#guess I’ll have to figure something else out

[justnatoka]

Letting go

Poly! Lost Boys x GN! Reader

A/n: I'll be honest. With angst, I'm always afraid that it somehow turns out more melodramatic than serious. So writing this was a bit of a rollercoaster. It has been sitting in my drafts for a while, and every time I came back to it, I was feeling different about it. At first I liked it, then not so much, then even less, at some point having no idea if it will even turn into something that makes sense. In the end, somehow it still turned into a fic I actually like. That's just what the writing process is all about I guess.

Word count: 3k

Warning: angst, bittersweet (hopeful?) ending

Prompt: “I’ll survive. Somehow I always do.”

The sudden appearance of a threat from your past forces you to make a hard decision.

It was by pure chance that you caught his scent. He probably thought that the crowds and myriad smells of the boardwalk – the buttery aroma of popcorn, the sweetness of cotton candy, the salty ocean air and the sourness of human sweat – would mask his natural odor. And with good reason. It was the slightest change in wind direction that alerted you to his presence, a lucky coincidence that he couldn’t have anticipated. Had it not been for that, you probably wouldn’t have noticed him at all, not before it was too late. And there were too many instances of it almost being too late. He was a pro after all, he had surprised you before, and each time someone else paid the price. You wouldn’t let that happen this time.

“We need to leave.”

The casual chatter immediately died down around you, four pairs of eyes searching your face curiously. All they could find was grave seriousness with a hint of panic as you anxiously searched the crowd, looking for even just a glimpse of that familiar and dreaded figure.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Are you alright?” Dwayne’s gentle voice brought your attention back to them, their faces full of concern now as they noticed your quick and shallow breathing and shaking hands.

“No, I’m not. We need to go back to the cave. Right now.” Punctuating the last two words, you wasted no time, and headed for the bikes, quickly hopping onto David’s. Your urgent tone did the job as the boys followed close behind. David got on in front of you, your arms quickly wrapping themselves around him, seeking comfort and stability. But you knew you were rapidly losing both.

“We’ll talk about this when we get back.” His tone equaled yours in seriousness, and you felt your skin crawl with the uncomfortable anticipation of what was to come. But that was a matter for later, right now you just wanted to get as far away from here as possible. You couldn’t leave the boardwalk fast enough.

The ride back was tense. No cheers, no laughter this time, no enjoying the speed. They knew something was very wrong, your fear making them unnerved as well. You were stiff as a board behind David, always anticipating something to happen, your head whipping around in a blind search for some unseen danger. On one hand, you couldn’t wait to reach the safety of the cave, your home that you shared with your lovers for almost a decade. It has been so long. You genuinely thought you were finally safe, that you didn’t have to run anymore. And even though you wanted to get back as quickly as you could, the ride home also couldn’t be long enough. Because you knew what you had to do when you arrived. You tried to get yourself ready mentally, but felt like your world was falling apart around you too quickly. Before you knew it, you were slowing down.

After parking the bikes, you made your way down to the cave. Going at the front, you could feel their eyes on your back, you could feel the tension radiating off of David, the anxious energy coming from Paul.

As soon as your feet hit the cave floor, you headed for your nest, the place you shared with your boys. You tried not to think too much about how you have to rip yourself out of that intimate little safe haven as you started packing your stuff together.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, sugar!” Marko’s sound of alarm alerted the others, and the next second a hand grabbed your arm, stopping your movements.

“What do you think you’re doing?” David’s eyes were swimming in emotions as you turned to look into them, confusion chased by a protective urge to eliminate the threat that had you so freaked out. And behind it all, even though he tried to hide it, you could see fear. He was scared that whatever was happening, it would change everything.

“Please let me go.” Your voice shook as you struggled to keep your composure. You didn’t want to break down, not if you really planned to go through with this.

“…are you leaving us? You’re not, right? Right?” There was hesitation in Paul’s voice and silent hoping on his face as he tried to cling to the smallest of chances that they were interpreting the situation wrong. But the moment you met his eyes, he saw the answer in them clear as day, and his expression crumbled, beautiful blue eyes already filling with tears as reality started to register to him. You knew then that your composure was out the window. Your lower lip began to tremble and you averted your gaze, not being able to look at him anymore.

“Why?” Marko’s fists were shaking as he spoke, not knowing what to do with the anger that was slowly boiling up inside him. He was angry at you, but more so at the nameless, faceless entity that caused your distress, forcing your hand to make this decision in the first place. In the back of his mind however, a small and ugly voice reared its head. His voice was a low rumble, thick with emotion as he asked, “Why are you doing this? You don’t love us anymore?”

You couldn’t hold yourself back. You dropped your bag on the floor and rushed over to him, enveloping him in a hug and cradling his head, burying your face in his neck as he desperately clung to you.

“Of course I still love you. I love all of you so much. Don’t you ever doubt that. That’s why I don’t have a choice.” Tears were stinging your eyes, but your voice was strong as you tried to reassure him with all your power, even though you knew you were breaking his heart. Even if it was the last thing you did for them, you had to make sure he understood how much they meant to you.

A hand landed on your shoulder, Dwayne’s voice resonating in your ear. “Please, talk to us. What’s wrong?”

You entangled yourself from Marko, but he was gripping your hand tightly as you turned around, fearing that you would disappear if he let go. You looked up at Dwayne, his eyes pleading with you to explain. He wanted to know the problem, so he can help you solve it, like he always did. Your gaze found Paul, then David, all of them waiting for an explanation. You knew you owed them that much.

Letting out a shaky breath, you began to talk. “There’s a hunter after me.” The declaration made all of them tense up. “He’s been following me for decades, chasing me all across the country. After coming to Santa Carla, I’ve been on edge for months, waiting for him to show up, but he never did.” You breathed out a pathetic little laugh. ”Then I met you guys, and I finally let myself feel at ease. I really thought I managed to lose him this time. That’s why I freaked out when I caught his scent at the boardwalk earlier.” Your voice strengthened with newfound resolve, steeling yourself for what you have to do. ”I can’t stay here anymore. I can’t let you all get caught up in this mess.”

David was listening to you in silence, his face growing more serious with each word. You could feel him slowly closing in on himself.

“But we could help you. There’s five of us and just one of him. With all of us together we can kill the bastard,” Marko argued, ready to go and jump into battle at you’re slightest sign of approval. Paul was nodding vehemently in agreement.

“I’ve heard that before and it never ended well.”

“You don’t even want to try? Are you willing to just throw this away so easily?” Marko was getting agitated, basically yelling at this point.

“Don’t you understand? I can’t afford to try! You don’t think I had tried to fight before? Of course I did!” Your voice was also rising in volume, desperation filling your lungs. “I fought so hard, tried to save every other vampire who gave me shelter before. The only reason they got exposed was because I was there. If I wasn’t, they wouldn’t have gotten caught up in this, and then maybe they wouldn’t have-“

A sob escaped your throat, unable to finish the sentence. You felt two strong arms wrap themselves around you as you started to shake, guiding you to the couch before all strength left your legs. You curled in on yourself as you cried against Dwayne’s chest. Gentle hands were rubbing your shoulders, wiping the tears from your face, running through your hair in soothing caresses, and through the haze of your grief and overwhelming guilt you faintly registered Paul and Marko’ presence next to you.

“I can’t lose you too, I couldn’t live with myself,” you cried in their embrace, their tender attention only making the ache in your chest ten times worse. They were so good to you, even though you were causing them so much pain.

They sat with you, whispering words of reassurance, all the while battling with their own thoughts. They didn’t want to accept this outcome where you had to leave them, even if you did it to protect them. Your presence took up too much of their lives and their hearts to just let this go.

After your sobs quietened to sniffles and shaky breaths, David finally spoke up.

“We can’t change your mind, can we?” He sounded resigned. He already knew there was no turning back to the way things were, even if the others still tried to fight it.

“You can’t be serious!” Marko turned to him vehemently.

“Marko, stand down,” David barked, the frustration evident in his voice. “Our love has clearly made a decision. We can’t force them to stay if they want to leave so bad.”

Even though this was exactly what you wanted, you couldn’t help but flinch a bit at the edge in his voice. So this was it, you thought, he was shutting you out, closing his walls around himself. You tried to ignore the little sting you felt somewhere deep inside you when he didn’t even look at you as he said it.

Marko looked lost as he turned from David to Dwayne to you, searching for any small reason he can still cling to, but found none. And he finally deflated when Dwayne added, “It’s what’s best for them.”

The silence that followed felt heavy with grief and heartbreak, and although you knew it was the best thing you could do, you couldn’t stop the constant fall of tears silently rolling down your cheeks. You heard Paul sniffle behind you where he was resting his forehead against your shoulder, breathing in your scent for as long as he could. Marko was holding onto your hand again, his thumb rubbing your knuckles in a soothing motion. You weren’t sure if it was meant for you or for himself. Dwayne pressed a kiss against the crown of your head where it was still buried in his chest. You all needed a few moments to take in each other’s presence and just exist, allowing yourselves a fleeting semblance of peace before it all fell apart.

“However.” Your gaze wandered back to David, and the look in his eyes struck something deep within you. “We let you go on one condition,” he held up a finger, and you stiffened, sitting up straighter. “You have to promise to come back.”

There was no hesitation in his voice as he said it, his gaze holding onto yours the whole time. You felt the need to blink a few times.

“I can’t promise that,” you looked at him confused. “As long as he lives I can’t come back here. I can’t risk that.”

“Promise that you will come back,” he continued, unwavering. “Do what you have to do, find a way to kill him, then come back to us.”

The way his eyes softened at that last part made your stomach flip. At the small tug on your finger you turned to Marko, his gaze full of emotion.

“Promise?”

“I can’t,” you answered, your voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper. “There’s no guarantee I would even come back. I can’t make you wait for me for eternity in the hopes that nothing bad happened to me.”

“You won’t make us do anything,” Dwayne took over, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You made a choice to leave, so we made a choice to wait for your return.”

You were stunned. You tried to argue with him, but in the end you just closed your mouth. They were ready to let you go, even though you might never come back, even though it was breaking their own hearts. They loved you with all they had and were still willing to let you go so you could protect them. Not just that, they were willing to wait for you.

At that moment you realized you couldn’t run anymore. You can’t just leave, find a new place for a few years to hide then go on when he inevitably showed up again. You couldn’t let this go, couldn’t let them go. You had to fight him. You had to fight him and you had to kill him. It was the only way to come back to your boys, to live in peace without fear. Because even though the souls of the dead had been eating you from guilt, these boys were still alive. And as long as they are, they will be ready to welcome you back with open arms.

You pulled together the crumbs of your hope and determination, and decided to try once again, just one last time. You nodded slowly, the whispered “I promise” hung heavy in the silence of the cave.

It didn’t take long to pack your belongings. You didn’t have much, and what you did have was mostly stuff they gifted to you: a stuffed bear Dwayne won you at a game stall on the boardwalk, a bracelet Marko stole for you off of a tourist’s wrist after you commented on how much you liked it, a mixtape made by Paul of both of your favourite artists, a necklace David gave you when you joined the pack. Your bag was filled with trinkets and memories of your shared life. It gave you something to cling onto even though the future was full of uncertainty.

You desperately wanted more time, just one more day to spend with them, but you knew you needed to move fast. The hunter was already in Santa Carla, he probably already knew you were here. You didn’t dare risk him finding out about the boys too.

They accompanied you to the mouth of the cave. Looking out over the ocean, you took a big gulp of the fresh air and let it out in a shaky breath. You didn’t dare think about how you will accomplish what you had to do, the reality of that weighing heavy in the back of your mind.

Turning around, you let your eyes wander over you lovers once more, knowing that it might be the last time you ever see them. David looked back at you with a serious, determined expression, and you decided to ignore how the shadows seemed deeper on his face than you’ve ever seen before. He knew he had to be strong right now for all of you, and you were forever grateful for it. If he had shown even an ounce of doubt, you were sure you would have crumbled, giving access to the fear gnawing at your mind.

You stepped up to him first to say goodbye. His gloved hand came to rest against your cheek, and you leaned into his touch.

“When you’re done-“

“If.”

“When you’re done,” David continued undeterred, “with what you have to do, we’ll be right here, waiting for your return.”

Tears stung your eyes, but all you felt was overwhelming love for him.

“I will come back,” you whispered against his lips as you leaned in for one last kiss.

Next was Dwayne, eyes full of sorrow. You cradled his face in your hands, pulling him down, so you can press a kiss to the frown between his brows. He let out a deep sigh as you did, and you rested your forehead against his, both of you drinking in each other’s presence before you inevitably had to pull away.

Paul, always smiling, always laughing Paul was quiet. You gently ran your fingers through the messy hair on the side of his head, prompting him to look up at you. The second your eyes met, his lip began to tremble, and you leaned in to pepper soft kisses against it. His hands fisted your jacket as he pulled you closer, his mouth desperate against yours. Your heart broke a little when you pulled back, pressing one last peck on his cheek.

Lastly, you turned to Marko, who was so ready to jump into a fight for you head first, and now looked like he had no idea what to do. Before you could make a move, he threw himself at you, squeezing you against him with all his might. You hugged him back, burying your face into his shoulder, and you felt him do the same, inhaling your scent, committing it to his memory. You ignored the slight shake of his hands when he eventually let you go, instead pressing a gentle kiss against his forehead.

“What are you going to do? All alone against him,” he asked, needing some kind of reassurance that you will be alright.

You looked back at him with sad eyes.

“I’ll survive. Somehow, I always do.” It was all you could answer. But for the first time in a long while, the thought didn’t fill you with dread. Instead, something akin to hope was starting to sprout in the back of your mind. It was still a dainty little thing, but you were determined to let it blossom.

Still, as you stepped out into the night, you felt your heart break a little.

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[mins-fins]

˖ ࣪ .  the happiest day

❝ for on its wing was dark alloy, and as it fluttered-fell, an essence-powerful to destroy, a soul that knew it well. ❞ ─ edgar allan poe , 1827

warnings swearing, explicit language, implied sexual content, infidelity (sorta), unhealthy relationships, mentions of drug use, drinking, fighting, and one mention of child abuse. word count 7.3k.

JENO ABOUT FAINTS.

“i will have you know that you have the right to remain silent” detective qian crosses his arms above his chest, a spine-chilling, egregious figure intimidatingly prominent before him. it should instill its own feat of comfort, being met with somebody whose main course is to bring justice, gather evidence and solve the crime.

jeno feels all frightened, however, it’s the law, and you were..

“i’m sorry, it’s just a bit—“

“feel free to take your breaks” the crack of a few knuckles, jeno flinches, it’s cold, sweat endures across his perversely brisk skin, the perspiration clearly not giving him the best possible appearance. he already spent a good few hours sobbing his eyes out, sclera’s red beyond repair.

jeno braces himself, there isn’t going to be a hard hit, not a punch, nothing of innate violence, it’s just.. this.

“i wanna help any way i can”.

“of course, i’ll have you know that you are not under investigation for murder, this is basic interrogation protocol we do to everybody”.

“okay”.

jeno is unaware of why he whispers, afraid of something.

“what was your relationship with the victim?”

jeno pauses, the was is particularly perturbing in this instance, a term which jumps out and broadens the true occurrences of this situation. it dawns on him strangely, almost steadily, most would say several hours have already passed, but jeno barely perceives such a time gap until it suddenly consumes his reality overwhelmingly.

you were alive. then you were dead. now he’s here.

“we were friends, very close friends, i.. uh— i had a crush on him”.

it’s a bit embarrassing, juvenile, cheeks all pink in that inherently boyish constraint. jeno is often commended for his honesty, but for the longest time he could never really admit it to anybody, not even you yourself. yet everybody was aware, batted their knowing eyes and curt grins, those are simply the certain things you expect from people when you exhibit such damning behavior.

detective qian’s eyes practically glow at the given information, as if he had just struck gold, jeno barely even stated much..

well he supposes it is much, to him and the now warming blood in his heart.

“had?”

jeno is unsure what extent of the past tense he is even referring to, ‘had’ could encapsulate many things, your death, or the fact that he supposedly got over you.

he decides the second option is the most suitable.

“it was a childhood thing really, i grew out of it over time”.

terrific save jeno.

“huh” he doesn’t believe jeno, the discrete cock of his eyebrow is a bright, loud indication. “was that an unrequited crush?”

well jeno didn’t exactly expect that, it would be terrible for him if it had been, a true spurring detail that could easily brand him as suspect number one, a murder of outrage, jeno is sure that’s probably the easiest notice one could grab.

“well i don’t.. he never said, actually? we didn’t date ever we just— but i guess we kind of did have a relationship..”

you never named it anything, perhaps you simply enjoyed muddling things for him, jeno was enamored, you apparently had that all figured out at every singular glance.

“y/n didn’t like labels” he blurts, a bit outmoded, you would presumably be the slightest irritated at such a soundless giving of details, you’d glare, decorating the surface with the sheer docility your eyes hold. jeno always loved your eyes, they’ve been very intriguing for the several years you two had known each other. “and he wanted someone else anyway, didn’t even have to say it”.

jeno tries so hard, yet the explicit disdain pervades throughout his speech, his very own reply resulting in a slight agonizing squint. he too earns a squint, from the detective, much of an information dump, a scornful expression merely hidden with a sweet smile. “huh, well he seems a bit complicated”.

the chuckle jeno produces is comically dry, the true amusement impeding this situation could not be any farther away. “i didn’t hold it against him”.

“right, so what about the others then?”

“hm?”

“perhaps a disgruntled ex, a crazy one night stand, you have any names for me?”

well of course, he was so pissed when i came around, it would only make sense that he—

“no” jeno swallows, shaking his head. “yeah y/n has a couple terrible exes but they weren’t invited to the party, and if they did somehow show up he would’ve had someone kick them out anyway”.

jeno didn’t tell a whole lie, it was merely partial, a statement not all littered with fallacies. there’s an intolerable stir in his stomach when he even muses on throwing one of them under the bus, he’s sure they are all aware in their own right, every single one of them was there, present, but he feels much too..

he does the speculative squint, the narrowing of his eyes signaling suspicion over a claim that appears much too feasible in jeno’s own eyes,

but perhaps he doesn’t have much of an investigative mind.

“and when y/n passed?”

“i was.. god mark and hyuck were going at each other and jaemin was laughing instead of helping, chenle was cheering and i was trying to calm them down cause y/n would’ve never forgiven them if they got into a fist fight at his party” jeno slightly snickers at the recollection of you, of course you would be worrying over the state of your party rather than mark and donghyuck getting into a fist fight, you already had your bets set on mark winning anyway. “jisung was getting overwhelmed so he went upstairs and—“

“ah” but then the detective’s eyes widen, it is all for a simple reason really. “do you happen to recall where huang renjun was?”

jeno blanks. he.. doesn’t. that’s a bit strange.

he peers for a second too little, as if the moment will appear before his eyes in the manner of some movie flashback. he sees it all; mark and donghyuck screaming at the highest capacity their lungs could offer, jaemin watching with eyes encapsulated by his pure entertainment, chenle giggling, jisung practically on the verge of tears watching, jeno forcing himself in between the two quarreling.

huh. renjun wasn’t there.

he presumes his memory must be off.

“i don’t remember him being there now that i think about it..” jeno’s head is pivoting much too rapidly, growing dizzy despite the lack of clear movement. “i mean he did seem a little angry all night, his answers were snappy but i didn’t think much of it? sometimes he gets overwhelmed easily, besides renjun couldn’t—“

jeno stops himself.

what is he thinking? renjun is capable of a lot more than people expect, innocence never his forte.

“well i’m just curious, you’re much more honest than your little friend”.

now jeno is wondering how donghyuck must’ve relayed it.

but that contains little of true scrutiny, he wasn’t entirely honest either.

~

jeno had his final conversation with you not even an hour before you had been discovered.

11:16, he remembers, by that point in time his head had begun pounding, repetitive melodies drowning into the ear ringing background which he took in as his own. jungwoo had swayed his whole and dumped a shortened story about your clash with donghyuck because of course you two argued, jeno failed to completely hear it all.

“i think i might die”.

always the ever so spectacular, you slapped a hand over your forehead, a tentative habit made to supposedly aid with headaches. you mused to jeno that whenever your father had done it back in your turbulently ‘pain-stricken’ childhood all of the agony erased straight away, he is beginning to wonder how many of those moments could even be clarified in truth. your dad has irked him in every moment, as a child, even too in adulthood.

you were strange, in a frankly striking way which has always interested him.

“don’t do that, does it really even help?”

“you won’t know until you try it”.

jeno had tried it, having almost burst into tears once when he was going through one of the worst fevers life could offer.

it didn’t do shit, but at least you were there to cushion the pain and listen in on the endless rambling paired with sobbing that took place. you let him cry into your shoulder for hours before he was finally ready to take a nap, overwhelmed by it all.

“kinda looks like you’re just hurting yourself”.

“it’s a bit ironic”.

jeno does not recollect the moments in time that led to you two holding hands, but it began much rapidly and never had a sure explanation in his mind. “why’d you two fight again?”

you crinkled your nose at his tone, as if feigning annoyance. “there wasn’t even a reason, we just fight to fight really, sometimes i think it’s embedded in us or some shit”.

jeno has to admit, he giggled at that one.

“seriously, i’m so.. i don’t know, it’s always a thing with us, we argue and we just act like it’s normal”.

“well it sort of is for you two isn’t it?”

you squeezed his hand discreetly, almost glaring, though your eyes reserved that beauty they had in every gaze, jeno may have been just the slightest smitten. “i do love hyuck, you know, i get on his nerves and he gets on mine but it’s all in the name of sport or whatever, debating.. he doesn’t hate me”.

right, donghyuck had been careless with his words but when is he not? it could simply be the effects of knowing someone so closely for that long, but jeno was always aware he’s been a softie, never the toughest type, just stubborn.

“that’s a way to say it”.

“he was drunk”.

it was a minuscule moment where jeno heard you be unsure of yourself, that is much too atypical, he simply perceived everything as planned out in your very mind. “what the fuck am i even saying right? i need to lie down, vomit everything”.

you waved a shy hand as if surrendering, finally allowing your fingers to slip from jeno’s, he about complained, yet he stopped himself.

you rubbed your temples, one, two, three times, then your arms dropped where they had remained prior to the turbulent hand holding. “yeah, think i just miss my bed”.

“you alright?”

“of course i am, just got too drunk” jeno never assumed such a statement would ever escape your mouth, he always assumed your go to would be do now think later.

he realized then, and carries now, that such a prospect could not have been further from every other thing true to your nature.

of course he had to discern such a thing too late.

“do you want me to go with..?”

“no no it’s fine i’m not gonna sleep” you seemed as though you could slip at any moment, eyes having already begun to flutter, yet you pursued on. “a few minutes, i’ll come back downstairs, i’m sure you guys can entertain yourselves without me”.

a few minutes. a. few. minutes.

jeno blinked, a tight breath kept in his throat, he wanted to grab your hand, maybe follow behind you like a lost puppy for the rest of the party.

he should’ve.

“i’ll be fine, don’t worry about me”.

but jeno did, in every waking moment he had that sneaking voice alerting him that he should brood on the singular things you say. sometimes he wishes his mind didn’t expand in such a manner, there is only so much sure worrying you could do over so many words.

“you sure you won’t fall asleep?”

“yes, i have a sure point” you leaned in, a kiss on his cheek, your signature. “love you”.

“love you too”.

then jeno observed you rush upstairs, yearning to follow you, fingers hesitantly pinching at one another. he should have followed you.

he did not, alone time is alone time and you certainly did need it after hours spent downstairs practically driving yourself to insanity.

he supposes much more faith should be put in his own judgement.

JENO PRESUMES HIS MEMORY JUST ACTS AGAINST HIS WILL in most important moments, when he attempts to have a sane conversation with somebody or is simply trying to study, perhaps take an innocent shower. no. his mind dizzies with flurries images he feigns ignorance too, aptly spacing out midway through very pertinent minutes of life he shouldn’t be taking for granted. his pride shatters at each recollection, it’s humiliating, future mind readers possibly having a laugh at the dreadful nature reeling in his head.

jeno remembers the day you two slept together for the first time almost perfectly.

it happens to be that way due to the gravity that night holds, amusingly enough.

just blinks before his eyes every now and then, startling him at even the most mundane of moments, he’s beginning to believe he’s been rendered abnormal.

he almost too often harks back on it all, you pressing him into the doorframe, hands steady on his hips, then they began roaming, curving nails carving marks into its seams and hasty hands meandering to virtually rip his shirt from his chest. tripping over your very feet as you journeyed to his bedroom, disorderly, tangled, done through frankly idiotic giggles and extensive lip biting.

jeno recalls assuming such all to be a dream when it had happened, it’s the person he’d been essentially in love with for a time he barely comprehends displaying his innate desire point blank.

well it couldn’t have been any more crystalline.

jeno still presumed it was a dream whilst you two lied together, the flat of your palm resting atop his encased heart, the quickening beats per minute would have easily been observed, even soundly. you gazed up at the insipid ceiling, jeno’s vision continued blurring for some odd reason.

“how long were you planning on doing that?”

jeno glanced in your direction, immediately entranced by the just how simply you could behold such looks. the whole universe could be portrayed by the hue of your eyes alone, it’s fascinating, jeno could stare in them for hours.

your awareness appeared brightly, displayed in the manner you flicked him in the forehead, drawing a yelp. “you alive in there?”

“let a guy breathe dammit”.

“was it all you ever wished for?”

jeno always regarded himself as exceptionally hopeful, a true man of his word, all bright despite the disdain the world so tried to push atop him.

his eyebrows furrowed, they were never all detailed, jeno assumed the highest point possible would be imminent rejection, his virtue had torturously beaten such a thing into his head until he figuratively bled out on the floor with the blurring image of you beholding his gaze.

but you were there in his bed, jeno got the memo way too late.

it didn’t matter then, though.

“not exactly, more of dreamed”.

“wow, you weren’t wishing on a shooting star every night awaiting this very moment?”

jeno allowed a snort, what mattered was your delivery, not much pertaining to the true amusement the joke could hold in another setting. he just thought you were funny, explicitly funny, bounded to extensive sarcasm and self serving quips.

“you’re so full of yourself”.

your stare from that day was one jeno struggled to decode, jeno can visualize it all, your rings, a barrage of gold and silver that somehow fit together, your eyes, a massive spiral akin to photos captured of the milky way, the initial quirks of your smile which he couldn’t help but shy away from.

that hadn’t been the end of your night, though.

and jeno also had an inherent intrigue in something else his eyes could not even be forcefully pried away from.

he just couldn’t decipher why such a sight angered him as much as he recalls.

“you know what? we should go out”.

“go out? it’s almost midnight”.

but you’d already rolled out of your very comfortable spot in his bed, leaning over onto the floor where you began collecting the strewn variety in which your clothes littered around. it was all so simple to you, nothing of the innate embarrassment jeno could not his showcasing of.

you clicked your tongue, nose scrunched at the wrinkled nature your shirt posed. “it needs to be romantic, okay? can't believe i haven’t taken you out yet”.

“you don’t have to..”

you glanced again, almost amused before whistling. “what kind of person would i be? dinner is only a sure”.

“dinner? at this time?”

you tutted, willfully ignoring such a question as you stared down the articles of clothing, momentarily, jeno observed regret in your eyes, but then you smiled, as if nothing had happened at all, little lapse in your judgment. “you haven’t eaten dinner today, right? okay, i’m gonna go home and change into something more fitting, you wait for a phone call from me”.

jeno digested such said information gradually, as if somebody’s life was on the line or you could even really bide your time in that particular situation. you allowed the silence to hang, not one distinct blink that jeno can recall glimpsing, just.. staring.

occasionally, even without fault, you displayed a coy eeriness.

then the smile appeared once again, vibrant, way too pretty. “i’m taking you out on a date, stupid, wear something nice”.

it was all puerile, the way jeno grew flustered at the rustic words, his smile so faint-hearted, so cute. being treated is sweet, dates are absolutely to die for, if you hadn’t been there he would have little choice but to giggle to his heart’s content.

he may have been much too smitten by then.

FALLING OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH FOR A GOOD THREE AND A HALF months should be the most impractical of tasks to successfully accomplish, but you have never enjoyed taking no for an answer. jeno could mark several days leading up to that discrete moment that he assumed it was a farce, the dramatics of it all have always been your favorite, however, speculation drives you, countless people with your name on their tongue akin to adrenaline, a fix, the sort of drug you don’t just get from guys in shady alleyways, you have to do big to earn the attention you want, your sights had already been set.

it may have been one of your worst addictions, yet everybody handed such a fix to you on a silver platter. it extended from strangers to even those who were extensively close, donghyuck and chenle simply couldn’t resist, they presumed that you not being around meant that you would never figure out the tales they spewed.

but the words falling into your hands was inevitable.

well someone did know where you had disappeared off to in that time, jeno was aware because he kept most quiet during lunch story times, only ever observing idly, biting his tongue in order for the truth to not aptly slip from his lips. donghyuck and chenle spouted their ridiculous stories while jisung scrunched his nose because he liked to believe you were all perfect, the edges which rid your personality were nothing to the golden shade he admired you.

not even jeno was that naive.

“if it really was an overdose than his parents probably would’ve bled our ears to death with the news”.

“what makes you think they didn’t just cover it all up so their little gala would be spotless?”

“he didn’t even go!”

“well that proves my point genius!”

he thinks they were much too into it.

jaemin rolled his eyes at the remarks and went back to cooing at the stupid photos of his cats he adored so much, he always attempted the mysterious approach, jeno knew he had little of that in his true personality, he was simply peculiar in his own sense.

renjun sneered, the claims entertaining though increasingly tedious to hear of every single day. jisung kept the sugarcoating to an all time high, of course he did because how else would he cope? jeno loves jisung, but he could just never understand the leaps his mind had to take in order to paint you in such a bright light.

he remembers what you said a good month before your.. ‘break’ (if it could even be called that).

“what makes you think i can’t just disappear? pull a houdini and walk into a box to never come out?”

jeno gazed, your dazzling flair displayed in the manner you motioned your hands, like you really were about to pull a houdini and escape from handcuffs. you have wanted to be many things, an author, a magician, perhaps an actor, anything that would piss off your father extensively, witness such a turning frown sprout on his face when you became something he detested.

you adored his bubbling anger.

“well for starters, your parents would never support such a thing”.

“they don’t have to, they don’t know the half of it”.

jeno supposes you did have several secrets, but how much could your parents not know? sometimes he thinks they have cameras behind their eyes, especially your father, he can’t even begin to envision your relation, it’s all looks, your father’s got nothing of a picturesque personality.

you, however, had all of it.

“how dishonest can you be with your parents before they catch on?”

your smile from that specific moment perturbs jeno, strangely, there’s a possible horror there he lingers on for a sheer moment, then it all muddles itself into nothing. he stared at you, attempting to gauge out something from the shadow which cascaded over your intent.

“you’d be surprised”.

“but you’re so..”

jeno did not collect his words in time, instead remaining silently gobsmacked despite his clear desire to say something. the hefty terms sat atop his tongue, you didn’t long for the answer, rushing on over to the widely expanded kitchen where you began rummaging through cabinets.

“i’m so? don’t you go silent on me now”.

“so bright, yeah that’s the word.. it’d be a little useless knowing everybody would suspect something sinister”.

your eyes glistened with an ingrained want, a glowing need jeno didn’t need extensive academic credentials to understand. “well i want the attention, for one”.

of course, jeno was too busy observing other things to grasp that one.

the locket had been there for a while, jeno didn’t get you that. totally platonic friends can gift their fellow friends gifts such as that, but the heart and pristine golden engravings purportedly glared in his direction, as if mocking. messing around with others was a given, jeno should’ve known somebody else could capture your attention in such a fashion, get you a gift which practically screamed i’m better than you in his face.

every time he glanced, a confining curl of unwritten envy stabbed at his stomach, the gleam at the corner of his eye always alerting him that ‘exclusive’ was not a word in your vocabulary.

he tried to ignore it.

“seriously?”

you hummed, all cute, then holding up a vintage porcelain plate, the ridges a gold akin to your locket branded in a stylish circle. your nails did nothing against the ridges, it’s likeness reminded jeno of several old paintings, the same kind which adorned the walls of your parents home. “do you wanna know what’s special about this plate, jeno?”

jeno snorted, your smile remained, your surveying eyes fixed on the material which could only produce a giggle. jeno has had bright knowledge of your various laughs, you have certain ones you love to simply sprout. your giggles are important because he’s aware they’re genuine, your laughter is always transfixed on something, someone.

for the certain person, your laughter echoes distinctly.

only one of those laughs was ever as vibrant, though,

and it wasn’t for jeno.

“enlighten me”.

“this plate is a family showpiece, it carries a stupid amount of worth, the shit goes for five thousand at best, dad had it and his daddy had it and his daddy had it and so on and so forth, mother treats it as more of a child than me”.

“is this a story?”

“it’s pertinent” you very gently placed the valuable piece onto the counter, delicately, too out of fashion for somebody in your caliber. “if my parents care about this little plate so much, whose to say they’ll even notice i’m gone?”

“a plate is your ticket to disappearing?”

“it’s an idea”.

the apparent idea was an evident success, just how was the strange outcome.

when the two week mark passed, jeno realized you really did pull it off, disappearing without anybody.. including your parents, realizing where you had gone.

scratching behind his ear, he adjoined the conversation. “wouldn’t he be at the lake house then?”

donghyuck scoffed, squeezing his cheeks into an astounding vice grip; jeno didn’t recall him ever being particularly strong, but the shit hurt. “that’s the most obvious of places, it’s why we already verified he isn’t there!”

“maybe he left the country, went on an abrupt vacation”.

“by himself?”

“what is he, twelve? y/n can handle his own shit”.

“is this all you guys are gonna talk about? i’d rather hear mark impersonate a weatherman” renjun’s complaining was on par with how the whole situation stood out.

it wasn’t expressly urgent, not because you carried little importance, but because he knew you. you’d show up and create a spectacle for the love of everything dramatic, that’s just how you were.

jeno guesses he should’ve seen it coming.

YOU ALWAYS DID ENJOY A GOOD MYSTERY, AND LUCKILY YOU HAD BEEN BORN INTO a life which offered you several millions, enough for a fully crowded library in at least one of your parents assorted properties, an innate privilege most can dream of. it’s entertainment at its finest, you would always muse. someone dies, there’s a cast of quirky characters, maybe they’re trapped on a train, an island, snowed in at some tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere, it’s fun when there’s a stake.

there always is one with you.

when you were younger, you wanted to be an author, your mother went to college in hopes of someday getting out a book of her own. jeno only bears such facts in his mind due to your unabashed declaring of them to him whenever you decide you want to spend a good moment up in the clouds.

i found one of moms old drafts once, i thought it was genius, the best writing ever, i kept going back for seconds, all greedy and shit, you know? she wanted to write, but she ended up stuck with dad, stuck doing nothing important, left dreaming about the life she could’ve had if she kept punching at barriers. she made me think i could be an author too, then dad found out i said such a thing, of course he did cause he’d never let me live in peace, made sure i wouldn’t ever think of putting pen to paper, broke my right wrist, said if i cried he’d ‘make me wish i were dead’.

a typical person who understood what they truly experienced wouldn’t brush it off with a mere hand and some terse chuckles, as if it were funny, humorous, amusing, not extensively concerning because your parents should not be breaking your bones for something so small.

cannabis is where the true honesty lies.

that’s terrifying, something along those lines jeno had muttered, his reminiscing can be shifty, blurred.

but he does recall you laughing at it all, your ‘childhood memories’ holding nothing of the vibrance they should, especially for somebody in your situation.

“well at least i have money” and the books continued stacking, as if you were to climb them like a leader. jeno read the fine print embroidered over the covers as best he could, eyes opting to squint instead in order for the terms to appear somewhat readable. head up in the clouds, he snorted at nothing, merely your stack of several books, the stupid stack which practically towered over you, a staggering six feet.. or he thinks, jeno must’ve been too high, numbers appearing as whatever they pleased. “all because my daddy made an investment when he was eighteen, the wonders of the world!”

you had that knack, rambling, droning on and on about shit jeno could only stare idly at. occasionally his brain erased terms of importance, streaming words blurring into an extensive ear ringing pattern. he listened in various moments, wavering in and out of seeming consciousness.

you loved to talk, jeno always enjoyed listening.

giggles are endless when the weed settles, and jeno will admit that they were so fucking cute, it wasn’t just the expanded affection coloring his brain, anybody could admit you produced adorable noises. “well someday it may all just go”.

“when that happens i may just have to go with it”.

jeno recalls choking on nothing, the words slightly brightening despite the effect drugs clearly have on auditory nerves.. mostly. “is that a threat?”

“it’s a promise! anyway, let me tell you all there is about crooked house!”

it was a threat, not in the typical way threats are fashioned, and you could dish out some good ultimatums when you desired, it’s why jisung always jumped at the sight of your strangely crafted smile. jeno had no true fear of you, not whilst you lived anyway, you were simply.. well a bit freakish, not in accordance with someone like jaemin, jeno couldn’t exactly interpret the many lines which dealt themselves across your skin, all that determination instead focused on other aspects.

kissing was nice, giggling over weed as you two acted like everything was real and the illusion held up in some manner jeno almost wishes could crowd his facade. it was no secret that exclusivity made you feel all terribly, your stomach curling with that stupid heat which rendered one bed sick all day. you truly enjoyed the whole acting approach, it is not as if you were some emotionless bastard, far from it in fact, you just mused that life was too short for relationships to keep you bound indefinitely.

jeno simply got wrapped up in what you described as “all tumultuous”, enthralled by the picture of you, various perks he had been hooked upon ever since he realized that you do not have feelings like that for your regular platonic best friend when your in high school and he’s branded as whorish.

and every single time he glanced at the locket, he would hope to retch it all up, he couldn’t fathom such a gift simply tightening itself around his point of respiration. his gaze trained on it in every particular moment of importance, carvings taunting him.

“we should make cookies” you lept from your spot instantly, almost tripping straight into a shelf, about putting a wood shaped hole in your head. “we need to make oatmeal chocolate chip this time”.

“can you even walk?”

“i don’t need my legs to make cookies” and then you stumbled over, hands bracing his own as you wrestled when pulling him upward, jeno doing his own purposeful hard work in order to bruise your attempt a few, just to play with you. “hey, i’m not playing around here”.

“but it’s so fun”.

jeno really assumed the locket was nothing,

it was too much.

“you won’t get any, then”.

“but i have to do all the work!”

it was an unfortunate night of messes, the cookies turned out good, you knocked out in a matter of minutes, snuggled against his side with occasional shivers alerting him that you had not just silently passed in your sleep, the rise and fall of your chest keeping the warmth around him elevated.

jeno supposes you may have been closer to other people, but a fucking locket doesn’t mean anything, not in comparison to baking cookies while exchanging kisses in a kitchen, snickering over inside jokes nobody else would ever recognize though you were both high out of your minds, disoriented beyond relief.

or maybe that is just what most people think when they get caught up in a situation they don’t have control over, with the huge glaring issue of not knowing how much you understand the person you’re infatuated by.

a lot of it keeps pounding into his head, continuous, a good add on to regrets his conscious delivers.

“HOW LONG ARE YOU GOING TO KEEP THIS UP?” BECAUSE DONGHYUCK ALWAYS TOOK THE blunt approach when it came to whatever the fuck you two had going on, a sore subject that he had his clear suspicions about but uttered on a small-scale. crushes are their own feat of normalcy, yet donghyuck was aware you weren’t the most regular of people, so was jeno and chenle and mark and jaemin and renjun, maybe jisung kept the wool over his eyes, but that’s jisung, jeno perceived that as a simple rite of passage, he was mostly akin to your shadow more than anything.

“ugh, what now?”

“why so annoyed, jeno? it’s not like you to suddenly be so inattentive with these things”.

“it’s cause his feelings are too big”.

“fuck you”.

“ouch! my heart!” donghyuck opted for a performance bit, a hand placed atop his heart, his figure falling backward onto various cushions, presumably feigning death, abject despair from words jeno usually didn’t speak, even when they were irritating him with their consistent kissy noises and pairing eyebrow raises. “how rude jeno, you killed him!”

“he deserved it”.

when donghyuck rose again, he swooped his head upward and fixed his hair, not even a strand meeting fingertips. then his arms propped up over the advanced table and he narrowed his eyes, the extensive attention on jeno. “seriously, it’s a good maybe two weeks before y/n decides he wants to hop on another one”.

“that’s a little ironic coming from you—“

“this is about y/n, not me, you can’t talk about morals to me”.

“yeah but i can talk about hypocrisy”.

“do you even know what that means? you ever open a dictionary, chenle? or did you have a nanny do it for you? little bitch..”

“oh no jeno is y/n’s little bitch”.

jeno scrunched his nose, the language nothing of a bother yet having met his senses in various rushing fashions, that may have just been the wine, donghyuck and his stupid wine collection which always pinched at his throat unbearably. how he even drank that stuff is beyond jeno’s comprehension.

he was about to say something, perhaps a week argument in his favor, but renjun of all people beat him to it.

“that’s much more up jisung’s alley”.

“hey! don’t get on jisung’s case, he’s a baby”.

“a tall eighteen year old baby, why don’t i get his treatment?”

“you’re a literal monster, at least jisung has redeeming qualities”.

“i have many redeeming qualities! i’m chivalrous!”

jeno is sure chenle could not spout the definition of that word even at gunpoint, all crossed arms and large mouthed when it mattered, because being right in comparison to donghyuck was all that mattered.

“renjun called jisung a bitch, i think he should get booted from the group” jaemin aimed his glass in the former’s direction, shaking his head, his attachment is all obvious, not much of a glare yet enough for jeno to have unraveled a mere animosity. jaemin can be uncanny, yes, but jaemin doesn’t typically hate. “and hyuck called y/n a slut”.

“i didn’t say that!”

“it was implied”.

“implied my ass it’s nothing no one else hasn’t said before, mark didn’t even show up!”

jeno squinted, that was strange, even with his stance on things, the whole thing was a tradition most of them took with true pride, drinking in a circle accompanied by your friends who aren’t exactly friends in the general sense of the word is something most people cannot resist, jisung only avoided such a custom because he didn’t want to drink underage, a rule follower from birth. mark not showing up was weird but jeno guessed he had more important things to do which did not include a group of them shaming you before him.

it was the first of those meetings which did not include you, peculiarly enough because you and hyuck pretty much started the whole thing, a bit ironic considering all you two did was argue when the terrible wine finally settled.

everyone enjoyed watching.

“mark is probably sick of your shit”.

“and y/n’s also literally missing! for all we know he’s dead in mexico or something..”

“you don’t seem that concerned, it won’t be long until you see him in hell”.

“anyway” donghyuck waved his hand renjun’s way, ignoring him with the smile that always sprouted when he was drunk. “jeno, i’m just looking out for you, y/n’s like a shark, you know? he’ll drain you of all your life and then leave you all dry when there are bigger fish around”.

“could you get that cushion for me?”

“smother him!”

chenle glanced donghyuck’s way. “i can’t say i didn’t see it coming”.

donghyuck again fainted over the couch, his heart having stopped at such rough words from those who were meant to be his coveted friends till death or whatever. maybe mark should have been there, he’s the only one jeno has recollection of being to calm them down, you were always the catalyst for blow ups, it caused something of a terrific spike in your heart, all smiles as you watched everybody grow more agitated.

“think you’re the last person on earth who should complain about someone sleeping around, hyuckie”.

“don’t call me that”.

“no seriously, you wanna be all big and bad, what if y/n was here, huh? you’re no better than jisung, don’t even have the guts to say it to his face”.

jeno’s eyes passed over the two arguing, there was no contest, jaemin would beat donghyuck to a pulp, all for him having a big mouth, at least you could put up a good fight, donghyuck wished. “what’s wrong with telling the truth?”

“y/n would kick your ass”.

“well he isn’t here to kick my ass, maybe you could do it for him, hm? if jeno won’t do the pleasure”.

jeno clicked his tongue, it was too late by then, one in the morning, rounding the corner halfway to two, he decided it was the perfect time to exit. if donghyuck ended up getting punched by jaemin like he so dearly wished then chenle would send him the video, maybe renjun would giggle or something, jeno couldn’t even say he was entirely against it, most of the debacle was hilarious.

“if you do get into it i don’t wanna be here for that”.

“but what if you need to hold hyuckie back when he throws a punch?”

“i said don’t call me that”.

“well what are you gonna do about it?”

“ladies please!”

jeno hummed, offering his best eye smile despite the overwhelming situation. “i’m sure y/n will send a postcard or something, you two do all the damage you desire”.

“wait why are you leaving me with them?” renjun whined. “take me with you please!”

“good night, renjun”.

he’s sure renjun cursed him to hell that night, and maybe he deserved it, not entirely.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK SOMEBODY WOULD GAIN FROM MURDERING Y/N?” JENO HAS NEVER THOUGHT detectives could truly have that horrific look in their eyes, all of it beholding a degree of barbarity he typically never witnesses in men, but he guesses he has only gazed upon men who had no true terrible intent, jeno realizes he would never recognize if he were looking the murderer in the face that night, and that’s masquerading well in a crowd. he blinks, he doesn’t have to think for that one.

“satisfaction” he drawls. “it probably would’ve been momentary, maybe they didn’t want to kill him but—“ then he gets a look, jeno knows that look because every time jaemin says something that doesn’t really make sense he can’t help but gaze that way. “i mean, i don’t even know what i’m saying, i’m sorry i haven’t slept at all”.

“usually people are more honest when they’re exhausted” jeno supposes his inhale is too loud in the room’s expanse, because the detective does that smile thing which freaks him out, eyes rid of their typical color, as if they’re pitch black. “and honesty is the key in an investigation”.

jeno bites the inside of his cheek, he begins scratching at the junction his wrist shares to his hand. “think, i’m sure you all have interesting answers”.

“well throwing our lives to shit for one” jeno winces, the continuous scratching made for good pain. “of course y/n wasn’t the greatest but he also wasn’t the spawn of satan, he wouldn’t invite people who despised him to his birthday party”.

“so what gives you the impression that one of you didn’t do it?”

jeno almost flinches, he barely keeps it all together, hands kept clasped together like he’s on life support, glued shut, he can’t pull them apart. he blinks, two separate blinks as if he’s some idiot who cannot comprehend big words. “like.. the seven of us?”

“if people who hated him weren’t there then they possibly couldn’t have done it, right? you know people are most likely to be murdered by someone they know well in comparison to some one off enemy”.

jeno’s eye twitches, donghyuck probably knew that, heck you probably knew yourself, courtesy of the many detective stories you two can’t help but have littering across your shelves. “well i don’t.. i just can’t see one of them doing it, i know that probably isn’t a good answer but i can’t imagine fucking— renjun grabbing a knife and stabbing y/n like seven times”.

his eyes again light up, he gets too excited over things he shouldn’t, but he guesses being a detective entails that, excitement for words which don’t come out completely right, eyes all glowy like some over obsessed teenager. “well maybe that’s just an indication that you don’t know your friends as well as you may think, time means nothing when you all have secrets”.

jeno remains silent, a bad sign.

“you know what was missing when y/n died?” his fingers poke at a certain file, his eyes do not stray off jeno, however, his lips do that side hook upward, all cocky, a sham. “no i really want you to take a guess”.

“i have nothing in mind”.

the detective decides to drop a crystal clear picture of the crime scene before him, jeno instinctively moves back in his seat, but there is also another photo there, a photo of your college id.

the fucking locket.

jeno is sure he’s paled, as if he’s seen a ghost.

the detective whistles, drawing a figurative circle around your neck, pointed in a very specific direction. “you wouldn’t happen to know who got him this locket, do you?”

well jeno guesses this is a good time to be honest.

“no, i’m sure one of them knows, but it’s not me”.

“ah, maybe you should swear an oath on that, then”.

jeno isn’t sure he can swear on anything, not on his parents, nor on god or the law or anything credible, he didn’t do anything, he’s sure none of them did either but how is he supposed to trust them?

he knows them, he knows enough.

of course jeno’s a coward, not jisung cowardly but he presumes he could make a good stance on that point. there are too many other issues for him to be worrying about stupid things like lockets or if you actually loved or not or—

when jeno leaves that interrogation room, he craves to just bash his head in on the nearest wall, images of the locket flashing in his brain like some stupid movie.

he’s sure he has a migraine creeping up on him.

masterlist .. ˓   previous ─  next

[ninja-muse]

Well, this was a surprisingly strong start to my reading year! I don’t normally give out super high ratings, and especially not so close together, but The City in Glass and The Scholar and the Last Faerie Door deserved nothing less. I also had a nice surprise in In Veritas, which was honestly a “what the heck do I read now” selection, and a very fun time with Greenteeth. I’d review that one but I’ve already done two reviews this month, so just know that if you want a cozy-ish fantasy that’s a shade or two lighter than T. Kingfisher but with the same darkish humour, it’s one to pick up.

Sadly, I also had one DNF. Yield Under Great Persuasion is a fun cozy queer fantasy romance, but the particular character tropes and dynamic just didn’t work for me. And that would’ve been my only queer book, which is also something of a surprise. (Queer authors, yes. Queer-norm worlds, yes. But no queer focus.) I can only hope that February will be gayer, more trans, or more ace, but I’m a mood reader. It’ll be what it’ll be, I guess.

But yes, if you’re counting, I’ve read primarily fantasy this month, including two novels with fairies pretty close together. One of the ARCs I brought home was the third Emily Wilde book, which I’m eager to get to, but it’s going to fall tonally right in the middle of “amusing light fantasy” and “female academic studying fairies” and I can recognize that I need to read at least one book before I pick it up, to give myself space. Which is why I’ve pulled The Prague Cemetery off my shelves. It’s about as different as I can get while staying fiction, I think. And yes, I did look at nonfiction choices. None of them spoke to me.

I’ve decided to add the occasional read-like to my wrap-ups. There have been a few books this month that have reminded me of specific things, be it authors or books or other things, and that’s usually the case in a month. I thought it might be fun to make those notes when I have them, since the way I’m doing my “reviews” here is so compact.

As for my book haul, after not receiving the last two October Daye novels for my birthday or for Christmas, I had to go out and rectify that situation—and of course, the Wayward Children novellas are auto-buys. The other book I picked up was The Myth of Normal, rescued from our damaged books shelf at work because I’ve been on the fence about it for a while. I figure I’ll either find it an interesting or infuriating read, but who knows when I’ll get to it.

In other news, I’ve started writing again, at least a little, and I’ve manage to jot down a couple bunnies that may or may not make good short stories. There’s nothing much else to report. Just working and reading and, oh yes, getting a cold. Don’t get colds, folks. They’re not fun.

And so, without further ado, here’s what I read this month in order of personal enjoyment…

The City in Glass - Nghi Vo

When the demon Vitrine’s city is destroyed by angels, she sets herself to rebuilding while an angel, caught by her grief, tries to understand.

10/10

for fans of: Strange the Dreamer

🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (sapphic, achillean, trans man)

warning: war, death, grief

library book

The Scholar and the Last Faerie Door - H.G. Parry When Clover’s brother returns from the trenches carrying a faerie curse, she vows to cure him. Step one is earning a place in the magical university of Camford—but the friends she makes there, and the secrets they uncover, have a much longer, wider, darker reach.

9/10

for fans of: Babel, Pip Williams, Susanna Clarke

🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (gay), Indo-British secondary character

library book

In Veritas - C.J. Lavigne

Drawn by her synaesthesia and a dog/snake/shadow, Verity encounters a hidden world of magical people in an Ottawa theatre—a world threatened by technology and in need of saving.

7/10

for fans of: Charles de Lint

neurodivergent protagonist, secondary character with permanently injured leg, Black and East Asian secondary characters, 🇨🇦

warning: suicide, murder, knife violence, false commission to psychiatric facility

library ebook

Genealogy of a Murder - Lisa Belkin In 1960, an ex-con shoots a cop and a doctor could have stopped him—but what was it about their lives that shaped them into who they became?

7.5/10

for fans of: deep-dive true crime podcasts

warning: discussions of poverty, domestic abuse, child abuse, alcoholism, deaths of children and parents, dubiously ethical experiments

library ebook

Adrift in Currents Clean and Clear - Seanan McGuire When Nadya’s adoptive parents give her a prosthetic in their bid to make her a perfect American girl, she finds refuge in the world of Belyyreka.

7/10

protagonist with arm hemimelia and a prosthetic

bought/off my TBR

Greenteeth - Molly O’Neill When a witch is thrown into Jenny Greenteeth’s lake, the two women band together to get the witch’s life back, but it won’t be easy. The new parson has brought something old and dark and wrong to their village, and they must go on a quest to rid Britain of it. Out in February

for fans of: T. Kingfisher, Diana Wynne Jones

7/10

🏳️‍🌈-coded protagonist (ace)

warning: animal death

reading copy

And Put Away Childish Things - Adrian Tchaikovsky Harry Bodie is a washed-up actor descended from an author of second-rate portal fantasies. He is definitely not the heir to the throne of Underhill, because Underhill. Does. Not. Exist. (He’s in for more than a bit of a rude awakening.)

7.5/10

for fans of: Paul Cornell, postmodern takes of children’s classics

warning: Covid-19 pandemic

library ebook

A Daughter of No Nation - A.M. Dellamonica Sophie’s returned to the world of Stormwrack, to learn more about its ecologies and her birth father. But when she learns something horrific about him, Stormwrack’s politics and legalities suddenly become a darker web.

7/10

for fans of: adult portal fantasies

🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (gay, lesbian), secondary characters read as Black and South Asian, 🇨🇦

warning: slavery, violence

library book

Fifty Places to Travel Solo - Chris Santella and DC Helmuth Some suggested destinations for single travellers.

7.5/10

interviewees of diverse backgrounds, orientations, and body types

library book

Interference - Sue Burke

The Pax colony is thrown into turmoil by a mission from Earth, and it looks like Humans, Earthlings, and Glassmakers might not be the only sentiences out there.

6.5/10

off my TBR

Picture Books

Knight Owl - Christopher Denise Owl wants to be a knight and when knights start disappearing at the castle, he gets his chance!

Bunny Made Tea - Amanda Baehr Fuller

Bunny wants a cup of tea but unfortunately, so does Possum. Out in February

DNF

Yield Under Great Persuasion - Alexandra Rowland Tam has hated Lord Lyford since they were children. Tam and Lyford have been hooking up regularly. When Tam learns that Lyford is favoured by his goddess (which he doesn’t deserve), it’s the last straw and he must confront his feelings and his actions if he wants any hope of a better future.

🏳️‍🌈 protagonist (gay), 🏳️‍🌈 love interest (achillean), 🏳️‍🌈 author

library book

Currently reading

The Prague Cemetery - Umberto Eco A journey through the social upheavals of 19th century Europe, through the eyes of a forger who hates everyone, believes every conspiracy, and is trying to piece together lost time and a secondary identity.

warning: anti-Semitic protagonist and secondary characters; protagonist also xenophobic, racist, and misogynist

off my TBR

The Penguin Complete Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle Victorian detective stories

disabled POV character (limb injury), occasional Indian secondary characters

warning: racism, colonialism

Monthly total: 10+2 Yearly total: 10 Queer books: 0 Authors of colour: 1 Books by women: 8.5 Authors outside the binary: 0 Canadian authors: 2 Classics: 0 Off the TBR shelves: 2 Books hauled: 4 ARCs acquired: 3 ARCs unhauled: 1 DNFs: 1

[birdletss]

Thought I could go on Instagram again but that was a fucking joke. It’s such a sad site for me now, it truly only brings me pain.

The thing is I need income for my art and Instagram was my main source of that so like ..???? what do I do???

[puppppppppy]

its so hard to watch time pass when things like careers and assignments exist. what do you mean im supposed to take that seriously

[lesbiansanemi]

For the first time since I can remember I did not hate every second around my family and… not only that actually…. Kinda enjoyed myself? Idk, just got home and I’m real tired but I think that’s just cuz I was up early and busy and then had the drive home. Christmas stuff and all that. My mom did…? Get me a pair of shoes that were lesbian colors…. I can’t tell if that was some insane coincidence and she didn’t know or her trying to say/do something all things considered. Apparently my siblings kept telling her I wouldn’t like them when she picked them out (which is fair I wear almost exclusively all black and mostly boots over tennis shoes) but she insisted so…. Mmm…. On the one hand I wish she would just like… say something? But if it was some weird way of being supportive I guess it was kinda sweet? Idk. I might be reading into it and it was just a coincidence

They also all insisted on helping me move in February which kinda has me like ???? Because I’ve moved four times since I’ve moved out and they have never once done a THING to help even when I lived much closer but I’ll take it cuz that means I won’t have to rent a truck cuz they’ll bring theirs and I won’t have to hire ppl to move the big furniture so that’s a lot of money I’ll be saving

They're also giving me one of the beds and mattresses from my great grandma's house since they've been clearing it out after she died a few months ago because when they asked what all I would I have to move and didn't say a bed and then explained my bed is a 20+yo mattress laid directly on the floor they were like :/ which obvi I know wasn't ideal I just couldn't afford to get a new one but now I won't have to. Obviously it's used but it's still only a year or so old they said, and I don't think I've EVER had a mattress that wasn't at least 15 years old so that'll be nice. I hope it helps some of my back issues...

Anyways, idk what fucking happened to these people in the span of a couple months but it kinda feels unreal

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[ratcandy]

personally I think food should be delivered to my house for free if I’m sick that’s my philosophy. That’s what I think

[toothlespoggers]

So I was feeling kinda depressed since my blog kinda dies when I’m focusing on my health and irl life, and character development, writing and art takes a lot of time to create something impressive and coherent.

so since I need notes for my blog to stay alive while I work on stuff i thought I’d make a cool sans au to show everyone on tumblr so I get thousands of notes and really cool fanart and get featured in tiktoks and stuff with my character.

Since this is all it takes to become famous in the undertale fandom I thought I’d just throw away all the research I’m doing and just go with what works yanno?

😳 maybe I’ll draw horny art of him next, that’ll reel in the notes.

[rosicheeks]

🤔

[kavehayati]

Gosh maybe it’s for the best that I don’t watch shows bc seeing people even if they’re fictional having such profound friendships gives me serious fomo 🙁

[pucksandpower]

Little Star

Max Verstappen x Leclerc!Reader

Summary: you’ve grown used to being overshadowed by your older brother, merely a distant star that seems dull in comparison to the sun of Maranello … and then Max happens

Based on this request

The sun dips low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the paddock of the Autodromo Nazionale Monza. The air still buzzes with excitement from the day’s race, but behind the Ferrari hospitality unit, a different energy permeates the air.

You lean against the cool metal wall, sliding down until you’re sitting on the concrete, knees pulled to your chest. Tears stream silently down your face as you struggle to catch your breath between sobs. The sounds of celebration echo in the distance, a stark contrast to your solitude.

Footsteps approach, and you hastily wipe at your eyes, hoping to erase any evidence of your breakdown. A familiar figure rounds the corner, stopping short when he spots you.

“Hey,” Max Verstappen says, his brow furrowing with concern. “Are you alright?”

You force a smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine,” you insist, your voice wavering slightly. “Just ... needed some air.”

Max doesn’t buy it for a second. He crouches down beside you, his blue eyes searching your face. “You don’t look fine,” he says gently. “What’s going on?”

You bite your lip, debating whether to confide in him. After a moment, you sigh. “It’s stupid,” you mumble.

“If it’s making you cry, it’s not stupid,” Max counters. He settles down next to you, his shoulder brushing yours. “Come on, talk to me.”

You take a shaky breath. “It’s my birthday,” you admit quietly.

Max’s eyebrows shoot up. “Today? Why aren’t you celebrating?”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “Because everyone forgot,” you explain, fresh tears welling up. “Charles won the race, and ... I’m happy for him, I really am. But it’s like I don’t even exist when he’s around, you know?”

Max nods slowly, understanding dawning on his face. “That must be really tough,” he says softly.

You nod, sniffling. “I’ve always felt like I was in his shadow, but today ... it just hit me harder, I guess. Even my mom forgot.”

“That’s not okay,” Max says firmly. “Your birthday should be special, no matter what else is happening.”

You shrug, picking at a loose thread on your jeans. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

“No, it’s not fine,” Max insists. He stands up suddenly, determination etched on his face. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Before you can protest, he’s gone, jogging away towards the paddock. You’re left alone again, wondering what he’s up to.

True to his word, Max returns a few minutes later, slightly out of breath and holding something behind his back. “Close your eyes,” he instructs with a grin.

Curious, you comply. There’s a rustling sound, and then Max’s voice rings out, clear and slightly off-key: “Happy birthday to you ...”

Your eyes fly open in surprise. Max stands before you, holding a small cupcake with a single candle stuck in the frosting. His face is illuminated by the flickering flame as he continues to sing.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Y/N, happy birthday to you!”

Emotion wells up in your chest, a lump forming in your throat. “Max,” you whisper, overwhelmed. “You didn’t have to do this.”

He crouches down, carefully balancing the cupcake. “Of course I did,” he says softly. “Everyone deserves to feel special on their birthday. Now make a wish and blow out your candle.”

You close your eyes, thinking for a moment before leaning forward to extinguish the tiny flame. When you open them again, Max is beaming at you.

“What did you wish for?” He asks, settling back down beside you and offering you the cupcake.

You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Can’t tell you, or it won’t come true.”

Max laughs, nudging your shoulder playfully. “Fair enough. So, twenty-two, huh? How does it feel to be so old?”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help chuckling. “Says the guy who’s practically ancient at twenty-six.”

“Hey!” Max protests, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know I’m in my prime.”

The banter feels natural, and you find yourself relaxing for the first time all day. You take a bite of the cupcake, savoring the sweetness. “This is really good,” you mumble around a mouthful of frosting. “Where did you even find it?”

Max grins mischievously. “I have my sources. Can’t reveal all my secrets, can I?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Thank you, Max. Really. This ... it means a lot.”

His expression softens. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry the rest of your family forgot. That’s not fair to you.”

You sigh, your momentary happiness fading slightly. “It’s not their fault. Charles had a big win today, and-”

“Stop,” Max interrupts gently. “You don’t have to make excuses for them. Your feelings are valid.”

You blink, surprised by his directness. “I ... I guess I’m just used to it,” you admit. “It’s always been about Charles. Even before he got into F1, he was the golden child. I love him, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes ...”

“Sometimes you want to be seen too,” Max finishes for you. You nod, grateful that he understands.

“Exactly. And it’s not just Charles. Arthur’s always been following in his footsteps, and Lorenzo ... well, he’s the oldest. I’m just ... there.”

Max frowns. “That’s not true. You’re your own person, with your own talents and dreams. Have you talked to them about how you feel?”

You shake your head. “I don’t want to make them feel bad. Especially Charles. He works so hard, and he deserves his success.”

“His success doesn’t diminish your worth,” Max says firmly. “You deserve to be celebrated too.”

Tears prick at your eyes again, but for a different reason this time. “Thank you,” you whisper. “I don’t think anyone’s ever put it quite like that before.”

Max smiles softly. “Well, it’s true. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty amazing.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks. “You barely know me,” you point out.

“I know enough,” Max counters. “I know you’re kind enough to put your family’s happiness before your own. I know you’re strong enough to handle being overlooked without becoming bitter. And I know you’ve got a great taste in cupcakes.”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep in your chest. “Well, when you put it like that ...”

Max grins, clearly pleased to have made you smile. “So, birthday girl, what do you want to do now? The night is young, and I happen to know where they keep the good champagne around here.”

You hesitate, glancing towards the paddock where you can still hear the sounds of celebration. “I don’t know ... I should probably go find my family.”

Max raises an eyebrow. “On your birthday? Come on, live a little. They can wait.”

A spark of rebellion ignites in your chest. “You know what? You’re right. Let’s do it.”

Max jumps to his feet, offering you his hand. “That’s the spirit! First stop, champagne. Then, who knows? Maybe we’ll steal a golf cart and go joyriding around the track.”

You take his hand, allowing him to pull you up. “Is that even allowed?”

Max’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Probably not. But it’s your birthday, so I think we can bend the rules a little.”

As you follow Max towards the paddock, a warmth spreads through your chest that has nothing to do with the lingering summer heat. For the first time in years, you feel seen. Appreciated. Special.

“Hey, Max?” You say, causing him to pause and look back at you.

“Yeah?”

You smile, genuine and bright. “Thank you. For everything.”

Max’s expression softens. “Anytime,” he says softly. “Now come on, birthday girl. Let’s make this a night to remember.”

As you walk side by side into the fading light, you can’t help but feel that this birthday might just be the start of something new. Something exciting. Something uniquely yours.

And for once, you’re not thinking about Charles, or Arthur, or anyone else. You’re just thinking about you, and the possibilities that stretch out before you like an open road.

Happy birthday indeed.

***

The Ferrari hospitality suite thrums with energy, laughter and music spilling out into the warm Italian night. Charles Leclerc stands at the center of it all, a wide grin plastered across his face as he basks in the glow of his hard-fought victory. Champagne flows freely, and the air is thick with the scent of celebration.

“To Charles!” Someone shouts, raising a glass. The room erupts in cheers, and Charles feels a swell of pride in his chest.

“Speech! Speech!” The crowd chants, and Charles laughs, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright,” he concedes, clearing his throat. “I just want to say thank you to everyone here. This win ... it’s not just mine. It’s ours. The team, the mechanics, the engineers, the strategists ... we did this together.”

More cheers erupt, and Charles feels a hand clap him on the back. He turns to see his teammate grinning broadly.

“Well said, amigo,” Carlos says, slinging an arm around Charles’ shoulders. “You drove like a champion today.”

Charles beams, the praise from his teammate adding to the euphoria of the moment. “Thanks, Carlos. Couldn’t have done it without you pushing me.”

Carlos laughs, taking a swig of his drink. “Always happy to provide motivation. Oh, hey, before I forget — can you pass on my birthday wishes to Y/N? I meant to find her earlier, but things got a bit crazy.”

The words hit Charles like a bucket of ice water. His smile freezes, his eyes widening in horror. “W-what?” He stammers, hoping he’s misheard.

Carlos frowns, noticing the sudden change in Charles’ demeanor. “Your sister? It’s her birthday today, right? Her 22nd?”

Charles feels the room spin around him. How could he have forgotten? His little sister’s birthday, on the same day as his big win. The realization crashes over him in waves of guilt and shame.

“Charles?” Carlos prompts, concern evident in his voice. “You okay, mate?”

Charles shakes his head, trying to clear the fog of shock. “I ... I forgot,” he whispers, more to himself than to Carlos. “How could I forget?”

Carlos’ eyes widen in understanding. “Oh, shit,” he mutters. “You didn’t remember?”

Charles runs a hand through his hair, panic rising in his chest. “I was so focused on the race, and then the win ... God, I’m such an idiot.”

He scans the room frantically, hoping against hope that he’ll spot you among the partygoers. But of course, you’re not there. Why would you be, when your own family forgot your birthday?

“I need to find her,” Charles says, already moving towards the exit. “I need to apologize.”

Carlos nods, squeezing Charles’ shoulder supportively. “Go. I’ll cover for you here if anyone asks.”

Charles barely hears him, his mind racing as he pushes through the crowd. He bursts out of the hospitality suite, the cool night air a stark contrast to the stuffy interior.

“Y/N!” He calls out, his voice echoing in the near-empty paddock. But there’s no response.

Panic rising, Charles pulls out his phone, fumbling with the screen as he opens his contacts. He hits your name, holding the phone to his ear as it rings.

Once. Twice. Three times. Then, your voicemail.

“Hey, this is Y/N. Leave a message!”

Charles swears under his breath, ending the call. He tries again, and again, but each time it goes straight to voicemail.

“Come on, come on,” he mutters, pacing back and forth. Where could you be? Who would you have gone to when your family let you down?

A thought strikes him, and he quickly dials another number.

“Hello?” Arthur’s sleepy voice answers.

“Arthur!” Charles practically shouts. “Is Y/N with you?”

There’s a pause, then confusion in Arthur’s tone. “No? Why would she be? Aren’t you guys celebrating?”

Charles feels his heart sink even further. “Arthur, it’s her birthday. We forgot.”

“Shit,” Arthur breathes. “How did we ... God, we’re terrible brothers.”

“I know, I know,” Charles says, the guilt eating away at him. “I’m trying to find her now. Can you call Maman and Lorenzo, see if they’ve heard from her?”

“Yeah, of course,” Arthur agrees quickly. “I’ll call you back if I hear anything.”

Charles ends the call, his mind whirling. Where else could you be? He tries to think back to earlier in the day, wondering if he’d seen you at all after the race. But everything is a blur of champagne and celebration, and he realizes with a sickening jolt that he can’t remember the last time he actually spoke to you.

He’s about to start knocking on motorhome doors when another idea strikes him. Quickly, he opens the Life360 app on his phone. The family had started using it a few years back, mainly to keep track of each other during race weekends.

Charles waits impatiently for the app to load, praying that it will show your location. But when the map finally appears, his heart sinks. Your icon is greyed out, with a message underneath: “Location permissions turned off.”

“No, no, no,” Charles mutters, refreshing the app desperately. But the result is the same. You’ve deliberately turned off your location tracking.

The realization hits him like a punch to the gut. You didn’t just disappear — you chose to be unfindable. And it’s all his fault.

Charles slumps against the nearest wall, sliding down until he’s sitting on the ground. He puts his head in his hands, overwhelmed by the magnitude of his mistake.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispers into the night. “I’m so, so sorry.”

As he sits there, memories flood his mind. Your proud smile when he won his first karting race. The way you’d curl up next to him during thunderstorms, seeking comfort. Your unwavering support through every step of his career, even when it meant less attention for you.

And how had he repaid that loyalty? By forgetting the one day that was supposed to be about you.

Charles’ phone buzzes, and he snatches it up eagerly. But it’s just a text from his mother:

Haven’t heard from Y/N. Is everything okay?

He stares at the message, unsure how to respond. How can he explain that he’s lost his little sister on her birthday?

Another text comes through, this time from Lorenzo:

No luck here either. What’s going on?

Charles takes a deep breath, steeling himself. He has to tell them the truth, no matter how much it hurts.

He creates a group chat with his mom, Lorenzo, and Arthur, his fingers shaking slightly as he types:

We forgot Y/N’s birthday. All of us. She’s not answering her phone and her location is turned off. I can’t find her anywhere.

The responses come in rapid succession:

Maman: Oh no. How could we forget?

Lorenzo: Shit. Have you checked with her friends?

Arthur: I’m on my way to the track now. We’ll find her.

Charles feels a mix of relief and shame. At least now everyone knows, and they can all work together to make things right. But the fact remains that they let you down in the first place.

He’s about to reply when he spots a familiar figure walking across the paddock. Max Verstappen, looking slightly disheveled and ... was that a touch of glitter on his cheek?

Without thinking, Charles jumps to his feet and runs over to his rival.

“Max!” He calls out, slightly out of breath. “Have you seen Y/N?”

Max turns, surprise evident on his face. Then, something else flickers in his eyes. Anger? Disappointment? It’s gone too quickly for Charles to be sure.

“Why?” Max asks, his tone cooler than usual. “Suddenly remembered she exists?”

The words sting, but Charles knows he deserves them. “Please, Max. I know I messed up. We all did. But I need to find her, to apologize.”

Max studies him for a long moment, as if weighing his options. Finally, he sighs. “She’s safe. That’s all you need to know right now.”

Relief washes over Charles, quickly followed by confusion. “You’ve seen her? Where is she?”

“I’m not telling you that,” Max says firmly. “She needed space, and after what happened, I don’t blame her.”

Charles feels a flare of frustration. “She’s my sister. I have a right to know where she is.”

“No,” Max counters, his blue eyes flashing. “You had a responsibility to remember her birthday. You didn’t. So now, you don’t get to demand anything.”

The words hit Charles like a slap. He opens his mouth to argue, then closes it again. Max is right, as much as it pains him to admit it.

“Is she ... is she okay?” Charles asks quietly, all fight leaving him.

Max’s expression softens slightly. “She will be. Eventually. But Charles, you really hurt her. All of you did.”

Charles nods, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. “I know. God, I know. I just want to make it right.”

“Then give her time,” Max advises. “And when she’s ready to talk, really listen to her. Don’t make excuses. Don’t try to justify it. Just listen.”

Charles nods again, feeling utterly defeated. “Will you ... will you tell her I’m sorry? That we’re all sorry?”

Max hesitates, then nods. “I will. But Charles? You need to do better. She deserves better.”

With that, Max turns and walks away, leaving Charles alone with his thoughts and regrets.

Charles pulls out his phone again, looking at the group chat with his family. He types out a message, his heart heavy:

Y/N is safe. A friend is looking out for her. We need to give her space, but when she’s ready to talk, we all need to be there. Really be there. We’ve got a lot to make up for.

As he hits send, Charles makes a silent promise to himself and to you. He’ll do better. He’ll be the brother you deserve. And somehow, someway, he’ll make this right.

But for now, all he can do is wait, and hope that you’ll find it in your heart to forgive them all.

***

The city lights twinkle below as Max leads you into his penthouse suite, the door clicking shut behind you. The space is modern and sleek, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of Milan’s skyline.

“Make yourself at home,” Max says, gesturing around the room. “Are you hungry? I can order some room service if you want.”

You shake your head, still feeling slightly overwhelmed by the events of the day. “No, thanks. I’m okay.”

Max nods, studying your face with concern. “You sure? It’s been a long day.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “Yeah, you could say that again.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence before Max clears his throat. “So, um, you can take the bed. I’ll crash on the couch.”

“Oh, no,” you protest immediately. “I can’t kick you out of your own bed. I’ll take the couch.”

Max shakes his head firmly. “Absolutely not. It’s your birthday. You get the bed.”

You bite your lip, an idea forming. “We could ... share? I mean, if that’s okay with you. The bed looks plenty big enough.”

Max’s eyes widen slightly, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m sure,” you say, surprising yourself with your boldness. “Unless it makes you uncomfortable?”

“No, no,” Max says quickly. “I’m fine with it if you are.”

You nod, and another silence falls. Max runs a hand through his hair, looking suddenly unsure of himself.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” he suggests. “Or we could just talk, if you prefer.”

“Talking sounds nice,” you admit. “I’m not really in the mood for a movie.”

Max nods, gesturing towards the bed. “Shall we?”

You both settle onto the massive king-size bed, sitting cross-legged and facing each other. It’s oddly intimate, and you feel a flutter of nerves in your stomach.

“So,” Max begins, his blue eyes fixed on you. “Tell me something about yourself that isn’t related to racing or your family.”

You pause, caught off guard by the question. It’s been so long since someone asked about you, just you.

“Well,” you start hesitantly, “I’m actually studying to become an astrophysicist.”

Max’s eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously? That’s incredible! Why astrophysics?”

The enthusiasm in his voice makes you smile. “I’ve always been fascinated by space, you know? The idea that there’s so much out there we don’t understand ... it’s exciting.”

“That’s amazing,” Max says, genuinely impressed. “What kind of stuff are you studying right now?”

You laugh softly. “Are you sure you want to know? I might bore you with all the technical details.”

Max leans forward, his expression earnest. “Try me. I want to hear all about it.”

Encouraged by his interest, you begin to explain your current research project. As you talk, your hands move animatedly, your eyes lighting up with passion. Max listens intently, asking questions and showing genuine curiosity.

“... and that’s why understanding dark matter is so crucial,” you finish, slightly out of breath. “Sorry, I kind of went off on a tangent there.”

Max shakes his head, smiling warmly. “Don’t apologize. It’s fascinating. I had no idea you were into all this. Why haven’t I heard about it before?”

Your smile falters slightly. “Oh, well ... it doesn’t really come up much. Everyone’s usually more interested in talking about racing.”

Max frowns. “But this is incredible. You’re studying to unravel the mysteries of the universe. That’s way cooler than driving in circles.”

You laugh, but there’s a hint of sadness in it. “Try telling that to my family. I think they see it as more of a hobby than a career path.”

“What?” Max looks genuinely shocked. “How can they not be incredibly proud? This is huge!”

You shrug, picking at a loose thread on the comforter. “I guess it’s just not as exciting as F1? It’s okay, though. I’m used to it.”

Max shakes his head firmly. “No, it’s not okay. Y/N, you’re brilliant. Your family should be shouting it from the rooftops.”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you blink them back hastily. “Thanks, Max. That ... that means a lot.”

He reaches out, hesitating for a moment before placing his hand over yours. “I mean it. And for what it’s worth, I think what you’re doing is incredible.”

You look up, meeting his gaze. There’s a warmth there, an understanding that makes your heart skip a beat. Without really thinking about it, you shift closer to him.

Max seems to take this as an invitation, because he moves closer too. Soon, you’re sitting side by side, your shoulders touching.

“So,” you say, trying to lighten the mood. “What about you? Any secret passions outside of racing?”

Max chuckles. “Nothing as impressive as astrophysics, I’m afraid. But I do enjoy sim racing in my spare time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Isn’t that just more racing?”

“Hey, it’s completely different,” Max protests with a grin. “In sim racing, I can drive any car on any track. Even ones that don’t exist in real life.”

“Okay, okay,” you concede, laughing. “Tell me more about it.”

As Max launches into an explanation of his favorite sim racing setups, you find yourself relaxing more and more. The conversation flows easily, punctuated by laughter and playful debates.

Without really noticing, you both shift positions throughout the night. Max leans back against the headboard, and you mirror him. Your shoulders are pressed together, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“... and that’s why I think pineapple absolutely belongs on pizza,” Max finishes, looking at you expectantly.

You shake your head, grinning. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from a world champion. Your taste buds clearly can’t be trusted.”

“Oh, come on,” Max laughs, nudging your shoulder with his. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

“I have tried it,” you insist. “It’s an abomination.”

Max clutches his chest in mock offense. “You wound me, Y/N. And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

The word ‘friends’ sends an odd pang through your chest. Is that what this is? It feels like more, somehow.

As if reading your thoughts, Max’s expression softens. He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture is so gentle, so intimate, that it takes your breath away.

“Y/N,” he says softly. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

You swallow hard, your heart racing. “Me too,” you whisper.

There’s a moment of charged silence, and then Max is leaning in. You meet him halfway, your lips meeting in a soft, tentative kiss.

It’s brief, just a fleeting press of lips, but it sends sparks shooting through your entire body. When you pull back, Max is looking at you with a mixture of wonder and uncertainty.

“Was that okay?” He asks, his voice husky.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Instead, you lean in again, capturing his lips in another kiss. This one is deeper, more assured. Max’s hand comes up to cup your cheek, and you melt into his touch.

When you finally break apart, you’re both slightly breathless. Max rests his forehead against yours, a smile playing at his lips.

“I’ve wanted to do that all night,” he admits.

You laugh softly. “Even when I was insulting your pizza preferences?”

“Especially then,” Max grins. “You’re cute when you’re indignant.”

You swat at his arm playfully, but you can’t keep the smile off your face. For the first time all day, you feel truly happy.

As the night wears on, you and Max continue to talk, trading stories and stealing kisses. Gradually, your positions shift again. Max lies down, and you curl up against his side, your head resting on his chest. His arm wraps around you, holding you close.

“Y/N?” Max says softly, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm.

“Hmm?” you mumble, feeling drowsy and content.

“Happy birthday,” he says. “I know it didn’t start out great, but I hope it got better.”

You tilt your head up to look at him, a warm smile spreading across your face. “It did,” you assure him. “Thanks to you.”

Max kisses your forehead gently. “Get some sleep,” he murmurs. “We can figure everything else out in the morning.”

As you drift off to sleep, wrapped in Max’s arms, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this birthday wasn’t so bad after all. In fact, it might just be the start of something wonderful.

***

The early morning sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. You stir slowly, awareness creeping in as you feel a strong arm wrapped around your waist. For a moment, confusion sets in before the events of the previous night come rushing back.

You’re in Max Verstappen’s bed. And Max Verstappen is currently spooning you.

A smile tugs at your lips as you nestle back into his warmth, not quite ready to face the day. But fate, it seems, has other plans.

A sharp knock at the door jolts both of you awake. Max groans, burying his face in your hair.

“Room service?” You mumble, still half-asleep.

Max shakes his head, his voice gravelly with sleep. “Didn’t order any.”

The knock comes again, more insistent this time. With a sigh, Max untangles himself from you and slides out of bed.

“I’ll get it,” he says, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “You stay here.”

You nod, pulling the covers up to your chin and watching as Max pads to the door in his t-shirt and sweatpants. He opens it a crack, peering out.

“Can I help you?” He asks, confusion evident in his tone.

There’s a muffled response, and then Max is stepping back, opening the door wider. A hotel staff member enters, carrying an enormous bouquet of red roses.

“Delivery for Y/N Leclerc,” the staff member announces, looking around the room.

You sit up in bed, eyes wide. “That’s ... that’s me.”

The staff member nods, moving to set the bouquet on a nearby table. “Sign here, please,” he says, holding out a clipboard.

Still bewildered, you climb out of bed and make your way over, scrawling your signature on the form. The staff member thanks you and exits, leaving you and Max staring at the ostentatious display of flowers.

“Well,” Max says after a moment, “I guess your brother remembered after all.”

You let out a rueful laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, I guess he did.”

Max frowns, noting the lack of enthusiasm in your voice. “Aren’t you happy about it?”

You sigh, reaching out to touch one of the velvety petals. “It’s just ... I’ve told Charles a hundred times that I don’t like roses. They’re not my favorite flower. But every time he needs to apologize or wants to do something nice, it’s always roses.”

“Oh,” Max says softly, understanding dawning on his face. “So it’s less about you and more about what he thinks you should like.”

You nod, a lump forming in your throat. “Exactly. It’s like he doesn’t really listen, you know? He just does what he thinks is right without considering what I actually want.”

Max moves closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against his side. “That must be frustrating,” he says gently.

You lean into him, grateful for the support. “It is. And I know I should be grateful. It’s a beautiful bouquet, and he’s trying. But ...”

“But it’s not what you want,” Max finishes for you. “And that matters.”

You look up at him, surprised by how well he understands. “Yeah, exactly.”

Max turns to face you fully, his blue eyes serious. “Y/N, listen to me. It’s okay to be upset about this. It’s okay to want your family to actually listen to you and consider your feelings.”

You bite your lip, tears threatening to spill over. “But they’re trying now. Shouldn’t I just forgive them and move on?”

Max shakes his head firmly. “No. You don’t have to forgive them right away just because they made a grand gesture. It’s okay to make them work for your forgiveness.”

“Really?” You ask, your voice small.

“Really,” Max assures you. “They hurt you, Y/N. They forgot your birthday and made you feel invisible. One bouquet of flowers — flowers you don’t even like — doesn’t erase that.”

You nod slowly, processing his words. “So what do I do?”

Max runs a hand through his hair, thinking. “Well, what do you want to do? How do you feel?”

You take a deep breath, considering. “Honestly? I’m not ready to see them yet. I know I’ll have to face them eventually, but right now ... I just can’t.”

“Then don’t,” Max says simply. “Take the time you need. They can wait.”

A weight lifts off your shoulders at his words. “You don’t think that’s selfish?”

Max cups your face in his hands, his gaze intense. “It’s not selfish to prioritize your own feelings and well-being. You matter, Y/N. Your feelings matter.”

Tears spill over then, and Max pulls you into a tight embrace. You bury your face in his chest, letting out all the hurt and frustration you’ve been holding in.

“Shh,” Max soothes, rubbing your back. “It’s okay. Let it out.”

After a few minutes, your sobs subside. You pull back slightly, wiping at your eyes. “Sorry,” you mumble. “I got your shirt all wet.”

Max chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I think I’ll survive. Feel better?”

You nod, offering him a watery smile. “Yeah, actually. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Max says softly. Then, a mischievous glint enters his eye. “So, what should we do with the roses? I vote we throw them off the balcony and watch them scatter in the wind.”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep in your chest. “As tempting as that is, I don’t think hotel management would appreciate it.”

Max shrugs, grinning. “Their loss. We could always donate them to a hospital or something. Brighten someone else’s day.”

“That’s ... actually a really good idea,” you say, impressed. “We could do that.”

Max beams, clearly pleased with himself. “See? I’m not just a pretty face and fast driver.”

You roll your eyes fondly, but can’t suppress your smile. “Careful, Verstappen. Your ego’s showing.”

“You love it,” he teases, pulling you close again.

As you stand there in his arms, surrounded by the cloying scent of roses you don’t even like, you’re struck by how safe you feel. How understood.

“Max?” You say softly.

“Hmm?”

You pull back slightly to meet his gaze. “Thank you. For everything. For making my birthday special, for listening to me, for ... just being here.”

Max’s expression softens, a tender smile playing at his lips. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I ... I care about you, Y/N. A lot.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words. “I care about you too,” you admit.

For a moment, you just stare at each other, the air charged with unspoken emotions. Then, slowly, Max leans in. His lips meet yours in a soft, sweet kiss that makes your toes curl.

When you break apart, you’re both slightly breathless. Max rests his forehead against yours, his thumb tracing circles on your cheek.

“So,” he says, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “What happens now?”

You take a deep breath, considering. “Honestly? I’m not sure. This is all happening so fast, and with everything going on with my family ...”

Max nods, understanding in his eyes. “We can take it slow,” he assures you. “There’s no rush.”

Relief washes over you. “Thank you,” you say softly. “I do want this — us. I just need some time to figure everything out.”

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” Max says, pressing a gentle kiss to your nose. “For now, how about we get some breakfast? I’m starving.”

You laugh, grateful for the shift in mood. “Breakfast sounds perfect. But maybe we should change first? I’m not sure I want to face the paparazzi in yesterday’s clothes.”

Max grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I don’t know, I think you look pretty good in my t-shirt.”

You glance down, realizing for the first time that you’re indeed wearing one of Max’s shirts. A blush creeps up your cheeks. “When did that happen?”

“You got cold in the middle of the night,” Max explains, looking far too pleased with himself. “I offered you my shirt. You were very insistent that it was the most comfortable thing you’d ever worn.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Oh god. Please tell me I didn’t say anything else embarrassing.”

Max laughs, gently prying your hands away from your face. “Nothing too bad. Though you did mention something about my waist being ‘unfairly perfect’. Your words, not mine.”

“Kill me now,” you mutter, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

Max pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Never. I’m rather fond of you, embarrassing sleep talk and all.”

As you stand there in Max’s arms, the morning sun warming your skin and the scent of roses filling the air, you can’t help but feel a sense of hope. Yes, there’s still a lot to figure out — with your family, with Max, with your future. But for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

And that, you think, is the best birthday gift of all.

***

The private terminal of Milan Malpensa Airport buzzes with activity as the Leclerc family waits to board their chartered jet. Charles paces back and forth, his phone clutched tightly in his hand, eyes darting to the entrance every few seconds.

“Charles, honey, please sit down,” his mother, Pascale, says gently. “You’re making me nervous.”

Charles shakes his head, running a hand through his hair for what must be the hundredth time. “I can’t, Maman. Where is she? She should be here by now.”

Lorenzo exchanges a worried glance with Arthur. “Maybe she got held up in traffic?” He suggests, though his tone lacks conviction.

“For three hours?” Charles snaps, immediately regretting his harsh tone. “Sorry, I just ... I’m worried.”

Arthur stands up, placing a comforting hand on Charles’ shoulder. “We all are. But Y/N’s an adult. She can take care of herself.”

Charles lets out a frustrated sigh. “I know that. But after yesterday ... we really messed up.”

“We did,” Pascale agrees softly, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “But we’ll make it right. We just need to talk to her.”

“If she ever shows up,” Charles mutters, resuming his pacing.

The minutes tick by agonizingly slow. Charles alternates between checking his phone and staring out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of you arriving. But the parking lot remains stubbornly devoid of your presence.

Finally, a staff member approaches the family. “Mr. Leclerc? The jet is ready for boarding. We need to depart soon to maintain our flight slot.”

Charles feels panic rising in his chest. “No, we can’t leave yet. My sister isn’t here.”

The staff member looks uncomfortable. “I understand, sir, but we have a schedule to keep. Perhaps your sister could take a commercial flight?”

“Absolutely not,” Charles says firmly. “We’re not leaving without her.”

Lorenzo steps in, ever the diplomat. “Is there any way we could delay for just a bit longer? It’s really important that we wait for our sister.”

The staff member hesitates, then nods. “I’ll see what I can do. But please understand, we can’t hold the slot indefinitely.”

As the employee walks away, Charles resumes his pacing with renewed vigor.

“This isn’t like her,” he mutters. “She wouldn’t just disappear without telling us.”

Arthur bites his lip, looking guilty. “Maybe ... maybe she’s still upset about yesterday?”

Charles stops in his tracks, turning to face his younger brother. “What do you mean?”

Arthur shifts uncomfortably. “Well, we did forget her birthday. And then when we remembered, we didn’t exactly handle it well. Those roses you sent? Y/N hates roses.”

Charles feels like he’s been punched in the gut. “She ... what? No, she loves roses. I always get her roses.”

“Because you always get her roses,” Lorenzo chimes in, realization dawning on his face. “Not because she actually likes them.”

Charles slumps into a nearby chair, head in his hands. “How did I not know that? What kind of brother am I?”

Pascale moves to sit beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “We’ve all made mistakes. But we can fix this. We just need to talk to her.”

“If she’ll even talk to us,” Charles mumbles.

Just then, his phone buzzes. Charles nearly drops it in his haste to check the notification, hope flaring in his chest. But it’s not from you.

“It’s Max,” he says, frowning in confusion.

“Verstappen?” Arthur asks, leaning over to peek at the screen. “What does he want?”

Charles opens the message, his eyes widening as he reads it aloud:

“Y/N is with me. She’s safe and we’re flying back to Monaco together. She needs some space right now. Give her time.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Charles reads and rereads the message, trying to process what it means.

“She’s with Max?” Lorenzo finally says, breaking the silence. “Since when are they even friends?”

Charles shakes his head, still staring at his phone. “I don’t know. I ... I saw him last night. He knew where she was, but I thought it was just a spontaneous thing.”

“Well, at least we know she’s safe,” Pascale says, always trying to find the silver lining. “That’s the most important thing.”

But Charles can’t shake the feeling of unease settling in his stomach. “Why didn’t she come to us? Why Max, of all people?”

Arthur places a hand on Charles’ shoulder. “Maybe because he was there when we weren’t,” he says softly.

The words hit Charles like a physical blow. He knows Arthur is right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to hear.

“So what do we do now?” Lorenzo asks, looking around at his family.

Charles takes a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him. “We do what Max said. We give her time.”

“But for how long?” Pascale asks, worry evident in her voice. “She’s our little girl. We can’t just leave her alone.”

“She’s not alone, Maman,” Charles says, surprised by the steadiness in his voice. “She’s with Max. And as much as it pains me to admit it, I think ... I think she might be better off with him right now.”

The family falls silent again, each lost in their own thoughts. The weight of their collective mistake hangs heavy in the air.

Finally, Charles stands up, squaring his shoulders. “We should board the jet. There’s nothing more we can do here.”

As they gather their belongings and make their way to the plane, Charles can’t help but replay Max’s message in his head. You’re with Max. You’re safe. You need space.

He tries to imagine you and Max together, and finds that he can’t. What could have happened in the span of one day to bring you two together? And more importantly, what had driven you away from your own family?

As he settles into his seat on the jet, Charles makes a silent promise to himself and to you. He’ll give you the space you need, but he won’t give up. He’ll find a way to make things right, to be the brother you deserve.

The jet takes off, carrying the Leclerc family back to Monaco. But for Charles, it feels like they’re leaving a piece of themselves behind in Milan. A piece that, he fears, might be harder to reclaim than he ever imagined.

Meanwhile, across the airport, you and Max are boarding his private jet. The contrast between the two scenes couldn’t be more stark.

“You okay?” Max asks softly as you settle into your seat.

You nod, offering him a small smile. “Yeah, I think so. Thanks for ... well, everything.”

Max reaches over, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “Anytime. You know that.”

As the jet prepares for takeoff, you can’t help but think about your family. Are they worried? Angry? Do they even care?

“Max?” You say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Hmm?”

You turn to look at him, vulnerability shining in your eyes. “Did I do the right thing? Leaving without talking to them?”

Max considers your question carefully before answering. “I think you did what you needed to do for yourself. And that’s never wrong.”

His words settle over you like a warm blanket, easing some of the tension in your shoulders.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “For understanding. For not pushing me to do what everyone else thinks I should do.”

Max smiles, a soft, genuine expression that makes your heart flutter. “That’s what ... friends are for, right?”

There’s a hesitation in his voice, a question in his eyes that makes you wonder if ‘friends’ is really the right word for what’s developing between you.

As the jet takes off, carrying you away from Milan and the chaos of the past day, you find yourself feeling something you haven’t felt in a long time: hope. Hope for a future where you’re seen, heard, and valued for who you are.

And as you glance at Max, his profile illuminated by the setting sun streaming through the window, you can’t help but wonder if he might be a bigger part of that future than you ever imagined.

The jet climbs higher, leaving the ground and all its complications behind. For now, at least, you’re free. Free to breathe, to think, to feel without the weight of expectations pressing down on you.

You close your eyes, letting out a long breath. Whatever comes next, you know one thing for certain: things will never be the same again. And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what you need.

***

The sun is setting over Monaco, shining warmly through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Max’s penthouse apartment. You’re curled up on the plush sofa, a book in your lap, trying to lose yourself in the pages. But your mind keeps wandering, replaying the events of the past couple of days.

Max emerges from the kitchen, two steaming mugs in hand. “Thought you might need this,” he says, offering you one.

You smile gratefully, inhaling the rich aroma of hot chocolate. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”

He shrugs, settling down beside you. “I wanted to. How’re you holding up?”

You’re about to answer when the doorbell rings. Max frowns, glancing at his watch. “I’m not expecting anyone. Are you?”

You shake your head, a knot of anxiety forming in your stomach. Could it be your family? Are they here to confront you?

Max squeezes your hand reassuringly before getting up to answer the door. You hear muffled voices, then the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor.

“Um, Y/N?” Max calls. “I think you might want to see this.”

Curiosity overcoming your apprehension, you make your way to the foyer. Your jaw drops at the sight that greets you.

The entire space is filled with bags. Not just any bags, but the kind that comes from the most exclusive boutiques in Monaco. Gucci, Prada, Louis Vuitton, Chanel — the logos stare back at you from every direction.

“What ... what is all this?” You stammer, looking to Max for explanation.

He hands you a small envelope. “This came with it. It’s addressed to you.”

With trembling fingers, you open the envelope and unfold the note inside. You’d recognize that handwriting anywhere.

Y/N,

I know I messed up. We all did. I’m so sorry for forgetting your birthday and for not being the brother you deserve. I hope these gifts can begin to make up for it. Please come home. We miss you.

Love,

Charles

You read the note twice, then a third time, disbelief turning to anger with each pass.

“He’s got to be kidding,” you mutter, crumpling the paper in your fist.

Max steps closer, concern etched on his face. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “This,” you say, gesturing at the sea of designer bags, “is my brother’s idea of an apology. He thinks he can just ... buy me back with expensive gifts.”

Understanding dawns on Max’s face. “Ah. And I’m guessing that’s not going to work?”

“Not even close,” you say, shaking your head. “God, it’s like he doesn’t know me at all. I’m not one of his girlfriends who can be placated with a shopping spree.”

Max winces. “Ouch. Has he done this before?”

You nod, sinking down onto the nearest clear spot on the floor. “Every time he messes up with a girl, it’s the same routine. Flowers, jewelry, designer clothes. And it usually works, because the girls he dates ... well, they tend to be into that kind of thing.”

Max sits down beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours. “But you’re not.”

“No,” you confirm. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate nice things. But that’s not what this is about. It’s about him actually listening to me, actually seeing me as a person and not just ... his kid sister who can be bought off.”

Max is quiet for a moment, then says softly, “You know, it’s okay to be angry about this. You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt.”

His words break something open inside you. Tears well up in your eyes, spilling over before you can stop them. “I just ... I thought he knew me better than this. I thought they all did.”

Max wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. You lean into him, letting the tears fall freely now.

“It’s like they don’t even see me,” you choke out between sobs. “They see this idea of who they think I should be, but not ... not who I actually am.”

Max rubs soothing circles on your back, letting you cry it out. When your sobs finally subside, he hands you a tissue.

“Feel better?” He asks gently.

You nod, wiping your eyes. “A little. Sorry for breaking down on you like that.”

Max shakes his head firmly. “Don’t apologize. That’s what I’m here for.”

You offer him a watery smile, then turn back to survey the mountain of bags. “So ... what do I do with all this?”

Max considers for a moment. “Well, what do you want to do?”

You bite your lip, thinking. “Honestly? I want to send it all back. Show him that he can’t just throw money at the problem and expect it to go away.”

Max nods approvingly. “I think that’s a great idea. It sends a clear message.”

“You don’t think it’s too harsh?” You ask, a hint of uncertainty creeping into your voice.

“Not at all,” Max assures you. “You’re standing up for yourself, setting boundaries. That’s important.”

Emboldened by his support, you start rifling through the bags, curiosity getting the better of you. “I wonder what he even bought ... oh.”

You pull out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a delicate tennis bracelet. The diamonds catch the light, sparkling brilliantly.

“Wow,” Max breathes, leaning in for a closer look. “That’s ... that’s something.”

You nod, mesmerized by the way the bracelet shimmers. “It’s beautiful,” you admit softly.

Max watches you carefully. “You like it,” he observes.

You sigh, closing the box with a snap. “It doesn’t matter. It’s going back with everything else.”

“Why?” Max asks, genuine curiosity in his voice. “If you like it, why not keep it?”

You look at him, surprised. “But ... I thought you said sending it all back was a good idea?”

Max shrugs. “It is. But that doesn’t mean you can’t keep one thing if it genuinely makes you happy. You’re allowed to like nice things, Y/N. That doesn’t invalidate your feelings about the situation.”

You turn the box over in your hands, considering. “I don’t know ... wouldn’t keeping anything send the wrong message?”

“I think,” Max says slowly, “that the message you send depends more on what you say than what you keep or don’t keep. If you like the bracelet, keep it. But make sure Charles understands that a pretty piece of jewelry doesn’t fix the underlying issues.”

You nod, his words resonating with you. “You’re right. I’ll keep the bracelet ... but everything else goes back.”

As you start sorting through the bags, separating out what will be returned, you can’t help but laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Max asks, a smile tugging at his lips.

You hold up the bracelet box. “I was just thinking ... it would be a shame to let something this pretty go to waste, right?”

Max chuckles, shaking his head. “Absolutely. It’s practically your duty to keep it. For the sake of the bracelet, of course.”

“Of course,” you agree, giggling. “I’m being completely selfless here.”

As you continue to sort through the gifts, occasionally showing Max particularly outrageous items (“A fur coat? In Monaco?”), you feel a weight lifting from your shoulders. For the first time since this whole ordeal began, you feel like you’re taking control of the situation.

“You know,” you say, folding a designer dress back into its bag, “I think I need to have a real conversation with Charles. With all of them, really.”

Max nods encouragingly. “I think that’s a great idea. What do you want to say?”

You take a deep breath, organizing your thoughts. “I want them to understand that I’m my own person, with my own dreams and desires. That I need them to see me, really see me, not just as Charles Leclerc’s little sister or as an extension of the family name.”

“That sounds perfect,” Max says softly. “You deserve to be seen for who you are.”

You smile at him, a rush of warmth flooding your chest. “Thank you. For everything. I don’t know how I would have gotten through this without you.”

Max reaches out, taking your hand in his. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. But I’m glad I could help.”

As you sit there, surrounded by discarded luxury goods, your hand in Max’s, you feel a sense of peace settling over you. You know the road ahead won’t be easy — confronting your family, establishing new boundaries, figuring out exactly where you stand with Max — but for the first time in a long time, you feel ready to face it all.

You slip on the tennis bracelet, admiring the way it catches the light. It’s beautiful, yes, but it’s also a reminder. A reminder that you’re worth more than grand gestures and expensive gifts. You’re worth being truly seen, truly heard, truly understood.

And as you look at Max, his blue eyes warm with understanding and something that might be more, you think that maybe, just maybe, you’ve found someone who sees you for exactly who you are.

***

The afternoon sun beats down on the streets of Monaco as Charles leans against his Ferrari, fidgeting nervously. He’s parked across from the International University of Monaco, his eyes fixed on the entrance. Students stream in and out, but none of them are the one he’s looking for.

He checks his watch for what must be the hundredth time. Your last class should be ending any minute now. Charles takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He’s rehearsed what he wants to say a thousand times, but now that the moment is approaching, all his carefully prepared words seem to evaporate.

A group of students emerges from the building, laughing and chatting. Charles straightens up, his eyes scanning the crowd. And then he sees you.

You’re walking with a couple of friends, your bag slung over your shoulder, a smile on your face. For a moment, Charles is struck by how ... normal you look. How at ease. It’s a stark contrast to the tense family dinners and stilted conversations of recent months.

Before he can second-guess himself, Charles pushes off from his car and starts walking towards you. He sees the exact moment you spot him — your smile falters, your steps slow.

“Y/N!” He calls out, waving awkwardly.

Your friends notice him too, their eyes widening in recognition. You say something to them that Charles can’t hear, and they nod, casting curious glances between you and your brother as they walk away.

Charles reaches you, stopping a few feet away, suddenly unsure of himself. “Hey,” he says softly.

“Charles,” you reply, your voice carefully neutral. “What are you doing here?”

He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he’s never been able to shake. “I ... I wanted to talk to you. In person. You haven’t been answering my calls or texts, and I just ... I needed to see you.”

You sigh, adjusting the strap of your bag. “I’ve been busy with classes. And I needed some space.”

“I know,” Charles says quickly. “I know, and I’m sorry for ambushing you like this. I just ... can we talk? Please?”

You glance around, noticing the curious stares from passing students. “Not here,” you say finally. “There’s a café around the corner. We can talk there.”

Charles nods eagerly, relief washing over him. “Yes, of course. Whatever you want.”

You lead the way to the café, a small, cozy place tucked away from the main streets. As you settle into a booth in the back, Charles can’t help but wonder how often you come here, how many parts of your life he knows nothing about.

A waitress approaches, and you order your usual — an iced latte with an extra shot. Charles fumbles with the menu before ordering a simple espresso.

An awkward silence falls over the table as you wait for your drinks. Charles fidgets with a napkin, trying to find the right words to begin.

“So,” you say finally, your tone clipped. “You wanted to talk. Talk.”

Charles takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “I’m so, so sorry, Y/N. For forgetting your birthday, for not being there for you, for ... for everything.”

You raise an eyebrow, your expression unreadable. “Is that it?”

Charles blinks, thrown off balance. “I ... what do you mean?”

“I mean,” you say, leaning forward slightly, “is that all you have to say? You’re sorry?”

Charles feels a flash of frustration. “What else do you want me to say? I messed up, I know that. I’m trying to make it right.”

The waitress returns with your drinks, and you take a long sip of your latte before responding. “Charles, this isn’t just about my birthday. This is about years of feeling invisible, of being overshadowed, of not being seen for who I am.”

Charles feels like he’s been punched in the gut. “What? Y/N, I ... I had no idea you felt that way.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “That’s kind of the point, Charles. You didn’t know because you never asked. None of you did.”

Charles sits back, his mind reeling. “I ... I don’t understand. We’ve always been close. At least, I thought we were.”

“We were,” you agree softly. “When we were kids. But as you got more and more successful, it was like ... like I faded into the background. Everything became about you, about your career.”

Charles feels tears pricking at his eyes. “Y/N, I never meant for that to happen. I love you. You’re my little sister.”

“I know you love me,” you say, your voice gentler now. “But loving someone and seeing them are two different things.”

Charles nods slowly, realization dawning. “The gifts,” he says. “That’s why you sent them back. Because I was trying to fix things without actually understanding what was wrong.”

“Exactly,” you confirm. “Charles, I don’t need expensive clothes or jewelry. I need my brother. The one who used to listen to me ramble about constellations for hours, who’d sneak me extra dessert when Maman wasn’t looking.”

Charles reaches across the table, hesitating for a moment before taking your hand. To his relief, you don’t pull away. “I want to be that brother again,” he says earnestly. “Tell me how. Please.”

You take a deep breath, considering. “Well, for starters, you could ask me about my life. My studies, my friends, my dreams. And actually listen to the answers.”

Charles nods eagerly. “Yes, of course. Tell me everything. What are you studying? How are your classes going?”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “I’m majoring in Astrophysics, remember? This semester I’m taking a course on Stellar Evolution that’s absolutely fascinating. We’re learning about the life cycles of stars, from their formation to their eventual death.”

As you continue talking, passion lighting up your eyes, Charles feels a mix of pride and shame wash over him. Pride in your intelligence and enthusiasm, shame that he’s missed out on so much of your life.

“That sounds incredible,” he says when you pause for breath. “I had no idea you were studying something so complex. You must be really good at it.”

You shrug, a hint of your old shyness creeping in. “I do okay. It’s challenging, but I love it.”

“I’m sure you do more than okay,” Charles insists. “You’ve always been the smartest one in the family.”

You laugh softly. “I don’t know about that. But ... thanks, Charles. It means a lot to hear you say that.”

Charles squeezes your hand. “I mean it. And I want to hear more. About your classes, your friends, everything. I’ve missed so much, and I want to make up for it.”

You nod, a cautious hope in your eyes. “I’d like that. But Charles, it can’t just be today. This has to be a continuous thing. I need to know that you’re genuinely interested in my life, not just when you’re trying to make amends.”

“Absolutely,” Charles agrees immediately. “What if we set up a regular call? Once a week, we can catch up properly. No distractions, no racing talk unless you want to. Just us.”

A genuine smile spreads across your face. “I’d really like that.”

Charles feels a weight lifting from his shoulders. It’s not fixed, not completely, but it’s a start. “There’s something else,” he says, suddenly remembering. “Max ... are you and Max ...”

You blush slightly, looking down at your latte. “We’re ... figuring things out. He’s been really supportive through all of this.”

Charles nods, pushing down the instinctive surge of protectiveness. “He’s a good guy. If he makes you happy, then I’m happy for you.”

You look up, surprise evident in your eyes. “Really? You’re not going to go all overprotective big brother on me?”

Charles chuckles. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll have my moments. But Y/N, you’re an adult. You can make your own choices. I trust you.”

Tears well up in your eyes. “Thank you. That ... that means more than you know.”

As you both finish your drinks, the conversation flows more easily. Charles asks about your friends, your hobbies outside of studying. You tell him about the astronomy club you’ve joined, the research project you’re hoping to get involved with next semester.

When it’s time to leave, Charles stands up, hesitating for a moment before opening his arms. “Can I ...”

You nod, stepping into his embrace. Charles holds you tight, realizing how long it’s been since he’s really hugged you like this.

“I love you, little sister,” he murmurs into your hair. “And I promise, I’m going to do better.”

You squeeze him back. “I love you too, big brother. And ... I’m willing to give you the chance to prove it.”

As you part ways outside the café, Charles heading back to his car and you towards your apartment, there’s a lightness in the air that wasn’t there before. It’s not perfect, not yet. There are still conversations to be had, bridges to be rebuilt. But for the first time in a long time, there’s hope.

Charles watches you walk away, a mix of emotions swirling in his chest. Pride in the amazing person you’ve become, regret for the time he’s missed, determination to be the brother you deserve.

He pulls out his phone, creating a new reminder: Call Y/N — every Sunday, 7 PM.

It’s a small step, but it’s a start. And as he drives home, Charles finds himself looking forward to getting to know his little sister all over again.

***

The auditorium of the International University of Monaco buzzes with excitement as proud families and friends gather to celebrate the graduating class. In the front row, an unusually high-profile group draws curious glances and whispered conversations.

Charles fidgets in his seat, craning his neck to scan the sea of graduates. “Do you see her?” He asks, nudging his older brother.

Lorenzo chuckles, placing a calming hand on Charles’ shoulder. “Relax. She’ll be here. Alphabetical order, remember?”

On Charles’ other side, Arthur rolls his eyes fondly. “You’d think he was the one graduating, the way he’s acting.”

“Can you blame him?” Max chimes in from the end of the row, a warm smile on his face. “It’s a big day.”

Pascale, seated between Lorenzo and Arthur, dabs at her eyes with a tissue. “My baby girl, graduating university. I can hardly believe it.”

Max reaches across to pat her hand. “She’s amazing, Pascale. You should be very proud.”

Charles turns to Max, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Look at you, all calm and collected. I remember when you were a nervous wreck asking her out for the first time.”

Max blushes slightly, but grins. “Hey, your sister is intimidating. All that brainpower.”

“Shh!” Arthur hisses suddenly. “I think it’s starting!”

The auditorium falls silent as the ceremony begins. The family watches with rapt attention as the graduates file in, searching for that familiar face among the sea of caps and gowns.

And then, there you are. Your eyes scan the crowd until they land on your family, a bright smile spreading across your face as you wave discreetly.

“There she is!” Charles whisper-shouts, practically bouncing in his seat.

Lorenzo chuckles. “We see her. Try to contain yourself, yeah?”

The ceremony progresses, with speeches from the valedictorian and various dignitaries. Charles fidgets impatiently, earning amused glances from his family and Max.

Finally, the moment arrives. “Y/N Leclerc,” the announcer calls.

Charles jumps to his feet, letting out a whoop that echoes through the auditorium. “That’s my sister!” He shouts, drawing startled looks from nearby attendees.

Lorenzo and Arthur quickly join in, their cheers mixing with Charles’. Max and Pascale stand too, clapping enthusiastically.

You walk across the stage, accepting your diploma with a graceful nod. As you turn to face the audience, your eyes lock with your family’s, and your composed expression breaks into a radiant smile.

Charles, caught up in the moment, continues cheering even after you’ve left the stage. “That’s right! Astrophysicist in the house! Watch out, universe!”

Max, noticing the irritated glances from other families, reaches over and claps a hand over Charles’ mouth. “Okay, Charlie, I think she heard you,” he says, laughter in his voice.

Max feels something wet against his palm and jerks his hand away.

“Ugh, gross!” Max yelps, wiping it on his pants. “What are you, five?”

Charles grins unrepentantly. “You started it.”

Pascale sighs, shaking her head. “Boys, please. This is Y/N’s big day. Try to act like adults.”

“Sorry, Maman,” Charles mumbles, properly chastised.

As the ceremony concludes, the family makes their way outside, eagerly scanning the crowd for you.

“There!” Arthur calls out, pointing.

You’re making your way towards them, diploma in hand, your face glowing with happiness. Max reaches you first, sweeping you into a tight hug.

“Congratulations, liefje,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m so proud of you.”

You beam up at him, about to respond when Charles practically tackles you both.

“My sister, the genius!” He crows, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around. “I always knew you’d take over the world someday.”

You laugh, hugging him back just as fiercely. “Put me down, you goof! You’re making a scene.”

“Let him have his moment,” Lorenzo says, stepping in for his own hug once Charles releases you. “It’s not every day your little sister graduates top of her class in Astrophysics.”

Arthur’s turn comes next, his hug gentler but no less heartfelt. “Congrats. You’ve officially made the rest of us look like underachievers.”

Finally, you turn to your mother, who’s openly crying now. “Oh, my darling,” she says, cupping your face in her hands. “I’m so, so proud of you.”

You feel tears welling up in your own eyes as you embrace her. “Thanks, Maman. For everything.”

As you pull back, wiping at your eyes, Charles slings an arm around your shoulders. “So, what’s next? Going to discover a new planet? Name a star after your favorite man?”

You roll your eyes fondly. “First of all, I still have to get through graduate school. And second, bold of you to assume you’re my favorite.”

“Ouch,” Charles clutches his chest in mock pain. “After all we’ve been through?”

Max chuckles, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Face it, Leclerc. I’ve got you beat in the favorite department.”

Charles narrows his eyes playfully. “Is that a challenge, Verstappen?”

“Boys, boys,” you interject, laughing. “There’s plenty of me to go around. Now, how about we get out of here? I’m starving, and I believe someone promised me a celebration dinner.”

“Ah, yes!” Pascale says, clapping her hands together. “I’ve made reservations at La Maree. Your favorite, chérie.”

As the family starts to move towards the parking lot, Max hangs back, tugging gently on your hand. “Hold on a sec,” he says softly. “I want to give you something.”

Curious, you turn to face him. Max reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box.

Your eyes widen. “Max ...”

He opens the box, revealing a delicate necklace. A small white gold star pendant hangs from the chain, a tiny diamond twinkling at its center.

“I know it’s not much compared to your usual study subjects,” Max says, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “But I thought ... well, you’re my star, Y/N. My brilliant, beautiful star.”

Tears well up in your eyes again as Max fastens the necklace around your neck. “It’s perfect,” you whisper. “I love it. I love you.”

Max’s face breaks into a radiant smile. “I love you too,” he says, before leaning in to capture your lips in a tender kiss.

You melt into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands settle on your waist. For a moment, the world fades away, and it’s just the two of you.

The spell is broken by an exaggerated gagging sound. You break apart to see Charles pretending to retch, while Lorenzo and Arthur laugh.

You break apart, laughing. “Real mature, Charles,” you call back.

Charles grins, unrepentant. “Hey, someone’s got to keep an eye on you crazy kids.”

Max rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Your brother, the chaperone,” he mutters.

You giggle, taking Max’s hand as you rejoin your family. “Don’t worry,” you whisper conspiratorially. “We’ll ditch him at the restaurant.”

As you all pile into the waiting cars, the air buzzing with excitement and plans for the evening, you can’t help but feel overwhelmed with happiness. A year ago, you never would have imagined this scene — your family truly seeing and celebrating you, a wonderful man by your side who loves and supports you, and a bright future ahead in a field you’re passionate about.

The cars pull away from the university, carrying you towards your celebration dinner. As you watch the familiar streets of Monaco roll by, you find yourself filled with an incredible sense of anticipation. This isn’t just the end of your university journey — it’s the beginning of something new and exciting.

You glance around the car — at Charles and Arthur bickering good-naturedly in the back seat, at your mother chatting happily with Lorenzo who’s driving, and finally at Max beside you, his hand warm in yours. Your family, in all its chaotic, loving glory.

“Hey,” Max says softly, noticing your pensive expression. “You okay?”

You smile, squeezing his hand. “More than okay. I’m perfect.”

And as the car winds its way through the streets of Monaco, towards a future bright with possibility, you know that it’s true. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be, surrounded by love, with the stars stretching out endlessly before you.

[sttoru]

.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. toji can’t get his deserved rest due to his baby boy keeping him awake.

wc. 707

tags. dad!toji x female reader. nothing else to add; just pure fluff.

“he’s kickin’ me again,” toji complains with a deep sigh. tiny feet keep patting his back, not allowing the man to sleep at all. the culprit is none other than megumi—his beloved, yet bratty, son.

the little boy lays between you and your husband. you figured that this was best since megumi kept wailing each time you put him back in his crib.

you chuckle at toji’s groans of annoyance. your son is still full of energy, even if it’s already super late at night. your hand brushes against megumi’s chubby cheek and you can’t help but squeeze it lightly.

that action gains you a high-pitched squeak. you sigh and keep your child occupied with the movement of your finger against his face, “it’s his way of asking for attention, honey.”

toji grumbles something under his breath and scoots away from the both of you. megumi’s head turns towards his dad, his attention caught by the rustling of the sheets. you raise an eyebrow in response to toji putting distance between you both.

“papa’s mean,” you huff, talking to your baby. you can’t see toji’s face since his broad back is obstructing the view, though you can easily guess that he’s frowning.

maybe even secretly sulking about the lack of sleep. you do understand, however. he’s worked hard all day to provide for both megumi and you.

“papa,” megumi speaks up with an adorable pout on his lips. he crawls over to toji before you can stop him. the little boy taps at toji’s back again, tugging at the fabric of his shirt.

megumi’s need for attention and affection from his father is heartwarming to see. you reach out towards your son in hopes of picking him back up. toji needs his rest after all.

a deep sigh escapes toji’s lips. not one of frustration this time, but rather one of defeat. he opens his eyes and turns around to face megumi. the man’s stoic face softens the moment he sees those cute doe eyes staring up at him.

“c’mere,” toji grumbles and lifts his child’s tiny body up without any effort. megumi giggles instantly and reaches his hands out to hold his dad’s face. your husband playfully bites your son’s tiny fingers instead, “not gonna allow y’r dad to sleep, huh? tsk tsk.”

you watch the scene unfold with a tender smile. toji lowers his head and starts blowing raspberries against megumi’s tummy. the baby squeals and giggles uncontrollably, writhing around in toji’s embrace.

“this is what ya get for being a brat,” toji mumbles and switches to leaving kisses along the little boy’s belly. that makes megumi laugh as well due to the ticklishness.

toji grins. his earlier drowsiness and annoyance have vanished into thin air. he can’t possibly stay mad at his son. not after seeing megumi happy. and especially not after seeing your content smile too.

“mama! mama!” megumi laughs between cries of help. his tiny hand reaches out to you whilst toji continues the little attack on his tummy. you chuckle and decide to intervene.

you scoot over to the other side and shield megumi’s tiny body from your husband’s tickles. you frown and playfully scold him, “stay away from my baby, you big bad guy.”

toji raises an eyebrow in amusement. he bites back a laugh before cocking his head to the side, that familiar smug expression appearing on his face.

“oh yeah? ‘m the bad guy now, eh?” the dark-haired man rolls his eyes. he towers over both you and your son - who’s giggling and still holding tightly onto you, “all right. i’ll show you just how bad i can be then.”

your eyes widen the moment you feel toji’s fingers land underneath your shirt, touching your bare skin. not a second passes by and he’s already tickling you. his other hand reaches for megumi’s tummy again—now making the both of you squirm and giggle loudly.

the happy sounds echo throughout the room. perhaps even loud enough for your neighbours to hear at four in the morning. but, you don’t care about any possible noise complaints. not during this cozy family moment.

plus toji’s fond smile as he continues torturing you and your son is definitely worth all of it.

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | finding out you're pregnant

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : finding out you're pregnant with their baby even after agreeing on waiting a little bit before starting a family of your own.

୨ৎ : genre : romance & angst ୨ৎ : tws : arguing, pregnancy, mentions of abortion ୨ৎ : word count : 2786

୨ masterlist ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : got this idea from watching s2 of squid games, won't explain why, no spoilers here honeyyy

ʚ・max verstappen

max’s eyes widened as the words hit him, his gaze flicking to the pregnancy test in your hands. for a moment, he looked genuinely frozen—like you’d just told him red bull had switched to making bicycles instead of cars.

“we… agreed to wait,” he said slowly, blinking at you as if the sheer force of logic could undo the situation. he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

“max,” you said gently, biting back a laugh despite your nerves.

he stopped pacing, turning back to you with a raised eyebrow. “you’re sure it’s mine?” he deadpanned, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him.

you smacked his arm lightly. “not funny.”

he cracked a small, dry laugh, stepping closer and taking the test from your hand to set it aside. “okay, okay. it’s not what we planned, but…” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “i guess this is what i get for not reading the fine print in life.”

his hand found your waist, his expression softening as he pulled you closer. “look, it’s… unexpected. but it’s not the end of the world. just the end of uninterrupted sleep for the next few years, right?”

you couldn’t help but giggle as he placed a hand on your stomach, his confidence and dry humor kicking back in. “guess i’ll have to start winning every race now. baby formula might run through all my checks.”

despite his jokes, his eyes shone with something deeper—love, determination, and just the right amount of "what the hell do we do now?" but that was max: grounded, honest, and ready to figure out a solution to every challenge that was about to come flying at the two of you.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

lewis’s face fell the moment the words left your mouth. his brows knit together, and he blinked rapidly, like he was trying to process a race-ending penalty that came out of nowhere.

“you’re… pregnant?” his voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loudly might make it even more real.

you nodded, suddenly feeling unsure. “i know we talked about waiting a few more years, and i understand if you’re not ready. we don’t have to—”

“no,” he interrupted, his voice firm but his eyes wide. “no, don’t… don’t say that.” he stepped closer, his hand reaching for yours instinctively. “don’t even think about that. i want this baby.”

“but, lewis,” you started, “this isn’t what we planned. you’re so busy with your career, and i don’t want to—”

“i know,” he cut you off again, his voice cracking just slightly. he let out a shaky breath and rubbed the back of his neck, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a mix of worry and determination. “i didn’t expect this, yeah, but… that doesn’t mean i don’t want it. i do. i really do.”

his hand slid to your waist, pulling you gently closer. “i mean, yeah, i’m terrified. what if i mess this up? what if i’m not good enough at… being a dad?” he chuckled nervously, shaking his head at himself. “i’ve driven a car at 200 miles per hour, but this? this is scarier.”

you reached up to cup his face, your touch grounding him. “you’re not going to mess this up, lewis.”

he sighed, leaning into your touch. “i just… i want to do this right. for you. for us. for the baby.” his hand drifted hesitantly to your stomach, resting there as his lips curved into a small, uncertain smile. “i guess i’ll have to trade in some podiums for bedtime stories.”

the stress was still there, lingering in his furrowed brow and the way his jaw clenched, but beneath it, you saw something else—a flicker of hope and excitement. lewis was many things, but when it came to the people he loved, he never backed down. and in that moment, you knew he’d do whatever it took to be the best father he could be.

ʚ・george russell

george froze, his blue eyes locking onto yours, disbelief etched across his face. “you’re… pregnant?” he asked, his voice tight.

you nodded, your heart pounding. “i just found out. i—”

“what do you want to do?” he cut in, his tone sharper than you expected.

“what?”

“i’m asking if you want to keep it,” he said, running a hand through his hair, pacing the room with a mix of panic and frustration. “because it’s your choice, and i’ll support you, but i need to know where your head is.”

his words stung, and you stood up straighter. “do you think i’ve figured it all out already, george? i’m just as blindsided as you are!”

“i’m not accusing you of anything,” he shot back, his voice rising. “i’m just trying to get us on the same page. this wasn’t part of the plan, and now everything’s—” he stopped mid-sentence, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

you watched him, your own anger fading as his shoulders slumped. “i don’t know what i want yet,” you admitted softly. “but i’m scared.”

his eyes opened, the frustration melting into something gentler. “i’m scared too,” he admitted, stepping closer. “but if you want this baby, we’ll figure it out. together.”

his hands found yours, his grip firm but comforting. “i’ll support whatever you decide. but… if you’re asking me? i want this. i want us. even if it’s messy and terrifying.”

tears pricked your eyes as he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. “we’ll make it work,” he whispered, his voice steadier now. “and maybe… maybe this wasn’t part of the plan, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be the best thing to ever happen to us.”

for the first time since you found out, you felt a glimmer of hope—and in george’s arms, you knew you wouldn’t face this alone.

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos’s face went pale the moment you told him, his wide brown eyes staring at you like you’d just dropped the most shocking news of his life. he opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly struggling to find the words.

finally, he let out a string of rapid-fire spanish, his hands flying around as he started pacing. “¿estás segura? ¿cómo pasó esto? dios mío, esto no estaba en los planes.” (are you sure? how did this happen? my god, this wasn’t in the plans.)

you couldn’t help but bite back a laugh, despite your own nerves. “carlos, calm down.”

“calmarme? ¿cómo quieres que me calme?” (calm down? how do you expect me to calm down?) he exclaimed, throwing his hands up dramatically. “this is huge, my love, this is a baby."

“yes, it’s a baby,” you said gently, grabbing his arm to stop his pacing. “and i need to know how you feel about it.”

he froze, staring at you for a moment before his expression softened. “how i feel?” he repeated, his voice quieter now. he took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he processed everything.

then, slowly, a smile started to spread across his face. “a baby,” he said again, but this time it sounded different—softer, filled with awe. “we’re going to have a baby."

“yes,” you whispered, watching as his entire demeanor shifted.

his smile turned into a grin, and he pulled you into his arms, lifting you off the ground as he let out a laugh of pure joy. “amor, i’m going to be a dad!"

when he finally set you down, his hands immediately went to your stomach, his eyes sparkling. “i can’t believe it,” he said, his voice filled with excitement. “this wasn’t in the plans, no, but… this is amazing. you’re amazing.”

you laughed as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, still grinning like he’d just won a race. “i promise, i’ll do everything. i’ll be the best dad. and you—” he looked at you like you’d hung the moon. “you’ll be the most incredible mamá.”

all his earlier panic was gone, replaced by uncontainable happiness. carlos was over the moon, and in that moment, you knew this baby would be so loved.

ʚ・charles leclerc

charles froze, his green eyes widening as the words registered. he stood motionless for a moment, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no sound came out. then, he exhaled sharply, his hands raking through his hair, leaving it tousled in that way you loved.

“mon dieu…” he whispered, his accent thicker as he switched to french without realizing. “comment… comment c’est arrivé?” (my god… how… how did this happen?)

you hesitated, unsure of how to answer, but before you could, he looked up at you, his expression torn between panic and guilt. “no, i know how it happened. c’est ma faute.” (it’s my fault.)

“charles,” you started, stepping closer, but he backed away, pacing the room like he was mentally replaying every decision that had led to this moment.

“i should’ve been more careful,” he said, his voice shaking. “i should’ve… i mean, how could i be so stupid? you trusted me, and now…” he trailed off, his hands on his hips, his head hanging low.

“charles, stop,” you said firmly, walking up to him and grabbing his arm. “this isn’t just on you. it takes two people, remember?”

he lifted his head, his eyes glistening, and the vulnerability in them broke your heart. “but i was supposed to be more careful amore, and now i put a baby in you.” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “i didn’t want this to happen yet. not because i don’t want it,” he rushed to add, his words tumbling out in a whirlwind of emotion. “i do. i just… i wanted to give you more. to be ready. to make sure everything was perfect… amore you deserve everything, you deserve the world.”

you cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. “charles, nothing is ever perfect. and i don’t need perfect. i just need you.”

his breath hitched, and he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. “you’re too good for me,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. “but… i promise, i’ll do everything i can. i’ll be there for you, for the baby, for everything. je t’aime tellement.” (i love you so much.)

tears slipped down your cheeks as he opened his eyes, his hands coming up to cradle your face. “this baby… it’s not what we planned, but it’s ours,” he said softly, his voice steady now. “and i already love it because it’s part of you.”

he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, his thumb brushing away your tears. “we’ll figure this out together,” he whispered, his voice full of quiet determination. “i’ll make sure you and our baby have everything. i swear.”

in that moment, all his earlier worry and guilt melted away, leaving nothing but love and promise in his eyes. charles wasn’t just happy—he was ready to give his entire heart to you and the life you were building together.

ʚ・lando norris

lando froze, the lighthearted grin he’d been wearing vanishing in an instant. his eyes widened as he stared at you, his usually bright expression clouding over with uncertainty. “you’re serious?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual, almost disbelieving.

you nodded, your hands trembling slightly as you clasped them together. “i just found out. and… i don’t know what to do, lando. we’re so young, and there’s still so much we want to do.”

he ran a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath as he sat down heavily on the couch. “bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, his leg bouncing with nervous energy.

“i mean… we don’t have to go through with it,” you said hesitantly, your voice breaking a little. “we could—”

“no,” he interrupted, looking up at you sharply, his voice firmer than you’d ever heard it. “don’t say that. don’t even think about it.”

“lando, be realistic,” you said, your own frustration and fear bubbling up. “you’re in the prime of your career, and i’m still figuring out my life. how are we supposed to raise a baby when we’re barely adults ourselves?”

his jaw clenched, and he rubbed his hands over his face, clearly overwhelmed. “i know it’s not what we planned,” he said finally, his voice softer now but still tense. “and, yeah, i’m terrified. but this… this is part of us. and i can’t just… let it go.”

you sat down beside him, your shoulders sagging. “i’m scared, lando,” you admitted quietly. “i don’t want to mess this up. i don’t want to ruin your life.”

he turned to you then, his blue-green eyes filled with emotion. “you’re not ruining my life,” he said, reaching out to take your hands in his. “this is a curveball, yeah, but… i love you. and if this is happening, then i’ll be there. i’ll figure it out. we’ll figure it out.”

tears welled in your eyes, and he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. “we’re young, and we’ve got so much ahead of us,” he murmured. “but maybe this is part of that. maybe this is the crazy, unexpected adventure we didn’t know we needed.”

a small, watery laugh escaped you, and he smiled, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “hey, if i can survive driving at 300 kilometers per hour, i think i can handle a baby.”

you laughed again, the tension easing slightly as his words sank in. lando pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, and for the first time since finding out, you felt like everything might just be okay.

“we’ll still live our lives,” he said softly. “we’ll do it all—travel, race, everything. just… with a little plus one.”

and despite the fear, despite the uncertainty, his words filled you with hope. because with lando by your side, you knew you’d figure it out together.

ʚ・oscar piastri

oscar stared at you in silence, his face unusually still. for a moment, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and the knot in your stomach tightened.

“you’re… pregnant,” he finally said, his tone flat, almost like he was testing the words.

you nodded, your breath shaky. “yeah. i just found out.”

he let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking his head as he stood up and started pacing. “of course. of course this would happen now,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you shot back, your voice rising defensively.

“it means this isn’t what we planned, y/n!” he snapped, turning to face you, his calm demeanor slipping for once. “we’re not ready for this. you know that.”

“you think i don’t know that?” you fired back, standing now, your voice trembling with anger and fear. “you think i wanted this to happen? i’m just as scared as you are, oscar, but this is our reality now.”

he raked a hand through his hair, his expression torn between frustration and guilt. “we’re still figuring everything out—our lives, our careers. a baby? how are we supposed to handle that?”

“i don’t know!” you yelled, tears brimming in your eyes. “but i can’t do this alone, oscar. i need to know where you stand.”

he stopped pacing, his shoulders slumping as he let out a long breath. “do you even want this?” he asked quietly, his voice breaking slightly. “because if you don’t… if you think it’s too much… i’ll support you. whatever you decide.”

the question hit you like a punch to the gut. “i don’t know,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “i don’t know what i want. but i’m terrified of making the wrong choice.”

oscar stared at you for a long moment, his usually calm eyes filled with a storm of emotions. then, slowly, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek.

“i’m scared too,” he murmured, his voice soft now, all the anger gone. “but… i don’t want to lose this. i don’t want to lose you. and if this baby is part of you, then how could i not love it?”

your tears spilled over, and he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. “it’s not going to be easy,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “but we’ll figure it out. even if it’s messy, even if it’s hard. we’ll figure it out together.”

you clung to him, your tears soaking into his shirt as the weight of the moment settled over both of you. it wasn’t the perfect, joyful revelation you might have dreamed of, but it was real. and as bittersweet as it felt, it was enough.

for now, it was enough.

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[fastandcarlos]

"She's In Labour...Now?" : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: it wasn't supposed to happen yet, especially with max preparing for a race...

Your body froze, hand coming down to the side of your bump as yet again you felt a stab of pain against your side, struggling to keep yourself balanced. A heavy breath came from you as Sophie’s eyes glanced to your side, immediately moving closer to you. 

Your eyes shut in horror as another twang of pain arrived, leaning against anything that you could find to try and support yourself. Sophie’s hand landed on your back as she watched you, her eyes full of concern. 

“Everything alright?” She asked, although she already knew the answer to the question. “You don’t think you’re going into labour...do you?” 

Your shoulders shrugged, feeling your heart begin to race. “I don’t know, I hope not, Max is about to race any second and I need to be there to watch him.” 

Sophie’s head shook as you spoke, knowing that Max didn’t need to be your priority right now. Before you could argue she had a member of Max’s team rushing around the garage to try and find you, not giving you the chance to protest and assure her that you were fine. 

In a matter of moments Max’s figure came sprinting through the garage, his eyes searching for you. Sophie waved over to him, standing to one side as soon as Max arrived at your side, his arm moving around you to try and support you. 

“Is it happening?” Max nervously asked, looking between you and his mum. 

Just like his Mum, Max didn’t need an answer, already being able to tell for himself. As you went through another stab of pain you grabbed on tightly to Max, letting go of a groan. Max quickly moved to hold you tighter, keeping you against his chest. 

“It’s alright,” he whispered, kissing against the top of your head. “I’m right here with you, I’m not going anywhere,” he added, feeling your eyes glance up at him. 

Your head shook as you tried to step away from Max, but he was far too strong. He kept his hold despite how hard you tried to wriggle out, quickly remembering where you were and what he was supposed to be doing. 

“You can’t be here,” you murmured, “you need to be getting ready to race, you’re on pole, you can’t lose such valuable points Max.” 

“Do you really think I’d leave you right now, like this?” He asked you. 

You immediately felt guilty as Max asked a member of the team to come over, informing them to pass onto Christian that the reserve driver would need to step in for the race. 

“The team aren’t going to be happy,” one of the PR team told him in reply, scratching over the top of their head, “but I guess given the circumstances they’re just going to have to deal with it. We’ll put out a statement and tell everyone that you’re feeling unwell as the reason you’re not there.” 

You looked to Max once more, eyes pleading with him. “We don’t know for sure whether I’m in labour yet, why don’t you at least race? It’s only a couple of hours, I’ll be alright.” 

He didn’t even bother listening to you, his mind was well and truly made up and you wouldn’t be able to convince him otherwise. Max didn’t want to miss a thing, and he certainly didn’t want to not be by your side whilst you were in pain too, regardless of whether you were in labour or not. 

Everyone else went to carry on prepping for the race, with you and Max left alone after his mum told you that she’d head off to go and get your things. “I’m not willing to risk anything,” Max whispered, holding onto you as you began to walk over to the car park. “We’re going to the hospital whether you like it or not, I’d rather be safe than sorry.” 

You smiled weakly across at Max; his eyes filled with concern. “I’m not due for another three weeks Max, let’s just wait and see how the next hour goes, it might be nothing.” 

“But it could be something,” he corrected, still full of worry. Max was proven to be right as after taking a couple of steps you felt a pain that you couldn’t describe course over your bump, leaving you doubled over, biting down on your bottom lip to stop yourself screaming. 

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, relying on Max to keep you from falling. Your eyes screwed tightly shut, breathing as well as you could to try and ride out the pain. It took a few moments, but just as it passed, another stabbing pain hit your bump. 

Call it father’s instincts, but Max knew in that moment what was happening. He called for his car to be brought over as soon as it could be, wrapping his arms around you so that he could carry you, doing anything that he could to make life a little easier for you. 

Your arms wrapped around Max’s neck, allowing him to scoop you up. “Turns out, you might’ve been right,” you joked, feeling Max’s eyes glance down at you, as if he knew all along. 

“It’s not about being right or wrong, it’s about getting you to hospital now.” 

The car barely stopped before Max opened the passenger door and sat you in, buckling your belt. The valet passed him the keys as his mum arrived, passing your bags over to Max before shouting that she’d catch you up. Max quickly climbed into the car, putting his foot on the accelerator as fast as he could. 

“Turns out I’m in a different race now, the race with all this traffic.” 

“I’d like to get to the hospital in one piece,” you laughed, struggling to get yourself comfortable in your seat as Max drove as quickly as he could, weaving around the cars on the road that were queueing to get into the paddock and see the race, “and I think our child would also vouch for that too.” 

“I’m not driving like a maniac,” Max told you, but even he was a little doubtful. “Well, maybe I am a tad, but I think I can be forgiven considering the circumstances.” 

His eyes were only half on the road, with Max watching over to you too every time a contraction greeted you. Each one made his heart race, filled with him with nerves as you assured him that you were alright, even though you were far from it. 

It wasn’t exactly how you planned your day, ready to sit and relax whilst watching Max, struggling to believe what was about to happen. 

“I'm so proud of you,” Max whispered as he noticed you staring out of the window. "I don’t quite know what’s about to happen, and if I’m honest, I’m terrified, but one thing I know is that I’m going to be so in awe of you.” 

You smiled weakly back across at Max, “however scared you’re feeling right now, double it and you might feel as scared as I do. But the one thing that I know is that you’re there for me, so that means I’m going to be alright.” 

“I won’t let anything bad happen,” Max promised you, matching your smile. “I’m not going to leave you alone for a second, no matter what it takes.” 

Neither of you quite knew how the next few hours were going to unfold, but as a team, you knew you were going to be alright. The race was soon forgotten as the two of you looked to the future and the thrill of knowing that your first meeting with your daughter was right around the corner. 

“Can you believe we’re about to be parents?” Max smiled across at you. 

“I don’t think it’ll ever truly sink in.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[steddieprompts]

Another cutesy little steddie thing. all fluff. Post vecna. 1648 words.

---

It’s not that Eddie was a wuss…

Ok maybe he was, but still this was a terrifying prospect… asking Steve Harrington out.

It didn’t help that he was getting advice from a 15 year old.

“Do you think he likes you back?”  Dustin asked, tapping a pencil against his chin.

“I don’t know, Henderson,” Eddie ran his hands over his face.  What was he doing?  “You’re supposed to be helping me figure that out.”

Dustin tapped his chin again and looked at the ceiling.

In all honesty, Eddie would usually talk to Jeff about this stuff, but he had to be visiting his family in Ohio because of stupid Thanksgiving.

“Well, you guys hang out a lot, that’s gotta count for something.”  Dustin pointed out.

“You hang out a lot with Sinclair and Wheeler.  You wanna make out with them?”  Dustin pulled a face.  “That’s what I thought.”

“I am happily in a relationship, thanks.”  Dustin pointed out.

He always had a reason to point it out.

“I know, and I would like to be as well, so if we could get back to the discussion at hand…”

“Ok, ok… Well, Steve hasn’t really been dating recently… right?”

“No, he hasn’t.”

“Maybe that means something?”

“I don’t know… He says he just hasn’t met the right person yet…”

“Well… he used ‘person,’ not ‘girl!’  That’s a good sign!”  Dustin pointed his pencil at Eddie.

“Sure, but you’re missing a key point in that statement.”  Eddie sighed.  Dustin squinted at him.  “He’s met me, Dustin.”

Dustin’s eyebrows shot up.  “Fair point.”

Eddie dropped his face into his hands.  Dustin started up again.

“Your idea that Steve might like you is a hypothesis and science dictates that the only way to conclude if a hypothesis is correct is to prove it.  To run experiments.”

Eddie let out a belabored sigh.

“So, test it,” Dustin continued. “Ask Steve out.”

Eddie stared at Dustin, knowing he was right in his own little, nerd way.

“Yeah… Ok, alright, yeah, I’ll do it.”

\\\\\\\

The next day was movie night at Steve’s with the whole crew.  The kids, Nancy, and Robin were all in the living room putting out snacks and arguing about where they would sit.  Eddie figured now was as good a time as any.  He crossed over to the kitchen, meandering over to Steve who was waiting for the popcorn in the microwave.

“Hey.”  Eddie offered once he was a few feet away.  Nailed it.

“Hey,”  Steve looked over at him, “how’s physical therapy going?  I’ve been meaning to call you, see if you needed any help.”  Steve responded with a soft smile at Eddie, the kind that made all the nervous energy in him disappear.  The microwave beeped and Steve pulled the popcorn out, hissing when he grabbed the hot part of the bag before dropping it in one of the big plastic bowls he had waiting.

Eddie grabbed another bag out of the box, unfolded it and handed it to Steve.

“Uh, good, good, I guess.  I never really know if I’m doing the exercises right.  The paper instructions are shit.”

Steve laughed at that, “Yeah, I’ve been there.  I could come over some time, help you figure them out?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.  That would be great… actually.”  Eddie swallowed.  “But, uh, before that happens, I, uh, I have to ask you something.”  Eddie stumbled over the words before looking over his shoulder, making sure no one else would be witness to him getting shot down by Steve Harrington, even if he was in a house full of friends.

“Yeah?”  Steve turned toward Eddie, leaned his hip against the counter, the picture of nonchalance.

“Yeah,” Eddie cleared his throat, “Would you, uh, ever consider, maybe… shit. Start over.”  Eddie clamped his jaw in a grimace before starting again.  He couldn’t look at Steve yet.  If he saw any bit of apprehension or negative emotion, he would never actually get the full question out.  “Would you like to go out… on a date… with me?”

Eddie finally looked at Steve instead of the cabinet behind his head.  His initial look gave him nothing.  Steve looked the same, if not a little more still, a little more focused.  But he wasn’t saying anything.  The nervous energy was back with a vengeance and Eddie was starting to feel twitchy the longer Steve stared at him.

And then Lucas walked into the kitchen.

“Is this one ready?”  he asked, pulling the bowl with the popcorn bag in it across the counter.  The microwave behind Steve beeped.  He was still staring at Eddie.  Eddie was still staring at Steve.

“Uh-huh.”  Steve answered.

“Should I get that one out?”  Lucas asked.

“I’ll get it in a second,” Steve said, his eyes now roaming over Eddie’s face.

“I don’t mind.”  Lucas offered.

“Dude.”  Steve’s eyes finally left Eddie and he felt himself deflate a little bit, muscles twinging from where he had been clenching them.  “I’ll get it. Can you give us a minute?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah? Sure?”  Lucas replied, quickly grabbing the bowl and heading back towards the living room.

Steve’s eyes flicked back to Eddie and he felt suddenly compelled to talk.  Like a tidal wave, his insecurities drowned him.

“I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have sprung this on you.  I’m not your type, I know. I—”

“Yes.”

“Don’t even know if…”  Eddie stopped to process what Steve said.  “Yes? Yes, I’m not your type or yes you… you want to…”

“Yes. I’ll go out with you.”

Eddie finally looked at Steve, really took him in instead of concentrating on not collapsing in on himself.  Steve looked almost… shy?  Nervous?  There was the slightest blush on his neck, the smallest, guarded smile.  He, Eddie now noticed, had been white knuckling his own arm ever since Eddie asked.

Interesting.

Eddie relaxed a little.  “Yeah?”

Steve’s smile grew bigger as he nodded. “Yeah.”

Eddie couldn’t help the smile that took over his face.  He did it.  He asked Steve out. And Steve said yes!  What’s more, Steve looked caught off guard in the best way possible.  “Oh, just you wait, Harrington.  I’m gonna wine and dine you like you’ve never been wined and dined before.” Eddie grinned.

“The popcorn’s getting cold! What’s taking you guys so long!”  Dustin yelled from the living room.

Steve turned to the microwave to get the popcorn and Eddie reveled in Steve’s smile.  The way it looked like he was restraining it, the way Steve looked lighter than he had in weeks.

They walked back to the living room together, and Eddie kicked Mike off the couch so he could sit next to Steve. Halfway through the movie, Steve slipped his hand into Eddie’s.  On impulse, he pulled Steve’s hand up to kiss the back of it, before shifting closer and leaning his head on Steve’s shoulder.  When he felt the press of Steve’s head on top of his he thought maybe he was dead.  Maybe the bats had finished him off and he was in heaven.

He would have to thank Dustin for pushing him to ask Steve.  He would never hear the end of it.

When the movie ended and everyone was leaving, Eddie hung around the living room so he would be the last to go.  He refolded the blankets, rewound the tape and put it back in its box, and picked up the popcorn bowls and candy wrappers.  He was in the kitchen throwing things out, thinking maybe he had enough time to run to the bathroom, when Steve reappeared.

“Everyone head out?”  Eddie asked as Steve approached him.

“Mhmm.”  He replied before stepping around the kitchen island and stopping in front of Eddie. “Coast is clear.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie grinned, stepping closer.

“Mmm,” Steve hummed before leaning in, pressing his lips to Eddie’s.

Eddie had kissed quite a few people before, boys and girls alike, but this kiss with Steve.  It was different.  It filled him up, distracted him from everything else so that when his back hit the counter it almost startled him.

“Sorry.”  Steve hummed, pulling away.

“Don’t be.”  Eddie managed to get out before pulling Steve back in.  He was definitely in heaven.  Except in heaven, he wouldn’t be almost peeing his pants.  Curse that whole bottle of coke.

Eddie pulled back with a soft, ‘shit.’

“You okay?”  Steve asked.

“Yeah, fantastic, great. Except I think I’m about to pee my pants. Don’t go anywhere, Big Boy.”  Eddie said before practically running to the bathroom, Steve’s surprised laughter following him down the hall.

When he got back, Steve was washing the popcorn bowls and pizza plates from earlier in the night, sweater pushed up to his elbows, the locks of hair hanging in his eyes swinging with his movements.  Eddie stepped up behind him and wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist.

“No one has ever asked me out.”  Steve said after a few seconds.

“What?”  Eddie let go in surprise, moving next to Steve so he could see his face.  “Seriously?”

Steve nodded.

“The way girls talked about you I would have thought they would be lining up.”  Eddie mused.

“No. I’m the guy, you know?  I mean they definitely dropped hints, but none of them asked me.”

Eddie reveled in that for a second.  He was the first person to ask Steve Harrington out.

“So, how does it feel being on the receiving end?”  Eddie asked, nudging Steve.

“So good.”  Steve smiled at him, the sincerity of his words bleeding out of him so much that Eddie had to dart forward and peck him on the cheek.

“Where do you want to go?”  Eddie asked.

“You said you were gonna wine and dine me,” Steve replied, “I trust you.”

Those words sent a bolt of pure reassurance through Eddie.  “Oh, Steve Harrington,” he half sing-songed, half chuckled, “I’m gonna date you so hard.”