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giuseppe-yuki · 4 days ago

Text

birthday celebration?

normal!max verstappen x billionaire!reader

w.c.: 3.8k

warnings: suggestive material, curse words, danica patrick (?), sassy and jimmy slander (sorry i love them irl i promise)

part of my money, money, money!universe

summary: yesterday was max's birthday. the press wants to know: you guys went all out to celebrate, right?

a/n: so yesterday was actually my birthday 🤭 i tried my best to post this before it hit 12 as a birthday treat for y'all, but it didn't really work out... consider this a late birthday post + max 4 wdc celebration :)

p.s. this is NOT the money, money, money spinoff that i promised- i'm working on that i swear🤞🥲

picture credits from pinterest :)

to say the driveway up to the gala building was crowded was an understatement. if you looked out the window of the very expensive rolls royce you were currently seated in, you could spot at least five rosso corsa ferraris and like, three jet black lamborghinis within a meter from you. to be honest, you had to give props to your private driver, daniil, because there was no way you could have strategically maneuvered the car onto the jam-packed road without causing a rather exorbitant pileup of supercars. next to you, on the plush leather seats, was your boyfriend in his freshly pressed, custom fitted suit that you had your assistant buy just for the event. he sits there politely with his hands folded together, wide blue eyes blinking at you innocently. he looked mighty handsome, and if you weren’t currently sitting in a car with a billion cars, paparazzi, and influential figures right outside, you certainly would have done some not-so-appropriate things to max right then and there.

instead of doing said things and traumatizing your poor private driver, you quickly glance at your phone.

a bold 5:10 flashes across the screen, in front of your lockscreen of max curled up in bed with jimmy and sassy.

shit.

you were scheduled to do some press stuff outside the event around 5:20, and had to be inside by 5:45. if the queue of cars of ahead of you didn’t hurry up, you would probably be late, and it wouldn’t be a good thing if the ceo of redbull herself was late to her own redbull gala.

max, like the sweet, observant boyfriend that he is, peers down at his own phone, notes the time, then tilts his head at you.

“do you want to just run up to the entrance?” he asks, pocketing his phone. “i’m sure it’s not too far, and i don’t want you to be late for your pr stuff!”

that didn’t sound like a bad idea.

after notifying daniil, you and max slip out of the vehicle, much to the surprise of the people in the cars around you. once you squeeze out of the crowd of exotic cars onto the sidewalk, max takes your hand and bolts his way towards the grandly decorated stairs of the gala in the distance.

unfortunately, you might have misjudged the distance to the entrance, because you both end up a little moist from sweat by the time your heeled feet reach the red carpet-lined stone stairs that lead up to open double doors- the entrance to the gala. lining the stairs are multiple cameras and interviewers, met-gala style. you are sure these are the pr interviews that your assistant was talking about, judging by the sprinkle of red-bull sponsored athletes chit-chatting to a few press members along the stairs and groups of photographers sending off bright flashes with their high-tech cameras. to your right, a man you recognize as sergio perez nods slowly as his interviewer animatedly gestures to a picture of sergio diving into what looks like a pool with a mexican flag wrapped around him. directly in front of you stands daniel ricciardo posing in different silly positions, much to the delight of the gossip magazine paparazzis that were probably having a field day photographing him. next to you, max ecstatically pulls on your dress and points to your left to the esports content creator, ludwig, who laughs loudly to your left as he banters with an excited looking man with a rather large microphone in hand. you haven’t really looked into ludwig’s content, but you often saw max watching his streams while you were in your online meetings, so if he liked ludwig, you guess you did too.

you attempt to quickly pull max towards the top of the stairs towards the entrance to the gala in an effort to completely avoid doing your media duties, but you are unfortunately stopped within the next twenty seconds by your own interviewer, a lady in the brightest pink outfit you had ever seen in your life.

“heLLO!” the lady says rather enthusiastically. “danica patrick, reporting for tmz!”

“er, hi!” you respond, a little less enthusiastically. max, half-hidden behind you, gives a light wave to the camera.

unperturbed, she flashes you both a toothy, unnaturally white smile at you both and places a microphone towards her glossy lips.

“so, miss redbull ceo! it’s so nice to meet you!” she remarks, “and you look absolutely flawless today!”

you give her and the camera a tight smile.

“thank you,” you respond, as if you didn’t have two drops of sweat going down your neck and a slightly dirt-dusted gown from the sprint from your car.

she nods, and then as if just realizing max’s presence, snatches him out from his half-hidden position behind you.

“and you!” she exclaims, looking max up and down. “you must be the boyfriend! max-” she checks her notes- “verstappen! yes, i’ve heard so much about you!”

your boyfriend blinks at her, nervously twiddling the redbull pin that was pinned to his lapel.

“okay,” he says after a beat of silence.

the lady nods, and scribbles something down in her notes as if max had something absolutely life-changing, before turning back to you.

“so, i’ve received the news that yesterday was max’s birthday,” she proclaims. “and i was just wondering what’d you guys did to celebrate! as a successful ceo, you must have went all out, huh?”

seriously? you think. what of question is this? you get to interview a ceo and this is the best thing you can come up with?

when you hesitate a second before answering, she probes, “rumor has it that you both went to bora bora yesterday...”

as if it knew that today was your boyfriend’s birthday, the bright rays of the monaco sun shined a golden beam of light straight onto max’s hair, lighting the blondish-brown strands into a little halo around his head. even if it feels like a creep to just stare at his peaceful face, you can’t help but gaze a little too long at his pouty lips, long eyelashes, and light stubble. from the corner of your eye, you can see one of his devilish cats balancing precariously on the bedframe. you clock it as sassy, who you knew, unfortunately from experience, loved to pounce on max’s face in the morning when she was feeling a little hungry. sassy meows at you innocently before proceeding to crouch in a position, ready to pounce. jimmy watches at the end of the bed, doing absolutely nothing as you fight for your life trying to wave sassy away without waking up max.

like the absolute devil sassy is, she leaps off the bedframe, claws extended, right at max. with your lightning quick reflexes that should earn you a seat in the redbull f1 team that your company sponsors, you snatch the bengal cat out of the air before she gets a chance to maul your boyfriend and send him to the emergency room on his birthday.

she hisses at you, teeth bared, and you just about catapult her out of the open window next to the bed.

instead, you take a deep breath. you deduce that max probably wouldn’t like to wake up finding out that his cat was a pancake on the streets below his apartment, probably ran over by someone’s ferrari pista. instead, you opt for a less extreme “fuck you,” that you hiss right back at sassy.

like he sensed someone threatening his baby, your boyfriend shifts around.

“whadyou say?” max mutters from the pillows behind you.

you whip back to face your boyfriend, simultaneously shoving sassy away from you.

max rubs his eyes sleepily and uses a hand to block the sun that now shines into his eyes. you try not to stare again at his eyes that light a warm whisky brown in the beams of sunlight that seep through his fingers. it cannot be legal to look this good.

“nothing,” you dismiss.

leaping forward, you wrap your arms around him in a hug.

a surprised look crosses his face, but he leans into your embrace anyways.

“do you know what day it is, maxie?” you ask, voice a little muffled from being pressed into the crook of his neck.

max takes a shockingly long time to respond.

“um… saturday?” he says slowly.

you give him a weird look.

“well yes…but it’s also your birthday!” you exclaim.

“oh!” he laughs, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “i totally forgot!”

“no way,” you say incredulously.

“yes way,” max replies, tucking you into his side with an arm around you.

leave it up to your boyfriend to forget his own birthday.

“well,” you state after a beat of silence of looking at the popcorn ceiling of his apartment. “good thing we still have, like, sixteen hours left to do whatever you want- and we basically have unlimited budget- so go crazy!”

“hmm,” he says.

“anywhere you’d like, really- bali, the hamptons, paris, dubai, maldives, bora bora,” you suggest helpfully. “or all of them?”

max thinks for second.

“how about monaco?”

you blink confusedly.

“so… right here?”

“yeah,” he responds.

you shrug.

“sure, that’s fine too!”

deborah, or danica, or whatever her name was, babbles on as you and max stand on the stairs awkwardly.

“an inside source has also relayed to us that you might have bought your boyfriend an abt audi rs6, legacy edition for his birthday- an insanely rare and expensive car which only has 200 made in the entire world!

an abt-legacy what? you can’t help but think, what the hell was that?

once you get dolled up with your 12-step get-ready process and max pulls on his usual clothes (white shirt + unfortunate-looking skinny jeans), you both hop in max’s trusty little yellow renault clio rs. of course, like the cat lover he was, max refused to accept any expensive material gifts from you, and instead requested to visit the cat shelter as a birthday “gift.” you guess you would probably have to return the tag heuer watch in your bedside drawer that you had gotten him plus the keys to that yacht that was currently sitting in the monaco bay that you thought he would like.

max whistles a cheerful tune as he types in the cat shelter address onto his phone’s navigation app as you try your best to think of the best way to approach your assistant and tell him to return the yacht that he might have spent the last week negotiating with some old rich prick to buy. his phone makes a small “ding” and prompts him to back out of the tiny garage underneath his apartment, which he does with surprising ease. the ride to the shelter is pretty smooth, except that tiny part where this dumb guy with an all-black ferrari with a red ‘16’ on the side runs the red light, almost t-bones your boyfriend, and then proceeds to stop diagonally in the middle of the road with the most rancid parking job.

your boyfriend walks into the cat shelter with you in tow. he passes right past the front desk, waves to the man playing sudoku on his phone, and then proceeds navigates the halls like he’s been there a million times. (actually, he might have) you pass row after row of cats in little kennels that your boyfriend somehow knows the names of, before coming to a stop in front of a young lady filling little formula bottles with milk. she has at least three cats worth of cat fur all over her paw-print sweater.

“max!” she remarks, looking a little too thrilled to see him. “how are you? i haven't seen you since, like, last tuesday!”

looking to you, her smile drops significantly.

“oh, and… who is this?”

“hi, i’m max’s girlfriend,” you articulate, answering her question. you reach your hand out to shake, but she pointedly ignores it.

“great…” she says fakely. “um, so how may i help you guys?”

max seems to not notice. instead, he has a wide smile pasted on his face.

“well, it’s actually my birthday today, and i would like to spread kindness by making a donation to my favorite cat shelter!” he announces.

ten minutes later, you find yourself signing a check that is made out for the ‘monaco meow manor.’

max twiddles his pen around his fingers.

“how much should i put it down as?” he asks, pen hovering above the empty line on the check.

you shrug.

“i don’t know, it’s your birthday, maxie. you choose.”

the lady who was obviously into max and the sudoku guy at the front eyes the both of you from their place at the front desk.

you watch as max writes down a 3300 on the piece of paper. he glances at you quickly. when you raise an eyebrow at him, he turns back and adds two more zeroes at the end. but, then he proceeds to place the commas all wrong.

“that says 3,300,00, max,” you say, pointing to the obviously misplaced commas.

“oh,” he says. “i can’t really erase it- it’s pen.”

the lady, whose scowl has disappeared, and the guy, who sudoku puzzle has long been abandoned, whips around after hearing this number, jaws dropped.

ignoring them, you take the pen from max’s hand.

“here,” you say, adding another neat zero to the end of max’s blocky numbers so it reads 3,300,000.

“okay, great, thanks!” your boyfriend says, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

he then turns to the lady and hands her the check.

“here’s the check. i hope all the kitties in here can all live long healthy lives and get everything they ever need!”

the two people at the desk look like they are about to pass out.

the lady clutches at the check with a white-knuckled hand and profusely thanks the pair of you.

you fight the urge to roll your eyes. oh, now she pays attention to you.

max, oblivious, beams, before taking your hand and leading you back out to his little yellow car.

“helping the kitties- check!” he declares.

you can’t help but smile and pull max into a searing kiss in front of the little cat shelter that was about to become the best-funded feline sanctuary in monaco, and most likely france too.

you don’t even have a chance to respond to danica’s inquiry about the complicated-sounding car that you supposedly “bought” for max before she rambles on.

“i bet you bought your little boyfriend the most luxurious foods too!” she spouts. “wagyu beef, spaghetti with saffron, caviar- ooh! maybe a glass of moët?”

“i’m not telling youuuuu!” max trills, leaping around the tiny living room of his monaco apartment with his phone held high above his head.

you don’t know whether to start raging in annoyance from your place on the scraggly carpet or to laugh at your boyfriend twirling on the lumpy sofa, phone screen purposely held away from you. jimmy only aggravates the situation by butting his head directly at your shin.

“max! is it a crime to want know what we are going to eat for dinner??” you shout, exasperated.

max somehow does a perfect pirouette off of the sofa (???) and smiles at you.

“no, but it should be a crime to look so pretty,” he says, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. you try and bat him away, but he is faster. he leaps up, cackling, and bolts away. his apartment isn’t that big, just his kitchen, living room, and his single bedroom, so you take your time hoisting yourself off the carpet. you resist the urge to punt jimmy away from your shin like a football, and instead gingerly step over him before sprinting over to max’s bedroom.

he awaits behind his bedroom door, and literally tackles you to his bed, pinning you underneath him.

its hard to stay mad at max when he’s giggling like a little kid and looking at you with those impossibly blue eyes that crinkled in the corners while he laughs.

“i hate you,” you say with no heat.

“mhm, i’m sure you do,” he says, all the sudden sobering up. he leans his head down and nips at your neck.

you both know where this always leads.

max’s white shirt disappears within seconds like the sight of a f1 car by the grandstands, and soon enough, yours does too.

before you can do anything, though, the doorbell rings.

your boyfriend pulls off of you, albeit hesitantly.

“foods here, i guess,” he says, pulling his shirt back on like he wasn’t about to whip off his pants two seconds ago.

you roll your eyes as max goes to fetch the food while you get presentable again.

when you pad into the kitchen, you genuinely expect to see the world’s best chef tossing vegetables a meter in the air, considering how secretive max was about the birthday dinner you both were having.

instead, max sits at the table with a ripped bag that displays a tell-tale green ubereats sticker, along with a few black plastic boxes that takes up half of the table space.

your boyfriend rips the lids off with a flourish, showing you the contents.

“my favoriteeeeeeee!” he chirps, gesturing to thin slices of beef carpaccio laid out prettily in the container, fragrant tomato soup in another plastic bowl, and two cupcakes.

it was kind of a weird combination, but hey, if max liked it, you weren’t gonna argue with it.

you grab utensils for the both of you, and dig in.

when the dregs of the tomato soup is all that's left in your bowl, the beef carpaccio is reduced to a few stray capers and lemon juice, and the wrapper is all that’s left of the cupcake, you lay back contently in your chair.

“you know, “ you state, “i could’ve flyed in the best beef carpaccio maker in the world, the best tomato soup chef ever, and like, gordon ramsey for the cupcakes and had them make this for you.”

“eh,” he says, also laying back in his seat, feeling full and happy, “ubereats from the restaurant three blocks down is honestly just as good too.”

danica was still not done.

“the parties must have been wild for max's birthday, too!” she raves. “with your influence, i bet all the celebs were there! kim k, rihanna, carlos alcaraz, oprah winfrey, lebron james, johnny depp, billie ellish- shall i go on?

no, you think to yourself. no, you shouldn’t.

feeling content, you flop onto max’s bed. your boyfriend slides onto the mattress next to you, allowing you to snuggle into his soft body. you inhale the smell of his cologne, and a feeling of content drapes over your body like a warm blanket.

“happy birthday, again, max,” you mutter, voice muffled in his chest. you slowly slide a hand suggestively into his shirt.

“thanks,” he says. he pauses a moment before getting up, effectively making your hand drop out. “i think i’d like to play a video game right now.”

“oh,” is all you can think to say. you loved your boyfriend very much, but sometimes he just could not understand context clues.

“are you sure?” you ask as he sets up his gaming system, loading in f123. “we could do something else…” you trail off slowly, seeing if he could pick up what you were putting down.

“yeah,” he says, eyes trained on the tv. he scrolls through a bunch of men in racing suits, and you spot a like, two with your company’s sign, big and bold, across their chest. huh, you kind of forgot your company sponsored f1. you squint your eyes at the white lettering displaying their names- sergio perez and daniel ricciardo. they seemed like pretty successful dudes, looking at their stats. max clicks on daniel’s profile, and jumps back onto the bed next to you as the loading screen pops up, still oblivious to your intentions.

he let him zoom through a track named mug jello or something like that for the better half of an hour before making another move, since it was his birthday, after all.

“do you want to watch netflix and... chill?” you suggest, nudging max.

“one second,” he responds, as the stopwatch thing at the side of the screen turns entirely purple. a checkered flag fills the screen, and the guy with the redbull racing suit appears, drinking champagne out of a shoe. “woohoo!” he says, beaming down at you, who has now draped yourself over his lap. “i won!”

you blink at him. how was being in his lap not obvious enough?

“oh, yeah, sure, we can watch a movie.” he says hurriedly, misjudging the seriously? look on your face.

max gently moves you out of his lap as he changes the tv channels to netflix.

when he turns back around, you have your shirt off, sitting suggestively on the bed.

your boyfriend laughs.

“is it really that hot in the room? i can turn on the ac if you want,” he offers helpfully.

reaching over, he opens his window, effectively blasting your semi-naked body with a blast of cold monaco wind that frequented the coast at night. you swear to god, if you get sick tomorrow-

you finally give up your attempts after max switches on a film called “crazy rich asians.” you snuggle into him innocently as the movie starts, and honestly, the beginning is kind of good.

you are right in the middle of the scene where the movie’s main character, rachel, is getting a makeover by her friend, peik lin, and her ridiculous family when you catch max staring at you.

“hey, baby,” he whisper-yells, nudging you.

“mmm?” you respond, fully intrigued as Rachel tries on dress after dress.

“do you want to..?”

you don’t really comprehend what he is saying as you are too focused on an intense emotional scene that pops up on the screen.

“huh?” you say distractedly.

max’s mouth latches to your neck.

you manage to tear your eyes away from the screen to realize what max is doing.

oh.

you notice are still shirtless and your boyfriends hands were now wandering to places that were not so family-friendly.

damn it, you curse silently, the movie was just getting good!

still, you can’t help to give in to max’s urges.

pretty soon, the screen glazes over in black. a prompt pops up: are you still watching?

the brunette interviewer beams at you and max, awaiting a response. the microphone that she holds is shoved a little too close to your face for comfort. seeing your silent form, her face drops into a scowl.

“no comment?” she sniffs in disdain.

turning to max, she prods the microphone towards his lips.

“you?” she snaps.

your boyfriend shrugs.

“all i can say is that my birthday yesterday was simply lovely.”

taglist: @sunny44 @taliya8346282844eliviahdgdajs @xjval @fellowwomenlover @ironmaiden1313

@phobiccneel @comicalivy @amz824 @gloriousartisanpastacroissant @mastermindbaby

#f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf fic #f1 imagine #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #mv1 x y/n #mv1 x you #mv1 x reader #📝

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blankstaretlo85-blog · 1 year ago

Text

2023.07.12

Newham

Maryland

North Greenwich

"The Line"

-Alex Chinneck A Bullet from a Shooting Star

-Thomson & Craighead Here

-Richard Wilson A Slice of Reality

-Gary Hume Liberty Grip

-Antony Gormley Quantum Cloud

-Laura Ford Bird Boy (without a tail)

-------------

テムズ川沿いに野外展示が並ぶ"The line"を見に行った日。

ホテルの朝食を食べて徒歩で最寄り駅へ。工事現場を撮ったらおっちゃんが手を振ってくれていた。

Maryland駅からJubilee線でNorth Greenwich駅まで行き、O2アリーナをぐるっと囲むように展示されている5つの野外展示および、そこからケーブルカーで渡った先にある1つの計6つを見ることが出来た。The line自体はもっと多くの展示があるのだが、回っている途中で既に体調がおかしいことに気付いていたので、なんとかどうしても見たかったBird Boyまで会いに少し無理をした。

最初はAlex ChinneckのA Bullet from a Shooting Star。逆さまの鉄塔が地面に突き刺さっている。以前は近づけたようだが、周囲の開発が行われている関係でほぼ封鎖されてしまっていた。しかしNorth Greenwich駅を降りたらすぐに見えるその存在感。非情に異質というわけでもなく、周囲に溶け込んでいる流れ星はとても魅力的だった。

そのままHereを通過してA Slice of Reality。輪切りにされた船。実際にあった船だか、それのレプリカだか。船の内部には何かの缶やら板やらが残っていて、今にも中から人がひょこっと顔を出しそうだった。船に打ち付ける水の音を聞きながら、彼が語る止まった時間を眺めた。ここには何があったのだろう。

次はLiberty Grip。マネキン3体の腕をモチーフにしたよくわからない滑らかなシェイプを、記念像のようにブロンズで塗装。いたずら心として切り口をピンクとグリーンで塗ったらしい。とても可愛らしい作者だと思ったし、ステートメン��を読む前はなんとなくエロチックな雰囲気だなと思っていたのだが、読んだ後は作者が二ヒヒと笑っているような、楽しい印象を抱いた。よくわからんけど好きという芸術鑑賞で一番楽しいやつ。

Quantum Cloud。でっけー。下半分は規則正しいが、上半分はカオスな渦が巻いている。量子だとかエネルギーとか質量とか、そういう科学的な何かを表現した何からしい。なるほど分からん。

ロンドンケーブルカーに行く途中に何かでっかい像を発見。The Lineとは関係ないものらしい。体には枝が生え、足元には珊瑚。海なのか山なのか。呪術廻戦の花御みたいだった。

ケーブルカーに乗る前にカフェに行き、くそでかチョコクロワッサンとラテを頼んだ。ここでも無事英語で詰む。「レギュラーミルクでいい？」って聞かれてんのにノーサンキューって言っちゃって怪訝な顔された。当たり前だ。（その後ちゃんとなんとかなった）

ケーブルカーはオンラインでチケットを買って乗車。揺れるし怖いしヒーヒー言いながら10分ほどでテムズ川を横断。上から見る景色は楽しかった。

最後に、Bird Boy (without a tail)。彼の写真を見て一目惚れし、絶対に会いたいと思っていたので感激だった。ケーブルカーの真下にあったので、近さに笑ってしまった。

"Laura Ford's sculptures present a complex interplay between vulnerability and menace. She uses humour and an acute observation of the human condition to engage with wider social and political issues. 'Bird Boy' is a figure of a lost child wearing a bird costume, which could appear as a protective disguise or a demonic curse. Standing motionless on the edge of a pontoon in the Royal Docks, 'Bird Boy' hopes he will go unnoticed but, despite his scale, his presence is powerful and commands attention."

(ローラ・フォードの彫刻は、脆弱性と脅威の間の複雑な相互作用を表現しています。彼女はユーモアと人間の状態に対する鋭い観察を用いて、より広範な社会的および政治的問題に取り組んでいます。「バードボーイ」は鳥の着ぐるみを着た迷子の姿で、身を守るための変装や悪魔の呪いのように見えます。 ��イヤルドックのポンツーン(海上に人工的に作った平底の浮桟橋)の端にじっと立っている「バードボーイ」は、気づかれないことを望んでいますが、その規模にもかかわらず、その存在は強力であり、注目を集めています。)

天気も良かったし周囲にはベンチでくつろぐ人が大勢いるし、肝心のバードボーイの足元には永遠に鳥が2羽鎮座している。想像の500倍はなごやかな雰囲気だったので少しぽかんとしたが、これはこれで、彼が幸せそうで良かった。

その後Canning Town駅まで歩き、Stratford駅へ。電車の中に犬が居た。この時点で相当に体調のヤバさを感じる。Bootsで水とマスクを購入。バスでホテルまで帰った。

その3時間後ぐらいに頑張って最寄りの薬局まで行きコロナ簡易検査キットを購入（高かった）。薬局までの道のりで、黒人の兄ちゃんが窓から叫びまくってるのを見て「多分私は今日撃たれて死ぬ」と本気で思いながら超速足で、しかも黒人のにーちゃんを避けるため回り道までしてホテルへ帰った。撃たれなかった。

そうして無事に陽性が判明。結局この日の外出移行、Playoff3日目まで一切ホテルを出なかった。

PCRを受けたほうがいいのか、大会を見に行けるのか、ロンドンまで来て何でこうなったのか、わりと精神的にゴリゴリ落ち込む中なんとか乗り切れたのは、スーツケースに詰められるだけ詰めたインスタント食品と、Hellotalkという言語交換アプリで知り合ったロンドン在住の日英カップルさんのおかげ。丁度彼らがStratford近くに住んでいるということで、この辺りでPCRを受けられる場所を教えてもらったり、ロンドンにおけるコロナの扱いなどを聞いた。（日本人の彼女さんから「簡易キットで陽性ならPCRも陽性だと思う」と言われたので冷静になり、結局PCRは受けなかった。8000円ぐらいするんだもの）

人生初海外旅行、ツアーなども無く完全ソロ、でコロナ。ついてないにもほどがあったが仕方がない。ロンドンでパン屋に行けなかったことへの後悔が今も体中に染みついている。

13日・14日しっかり休み、15日のBracket stageから大会を現地観戦。あまり人が居ないあたりに座り、1席分は必ず開けて、マスクもしながら観戦はしたが、おそらく誰かしらには移してしまったと思う…。でも私もこのために日本から来てるから許してほしいと心で思いながら静かに過ごした。

大会は9時から22時まで続くので途中でご飯調達をしなきゃいけなかったけど、会場周辺に何があるのか分からず、試合間のインターバル時間が短かったから探��時間もなかったので会場の売店をうろうろ。（飲食物の持ち込みは禁止だった）

売店はホットドックが7ポンドというイカれた値段。それでも何かしら食べておかなきゃと思い選んだソーセージロール(5ポンド)がヤバかった。ソーセージの味が濃い。濃いっていうか岩塩。これを食べきったら俺は脱水症状で死ぬ。ここまでの滞在中ほとんど日本から持ってきたインスタント飯しか食ってなかった自分に対して、海外に来たことを改めて実感させてくれる忘れられない味となった。（結局、他の売店でチキンラップを発見したことでなんとか難を逃れた。）

選手に会うのも控えたが、連絡をくれたMoist esportsと、彼らと一緒に居たOnic esportsの選手たちには会うことができた。約3年半前、私が競技シーンを見始めた頃から知っている選手たち。当時とは比べ物にならないほど成長を遂げた彼らにやっと会うことが出来て本当に嬉しかった。

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