does when you’re stressed but trying not to look stressed. Your eyes are twitchy. And unless it’s -3 degrees outside, that red on your cheeks isn’t from the cold.”
You adjusted your phone. “It is cold.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And yet you don’t look frozen. You look freshly kissed.”
You made a noise that wasn’t a laugh or a protest—just a long, whimpering exhale.
“Y/N,” she said slowly. “Was someone at your place again since yesterday?”
You said nothing.
“Someone tucked your blanket,” she continued. “Someone made you ramen. Someone bought you Pocari Sweat. You don’t even like Pocari Sweat. You drink it once a year and call it a ritual. And today you are jumpy and blushing. Spill, bitch. ”
You buried your face in your hand. “You are so dramatic.”
“I am your best friend. I’m allowed to be. Was it someone from work?”
“Evi…”
“Was it one of the boys?” Her eyes widened, manic energy building. “Wait. DON’T tell me. Blink once for yes, twice for no. Scratch your nose if it’s complicated.”
You burst out laughing, but it was too late—your fingers had brushed your cheek.
“I KNEW IT!”
“That was not a signal.”
“Too late. Evidence locked in.”
“Jesus Christ.”
She grinned at you. “Tell me everything.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“That’s a lie and you know it.”
You stared at her through the screen. Your cheeks still felt warm. Your mouth—God, your mouth—still tingled faintly. Like the memory of his lips hadn’t quite left yet.
She tilted her head. “Was it good?”
You sighed. “You’re impossible.”
“Not a no.”
“Stop it.”
“I’m just saying—if someone kissed me and they were as hot as they sound, I would spiral, like, immediately.”
“Oh, I already spiraled.”
She beamed. “That’s my girl.”
There was a beat of silence, then her voice softened.
“You okay, though?” She dropped the subject just like that. She knew better then to press you. And she also knew when you were not jokinly freaking out.
You looked away. Then back. “I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
She didn’t push. She didn’t fill the silence with noise like she normally would. Just… nodded. Like that was enough.
“Thank you,” you said quietly.
“Of course,” she replied. Then, after a pause: “Can I complain about my neighbor now?”
You blinked. “Absolutely.”
She launched into it instantly. “So this morning? He started blasting Cupid at seven a.m. again. Not even the good version—the sped-up TikTok remix. While dancing. In a tutu. On his balcony.”
You snorted. “Still the same three songs?”
“On a loop. My brain is bleeding. My sanity is held together by two hairpins and a dream.”
You grinned.
She leaned closer to the screen. “I’m serious. If I disappear one day, avenge me. I’ll be the one under the floorboards of his playlist.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah, but you love me.”
You nodded. “I do.”
“And when you’re ready,” she said, “I want the whole story. Over wine. With snacks. And a cheap galaxy projector.”
You smiled, eyes soft. “Deal.”
“Miss you.”
“Miss you too.”
She gave you a long look, like she was reading every emotion off your face, then winked and hung up—leaving you in the quiet again.
Every element had fallen into place, the sun-drenched ceremony, the candlelit reception, the midnight fireworks painting the sky over Provence.
For (Y/n), it had been a triumph, not just professionally, but personally too. She’d held her composure from start to finish, even when Lando helped her with the floral disaster.
They’d had that small conversation, charged, unfinished, and then the night had swept on.
She’d barely seen him after the first dance.
Now, weeks later, life at Maison de Lys had returned to its usual whirlwind pace.
New clients. New projects. New deadlines.
But some days, she still caught herself thinking back.
To Lando’s words. To the look in his eyes. To the fact that, somehow, their paths kept crossing no matter how much time passed.
Late June sunlight poured through the studio windows as (Y/n) worked through her latest set of mockups, lace-edged invitations, mood boards in pale blue and silver.
A knock sounded at the door.
Before she could answer, Celeste breezed in from the front reception, grinning. “You’ll want to come out here.”
(Y/n) blinked. “Why?”
“Just... come.”
She followed her co-planner to the main sitting area, and stopped short.
There stood Kelly, radiant even in casual clothes, with Max at her side—one arm cradling a tiny bundle in pink.
Penelope skipped along in front, holding a small bouquet of wildflowers.
“(Y/n)!” Kelly beamed. “We wanted to stop by, and introduce someone.”
(Y/n)’s heart swelled as she approached.
“Meet Lily Verstappen,” Kelly said softly, eyes shining. “You didn’t get to meet her before because we didn’t want to stress her out, being moved from place to place during the wedding. But now that everything’s settled, we brought her so you could finally meet her.” (Y/n) gasped, her smile breaking wide. “She’s beautiful.”
Kelly laughed. “Thanks to her dad’s genes.”
Max rolled his eyes affectionately. “She was right, (Y/n), the wedding was perfect. We can’t thank you enough.”
“You two made it easy,” (Y/n) replied, her voice warm. “And congratulations, truly.”
She gently touched Lily’s tiny hand, marveling at the softness.
Celeste slipped away to grab coffee for the couple, leaving them chatting.
“We’re settling back into life with the baby,” Kelly said. “But Max had to come thank you in person. He’s still telling everyone about the fireworks.”
“They were his one request,” (Y/n) teased.
As they laughed together, she felt a deep sense of contentment. Weddings came and went, but moments like this stayed with her.
That afternoon, as the Verstappens left, offering hugs and promises to return with baby updates, (Y/n) was quickly pulled back to reality.
Her newest clients, an heiress couple from Paris, were proving... difficult.
Every decision came with last-minute changes. Every color palette sparked debate. Every menu item got revised again and again.
Even her most patient vendors were reaching their limits.
And (Y/n)? She was nearing exhaustion.
Celeste noticed, of course.
“You need a break,” her co-planner said bluntly one afternoon, watching (Y/n) rub her temples. “A real one. Not just a quick coffee.”
(Y/n) sighed. “There’s too much going on—”
“That’s exactly why,” Celeste insisted. “That couple is going to drive you into the ground. You need to shake it off before they do.”
(Y/n) smiled tiredly. “And how do you suggest I do that?”
Celeste’s grin turned sly.
“Easy,” she said. “Blind date.”
(Y/n)’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Celeste said. “One of my friends set it up. He’s normal, charming, single, not a client or vendor. Just... trust me.”
“Celeste—”
“No arguments,” her friend said firmly. “You need a night that’s not about table linens or cake tiers. The place is booked. I’ll text you the address. Wear something nice. Go.”
Before (Y/n) could protest further, Celeste walked off, victorious.
That Friday night, against her better judgment, (Y/n) found herself standing in front of Le Jardin Noir, one of Monaco’s trendiest new restaurants.
The early summer air was warm. The scent of jasmine drifted through the cobbled streets.
She wore a soft silk dress in emerald green, nothing too flashy, but elegant enough for the setting.
Her nerves hummed. She hadn’t done this in so long.
As she stood waiting, checking her phone for any updates, her breath caught.
A familiar engine purr echoed up the street.
Moments later, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb.
And out stepped—
Lando.
(Y/n)’s heart nearly stopped.
He looked equally shocked when he spotted her, pausing mid-step, eyes wide.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then, after a beat, he crossed the pavement toward her.
"(Y/n)," he said slowly. "What are you doing here?"
She blinked, trying to recover. “I... have a blind date.”
His expression darkened faintly.
He exhaled, running a hand through his curls. "Yeah. I know."
That caught her off guard. "What?"
Lando looked pained. “The guy you were supposed to meet? He’s on my PR team. When I found out the name, (Y/n) (L/n), I locked him in meetings the rest of the night.”
Her mouth opened, then closed. "You what?"
He spread his hands. "I’m sorry. But... I couldn’t let it happen."
A flush rose to her cheeks, part anger, part confusion.
She gathered her purse, ready to leave. “Then I’ll go.”
But Lando stepped into her path gently, voice soft. "Please. Stay. Just... have dinner. With me."
She hesitated, heart pounding.
"You don’t owe me anything," he added quickly. "But if you walk away now... I think we’ll both regret it."
(Y/n) studied him for a long moment.
Part of her wanted to flee, to run from whatever this was.
But another part, the part that remembered their almost-conversations, the way he’d helped her at the wedding, the look in his eyes, held her still.
Finally, with a quiet breath, she nodded.
"Okay," she said. "Dinner. Just dinner."
Relief flickered across his face.
He offered his arm, an old habit. And to her surprise... she took it.
They settled into a private booth near the back, soft lighting casting shadows over dark wood and velvet.
The tension between them was palpable, but not hostile.
They ordered wine. Small plates.
For a while, they made awkward small talk, safe topics. Travel. Work. Racing.
But as the meal unfolded, one glass of wine turning into two, the walls began to lower.
Lando leaned back, watching her with a thoughtful gaze.
"You’ve changed," he said softly.
She tilted her head. "You said that once before."
"I meant it," he replied. "You’re... stronger. More sure of yourself."
Her cheeks warmed.
"You too," she admitted. "You’re not... the same either."
A small smile tugged at his lips. "I stopped trying to prove something."
(Y/n) sipped her wine. "The tabloids would disagree. ‘Lando Norris and new mystery girl’—they still print that weekly."
He huffed a laugh. "Not like it used to be. The flings were... noise. A distraction."
He glanced at her, eyes steady. "None of them meant anything."
A beat.
"You change," he added, voice lower now, "into people that love something like that."
Her breath caught faintly.
They stared at each other, words unspoken hanging between them.
Finally, she whispered, “So what are you trying to prove now?”
He gave a slow smile, soft, genuine.
"That I’m not the guy you ran from anymore."
Her heart skipped.
But before she could respond, the waiter appeared with dessert menus, breaking the moment.
She glanced down, trying to steady her racing pulse.
This was dangerous territory.
And yet, something inside her didn’t want the night to end.
As they left the restaurant hours later, the night air cooler now, Lando walked her to her car.
They paused beside it, lingering.
"I’m glad you stayed," he said quietly.
She nodded. "Me too."
For a long moment, neither moved.
Then, softly, Lando added: "Maybe... we could do it again sometime. No blind dates. Just us."
(Y/n)’s heart thudded.
She met his gaze, saw the sincerity there.
And after a long pause... she smiled.
"Maybe," she said.
She slipped into her car, closing the door.
But as she drove off into the Monaco night, her heart was lighter than it had been in months.
Maybe... just maybe... this wasn’t coincidence anymore.
📝 Note from the Author:
Hi again, my dearest Alarwynnites, yes, still me. Third post of the day, and I swear this one’s the last before I go touch grass or eat a nata de coco or something.
Now… on to tonight’s episode of “(Y/n)’s Life is a Rom-Com She Didn’t Sign Up For.” We had:
✅ surprise Verstappen baby drop-off
✅ a planner bestie casually throwing her to the wolves
✅ hijacked blind date courtesy of one curly-haired F1 driver
✅ and two emotionally constipated people trying so hard to act normal over wine and tiramisu
At this point, I’m not even writing. I’m just the vessel. These characters are driving the car while I scream directions from the back seat.
And before anyone grabs pitchforks or sliding into my inbox with “UM, THIS FEELS FAMILIAR”, yes. This book is proudly inspired by everlovingdeer and her brilliant one-shot Love and All Things Fake. You can visit her on Wattpad and read it there, it’s gorgeous, vulnerable, and stunning in all the right ways.
If this gives “plagiarism” energy to you, please just say it. I’m not here to fight. I’ll delete everything, wave a tiny white flag, and start a new story about dragons or baristas or dramatic cowboys in the snow. It’s that easy.
But if you’re still here reading? If you’re still here rooting for this sunshine-and-sass duo? Thank you. Truly. You, my beloved Alarwynnites, are the reason I keep hitting “post” again and again.
The following week passed with quiet tension threading through (Y/n)’s days.
She had thrown herself back into work, wrapping up loose ends for the Parisian couple’s chaotic wedding plans, juggling emails, meetings, and vendor calls. But no matter how much she distracted herself, her mind kept circling back.
To that night.
Dinner with Lando had been... unexpected.
She had walked in ready to escape, angry at Celeste for setting her up, furious at Lando for meddling. But by the end of the evening, her walls had softened.
The man who had once been the center of her world, who’d scared her heart, was no longer the brash, fast-living boy she remembered. There was something steadier beneath the surface now. A quiet honesty.
And that terrified her.
Because deep down, a part of her wasn’t sure she could resist him a second time.
It was a Wednesday afternoon when the text came through.
Lando: Dinner this weekend? No blind dates. Just us. No pressure.
(Y/n) stared at her phone for a long moment, heart thudding.
Part of her wanted to say no. To keep her distance. To protect herself.
But another part, the part that remembered his soft smile, the way he’d said I’m not the guy you ran from anymore, wanted to see if that was true.
After several minutes of indecision, she typed back:
(Y/n): Okay. Dinner.
The reply came almost instantly:
Lando: Saturday? I’ll pick you up.
She hesitated, then gave him the address to her apartment.
When Saturday arrived, her nerves were in overdrive.
Celeste had spotted her trying on dresses in the office mirror that afternoon and smirked knowingly.
“Someone’s got plans,” she teased.
“It’s just dinner,” (Y/n) replied quickly, smoothing her skirt.
“Mmhmm,” Celeste said, unconvinced. “You sure about that?”
(Y/n) ignored her, trying to focus.
It wasn’t a date. Just dinner. Right?
At exactly seven-thirty, her doorbell rang.
(Y/n) smoothed her hands over her simple black wrap dress, slipped on her heels, and opened the door.
Lando stood there, neat in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, dark slacks. No wild curls or racing hoodie tonight.
He smiled, soft, uncertain. “You look beautiful.”
Heat rose to her cheeks. “You clean up well too.”
For a beat, they just stood there, nerves crackling between them.
Then he gestured to the car parked below. “Shall we?”
(Y/n) nodded, grabbing her clutch.
They drove to La Petite Lumière, a quiet restaurant tucked in the old quarter, intimate, understated, far from the flashy spots he used to frequent.
The table was already set when they arrived, low candles, fresh flowers.
(Y/n) glanced at him as they sat. “I’m impressed. I thought you’d pick something louder.”
Lando smiled faintly. “Loud was... who I thought I needed to be.”
Her heart twisted softly at that.
They ordered, simple dishes, a bottle of wine. Conversation started haltingly, but gradually eased.
They talked about their careers, his relentless travel schedule, her latest weddings. He asked about her favorite events, her hardest clients.
In turn, she asked about racing life, how he balanced the constant demands, the media frenzy.
He was honest in a way he hadn’t been before, less bravado, more depth.
“It gets tiring sometimes,” he admitted. “The image. The pressure. The expectations.”
She tilted her head. “So why keep doing it?”
He gave a small smile. “Because when I’m on track, everything else fades. It’s the only place that’s... quiet.”
For a moment, they just looked at each other—understanding passing between them.
Later, over dessert, chocolate torte and coffee, he leaned in slightly.
“I meant what I said the other night,” Lando said quietly. “I don’t want to be that guy anymore.”
(Y/n) swallowed. “It’s not about what I want. It’s about what you want.”
He nodded slowly. “That’s why I’ve taken a step back. Slowed down. You were right... back then. I built everything around you. And when you left... I didn’t know how to be on my own.”
Her chest tightened.
He studied her face. “I don’t blame you anymore.”
(Y/n)’s breath caught.
“And I don’t want to force anything now,” he added softly. “I just... want us to be honest.”
She looked down at her coffee, emotions swirling.
“I’m still scared,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Of... falling again.”
Lando reached across the table, fingertips brushing hers gently.
“Then we’ll take it slow,” he said simply. “No expectations. Just... us.”
Her gaze lifted, meeting his.
For a long moment, neither spoke. But something eased between them, an old tension melting away.
Maybe it wasn’t a date.
But it wasn’t just dinner anymore either.
They left the restaurant under the soft glow of streetlamps, strolling back to the car.
As they reached her apartment building, Lando hesitated beside her door.
He didn’t press for more. Didn’t lean in. Just smiled, a real, unforced smile.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “For tonight.”
(Y/n) smiled back, heart warm. “Thank you.”
A pause. Then:
“Can I call you?” he asked.
She bit her lip, then nodded. “I’d like that.”
His smile deepened, relief flickering in his eyes.
“Goodnight, (Y/n),” he said gently.
“Goodnight, Lando.”
As she closed the door behind her, leaning back against it, her heart was racing.
This wasn’t what she had expected.
But for the first time in a long time... maybe that was okay.
📝 Note from the Author:
Hello, my dearest Alarwynnites!!!
I'm so glad you're still here, and honestly, I don’t know how you haven’t packed your bags and left after all the emotional whiplash I keep putting you through. But thank you. Truly. For staying, for reading, for breathing life into this story with every comment, vote, and read.
Now, let’s talk about this chapter. I mean, who knew “just dinner” could feel like a psychological thriller with emotional tension thick enough to cut with a spoon? 😭 (Y/n) swears it's not a date, Lando's out here soft-launching his redemption arc, and Celeste deserves her own award for calling it from a mile away. Honestly, if Lando ever figures out how to stop being so unintentionally romantic, I’ll personally have him tested.
Also, huge shoutout and heartfelt credit to everlovingdeer from Love and All Things Fake on Wattpad. Her writing inspired this scene and helped guide the emotional pacing. Please check out her works, they’re beautifully written and deserve all the love. 🌷
And finally, if anything in this feels like plagiarism or any kind of creative theft, please don’t hesitate to comment. I’ll take it down ASAP, no questions, no drama, no plot twist needed. 😂 Let’s keep this a safe space for all writers.
So, this happened. Two of my oldest Angeleno friends randomly showed up at the show my friend and mentor David Razowsky was unexpectedly doing at the same theater I was performing at tonight!! COG Reunion in CAMBRIDGE!!!! #trans #adventurer #improviser #storyteller #COG #improv #oldfriends #unexpectedreunion (at ImprovBoston)
I always admire people who are gifted to take wonderful photographs. 👌😉 Glad to see you Sir @damboombastic and your wifey. 😄💜 #Unexpectedreunion #lovelycouple
Still extremely ecstatic and grateful that @sunnytellone made the 4 hour drive from LA to Vegas to visit for the day! 🙈😍 she will forever be one of my favorite people! 😘 love you, Stellone! #unexpectedreunion #loveher #lovedourcatchup #catchupsesh (at Cabo Wabo Las Vegas)
Ace leaned back on his Striker as he sailed through the New World, he could already see his next island, he just hoped there weren’t many marines there, he didn’t want to get discovered just yet. Truthfully, he was enjoying being ‘dead’ with his little brother already starting a commotion in Sabaody, he should be safe for now. Not that they were really expecting him to be alive, that thought made him chuckle for a bit. He had so many regrets during the war that he almost died at, where his baby brother almost died at, where pops and his twin, Trace, died at. It was nice having a laugh again, he only started smiling a few months ago, both Luffy and him having a hard time letting go of their brother and him having to let go of Whitebeard. It was one of the hardest things for him to deal with. That’s why he was grateful to Marco for giving him some time away from the pirates and keeping the truth about him to himself. He knew that if the Whitebeard Pirates new he was still alive, they would chase him down until they found him, and he just couldn’t have that. He’ll go back once he’s ready, but not before he was ready.
Closing his eyes for a moment, he took a deep breath and relaxed. It was weird sailing in the Striker all alone, not knowing when he’d see his brothers again. He was so used to it, having to sail both with his twin and adoptive brothers. But he couldn’t say it was a bad thing. He spent two years with Luffy and one and a half with Rayleigh while they were training, he wanted to be alone for a while. Maybe it was a selfish wish, but after all that he’s been through, it was only natural for him to want to be alone. He didn’t want his brothers to see him in this state, where he was feeling guilty. Even though he actually had gotten a lot better, he still felt so guilty! He was saved, it was a miracle, because he was sure that he would have died. He owed Trafalgar Law his deepest gratitude for saving him and Luffy, but the surgeon hadn’t saved Trace. They said there wasn’t anytime for them to go after his twin, Jinbei just grabbed Luffy and him and left. He couldn’t exactly blame Jinbei for leaving his brothers body behind, since he thought both of them were already dead and Jinbei and Luffy were in grave danger. He just wished he hadn’t done something as foolish as going after that bastard Teach!
Shaking his head to get rid of his thoughts, he focused on the island coming to view. It was a fair sized island with a lot of forests, it would be perfect for escape if he got found out. Not that he was particularly scared of the marines, he was a lot stronger than he was two years ago, there was no way he couldn’t take them on. He just didn’t want to cause trouble for himself so early on in his journey and being found alive at a time like this would suck big time. Only a handful of people even knew he was alive and he wanted to keep it that way. Sliding his Striker over to the docks, he secured his hat over his face and his shirt over his torso and jumped off his boat. He could see that there were a lot of marines on the island, which made him grimace. He was so grateful he had his hat and shirt right now to hide himself. It was an even bigger advantage to him that his shirt’s sleeve managed to cover his ASCE tattoo, it would definitely buy him some more time if one of the marines actually managed to recognize him, they’d too confused to act. Grinning to himself, he walked right through town, happy that no one had managed to identify him yet.
