#pa17 one shot | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

soleilpinto · 1 month ago

Text

Chasing the Apex (Paul Aron) Ꮺ ָ࣪ ۰ ͙⊹

“Oh, my love, I’d be the first to admit it: I’ve been caught up in my feelings." (Niki, Lose) ⋆˚࿔

Synopsis: Paul likes to think his life is perfectly balanced—at least, until he starts noticing you. As you suddenly grow closer to Pepe over the season, Paul struggles with emotions he doesn’t want to admit. Torn between loyalty and longing, he learns that some races can’t be won, especially the ones fought off the track.

Genre: Angst

Pairing: Pepe Martí x Fem!Reader (Spin off in Paul’s POV)

Warnings: Broken hearts(?), Not many since this is just a spin off in Paul’s POV

Note: To that one ask that suggested I make a Paul POV to my Pepe fic, it kept festering in my mind that I decided to actually make a spin off 😭 I liked the idea of seeing the other side of things since not many people would see the other person’s side and how they might be handling these things. Anyways, don’t forget to like + reblog as always!

Changing Lanes (Pepe’s Version.) !!

The Porsche event was buzzing with energy—flashes from cameras, sleek cars on display, and a steady hum of conversation.

You were there for work, capturing social media content, blending into the crowd as much as you could. Paul wasn’t supposed to notice you, but somehow, he did.

It happened when you were leaning over a display, adjusting your camera to capture the perfect angle of a custom car interior.

He caught the glint of your necklace in the light, then the furrow of your brow as you concentrated. Something about the moment made him pause.

“Nice angle,” he remarked, stepping closer.

You turned, startled, only to be met with the unmistakable blonde hair and piercing gaze. “Oh, thanks,” you said, blinking. “Just trying to make this dashboard look like art.”

He chuckled lightly. “Tough job, but I think you nailed it.”

The conversation was brief, polite, and nothing out of the ordinary. But as Paul walked away, he realized he was still thinking about it hours later. Something about your calm focus, your easy laugh—it stuck with him.

Still, he shook his head. He had a girlfriend waiting for him at home, and this was nothing. Just a harmless interaction. Nothing more.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

It wasn’t like the typical interactions he had with people in his world. There was no pretense, no racing politics—just a brief, honest exchange.

Later, as he wandered through the event, his mind kept returning to that moment. He saw you again, a few feet away, scrolling through your phone near the refreshments, and without thinking, he approached you.

You looked up when he tapped your shoulder, a soft surprise in your expression. He couldn’t help but grin.

There was something about the way you carried yourself that was easy, refreshing even.

“You know, I didn’t think we’d run into each other again,” he said, trying to keep the conversation light, yet something in his voice betrayed his growing curiosity.

You laughed softly. “Seems like it.”

He wanted to say more, but the words seemed to get stuck. Instead, he just kept talking, enjoying the flow of the conversation.

You weren’t like everyone else he met—there was no pressure, no awkwardness. Just two people sharing a moment in the middle of an otherwise busy event.

When he excused himself, heading back into the crowd, he felt that same lingering pull, that feeling of wanting to know more about you.

It wasn’t something he had planned on, but it was there, quietly gnawing at him.

Shaking his head, he tried to push it down. It was just a conversation. Nothing more. But as he looked back at you from across the room, he couldn’t ignore the small ache that settled in his chest.

The next few weeks were a blur of race weekends, media duties, and endless travel. But as Paul went from one paddock to the next, there was something that stood out to him more than usual: you.

It started small—a fleeting wave when you passed by in the paddock, a brief exchange as he waited by the media wall. But over time, those small encounters grew.

You’d be walking from the garage, your camera in hand, and you’d make eye contact with him, a smile curving your lips in acknowledgment.

Every time he saw you, he felt a strange sense of calm. Your presence was comforting in a way he didn’t understand.

It was during a rare quiet moment in the paddock, just before the weekend’s first practice session, that you caught his eye again.

He had been talking with his team, but his gaze kept drifting back to where you were standing, casually chatting with a colleague.

There was something about you—your energy, your genuine interest in the world around you—that kept him coming back for more.

“You know,” he said, finally breaking away from his conversation and walking over to you, “I think I’m starting to see you everywhere these days.”

You laughed, a light, airy sound that made his heart skip. “Guess I’m just that hard to get rid of,” you teased, adjusting the strap of your camera bag.

Paul’s lips twitched upward. “Not complaining. It’s just... unexpected, that’s all.”

“I get that,” you said with a knowing look, as if you were sharing some unspoken understanding. “But hey, it’s a small paddock. I’m sure we’ll keep running into each other.”

There was a silence between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt easy, natural. Paul found himself wanting to hold onto the moment longer, to keep talking. But as usual, the bustle of the paddock pulled him away.

“See you around, yeah?” you said, offering him a smile that felt like it lasted longer than it did.

“Yeah. See you,” he replied, before watching you walk off, the noise of the paddock swallowing up the moment.

As the conversation with you wrapped up, Paul felt the familiar pull of the paddock around him—people walking by, the sound of teams running around, and the low hum of engines wrapping up for the afternoon.

He forced his attention back to his team, but his eyes kept flicking to where you stood, now chatting with Ollie and Kimi, the three of you laughing at something Kimi had said.

Paul watched you for a moment longer than he meant to, noting how natural you looked with them, how easily you fit into the rhythm of the paddock.

There was a lightness in the way you moved, a kind of grace that felt unforced, as if you belonged in this chaotic world in a way he hadn’t expected.

Ollie gestured toward the media area, and you turned to say something to him, your smile bright and easy.

As you walked away with them, Paul’s gaze lingered for a beat longer, watching your figure as you disappeared into the crowd.

He couldn’t help the slight pang of something—jealousy, maybe? Or just a sense of loss, the feeling that he was watching something he couldn’t quite touch. He shook his head, trying to shake the thought from his mind.

“Focus, Paul,” he muttered to himself, but the feeling of watching you walk away, so effortlessly at ease with everyone around you, stuck with him, tugging at him in a way he didn’t understand.

He turned back to his team, trying to keep his focus on the upcoming sessions for tomorrow, but it was hard to ignore the weight of that fleeting moment, the quiet ache in his chest that had begun to grow stronger.

The atmosphere at the Austria race was charged with the usual business of the paddock, but something felt different to Paul.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was there—a subtle shift in the air whenever he crossed paths with you.

Normally, you were easygoing, quick to greet him with a smile, a joke, or an offhand comment. But today, you seemed... distant.

When he saw you in the media area, your eyes didn’t light up with recognition the way they used to. Instead, you nodded politely, your focus quickly shifting to your camera and phone, your attention entirely absorbed in your work.

It was during a break, when the noise of the paddock settled just enough for him to hear his own thoughts, that Paul noticed the change again.

You were with Pepe, filming his thoughts on the race but then laughing at something he’d said, your whole demeanor different.

The lightness in your voice, the way you looked at him—it wasn’t something he had seen with you before.

There was something undeniably intimate in the way you two interacted, an ease that seemed to draw you closer together with every passing minute.

Paul stood off to the side, the pang in his chest growing harder to ignore. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much, but it did.

A voice in the back of his mind told him it was none of his business, that he was being ridiculous. He had a girlfriend, after all. He was happy, or at least, he told himself he was.

Shaking his head, he pushed the thoughts aside. He had a girlfriend to focus on, and a podium to celebrate.

As the day drew to a close and people began to trickle off to various parts of the paddock, Paul walked toward his girlfriend, the familiar weight of her presence grounding him. Still, the image of you and Pepe together lingered, a knot in his stomach that refused to loosen.

Trying to push it away, he wrapped his arm around his girlfriend, smiling as they walked off together.

Paul and his girlfriend made their way through the paddock, yet he couldn’t help but glance around, his mind still racing. He tried to focus on the usual chaos of the post-race debriefs, the teams packing up, but his gaze wandered. That’s when he saw you again.

You were walking out of the paddock, talking to Pepe, your head tilted back in that carefree way he had grown used to seeing.

The two of you were so wrapped up in your conversation that you hardly seemed to notice the world around you, the familiar hum of race weekend continuing on without a care.

There was something about the way you walked side by side with Pepe that caught Paul off guard.

The way your shoulders brushed occasionally, the ease in your conversation—it wasn’t the playful, casual interaction he was used to seeing in passing.

This was different. There was a warmth between you two, something deeper, and it hit Paul harder than he expected

He caught himself staring for a second too long, before quickly looking away, focusing back on the path in front of him, his hand tightening around his girlfriend’s.

“You okay?” she asked, noticing the shift in his demeanor.

“Yeah,” Paul replied quickly, his tone too sharp, too distracted. He tried to force a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

He could still feel the weight of the moment—the way you and Pepe moved together, completely unaware of him standing there, and how it made something twist in his chest.

They continued walking, and Paul tried to shake off the unsettling feeling that lingered, but it stuck with him, gnawing at the back of his mind the rest of the day.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to escape the thought of you and Pepe, of whatever was happening between the two of you, and why it bothered him so much.

Over the next few races, Paul couldn’t escape the constant presence of Pepe in your life. It was subtle at first—just little moments here and there.

He noticed the way your eyes would light up when you saw him, the way you shared inside jokes with him during media breaks, your demeanor so easy and warm.

It was almost like there was a secret language between you two, something only you both understood.

At the Hungarian Grand Prix, Paul watched you and Pepe in the media area, standing close to one another, your body language casual yet intimate.

You blushed at something Pepe had said, your hand briefly hitting his arm as you leaned in, a soft, unspoken connection between the two of you.

Paul felt a pang in his chest, something that made him feel uncomfortably aware of the way his stomach tightened whenever he saw you and Pepe interact.

Why did it bother him so much? He tried to shake off the feeling, but it lingered, clouding his thoughts every time he saw you two together.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t know that you had your own life, that you were free to form whatever connections you wanted. But there was something about the way you and Pepe were—so naturally in tune with each other—that unsettled him.

As the races went on, Paul found himself constantly watching for those moments between you and Pepe.

The brief touches—his hand on the small of your back when you moved through the paddock together, the way your eyes seemed to linger a little longer on him than they should. It wasn’t anything overt, but to Paul, it was enough.

He couldn’t stop comparing it to the times he and his girlfriend had spent together, the way things had felt with her versus what he was seeing between you and Pepe.

He tried to push the thoughts away, reminding himself that he had a girlfriend, that he was in a committed relationship. So why did the sight of you and Pepe together leave him feeling uneasy?

Paul couldn’t help but replay those moments in his head as the races continued.

Each time he saw you and Pepe together, something inside him twisted—a feeling he couldn’t place, but one that wouldn’t go away.

He kept telling himself it was nothing, that he was overthinking it, but deep down, he knew it was more than that.

He watched you both interact at the next race, your easy camaraderie, the way you naturally gravitated toward each other. And yet, each time he saw it, a part of him felt... displaced.

It wasn’t jealousy—at least, that’s what he told himself.

He was just a little confused by the depth of the connection between you two, a connection that seemed to grow with every passing race.

When he saw you and Pepe together in the paddock once more, a thought crossed his mind—a thought he quickly dismissed but couldn’t shake. What if you and him were more than just friends?

He caught himself staring, but quickly turned away, focusing on his team, on his race, on anything to push the thought out of his mind.

He had a girlfriend, he was happy with his relationship, and yet... the image of you and Pepe together seemed to cling to him, gnawing at him, reminding him of how easily feelings could grow—how quickly things could change.

Paul’s heart rate quickened as he quietly passed by the Campos garage, the emptiness glaringly obvious. He was on his way back from a quick check-in with his team when the sound of your voice caught his attention.

He stopped in his tracks, not meaning to eavesdrop, but he couldn’t help it. There was a soft vulnerability in your tone, something unguarded.

He didn’t mean to listen, but the words reached him clearly, and he couldn’t stop himself from pausing just out of sight.

“You know,” Pepe said, his voice quieter than usual, “I really admire how you handle everything. I’ve seen the way you juggle work, racing, everything. You’ve got this strength about you that’s... rare. It’s not just about how you push through tough times, but the way you stay true to yourself, even when everything feels impossible.”

Paul felt a strange tightening in his chest. The way Pepe spoke, with such genuine reverence—it wasn’t something you heard often, especially from a friend.

It made the air in the garage feel heavier, like he was eavesdropping on something too private.

You blinked, clearly caught off guard by the sincerity in his words. “I... don’t know what to say.”

Pepe’s response was soft but unwavering, and there was a weight in it that Paul couldn’t shake.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied, his gaze steady. “I just think you’re incredible. And I don’t think enough people tell you that.”

Paul’s heart stuttered, and for a moment, he felt as though the world had paused around him.

The warmth in Pepe’s voice was undeniable, and the way you responded, with a slight hesitation, as though absorbing the weight of his words—it stung more than Paul cared to admit.

Without thinking, Paul took a few steps back, retreating from the conversation he’d unintentionally overheard.

The words continued to echo in his mind as he walked away, a feeling of discomfort settling deep in his gut.

‘Why does this matter?’ he asked himself, frustration building inside him. ‘You’re happy. You’ve got a girlfriend. Why does this feel... wrong?’

But no matter how much he tried to dismiss it, that hollow feeling in his chest wouldn’t go away. It stayed with him, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts, as he made his way back to his team.

The Azerbaijan Grand Prix weekend had been intense, and with the red flag out, the pit lane had erupted into a flurry of activity.

Paul, trying to refocus after the interruption, wandered over to the edge of the pit wall, where the teams were waiting for the all-clear. His eyes scanned the commotion, but they paused when he caught sight of you.

You were pacing near the garages, your eyes darting from one side of the track to the other. Paul couldn’t help but notice the urgency in your movements.

Something in his chest twisted as he saw you approach a few crew members, clearly searching for someone.

“Have you seen Pepe?” you asked, your voice light but with an edge of concern.

The words hit Paul harder than he expected. You weren’t just asking for someone—Pepe was the one you were looking for, and your voice held a quiet intensity, a level of care that didn’t go unnoticed.

His stomach dropped. The realization that whatever you and Pepe shared went beyond friendship, beyond casual, hit him like a wave.

Paul could feel the lump in his throat as he took in the scene. You weren’t just looking for him because you cared about him just like any other person would after a huge crash—you needed to see him.

Whatever connection you and Pepe had was real, solid, and deep. It wasn’t something temporary or fleeting; it was meaningful, and it was obvious to Paul now.

The easy way you spoke about him, the subtle gestures of affection, and now this—your clear worry over where he was—made Paul’s heart ache in a way he didn’t know how to process.

As you disappeared further into the pits, Paul felt a surge of frustration. Why was it bothering him so much? He had a girlfriend, he was committed.

He shouldn’t be feeling this way, especially not about someone who wasn’t even his to worry about.

But despite his best efforts to dismiss it, the thought of you and Pepe became more than just a passing observation. It gnawed at him, making the air in the pit lane feel suffocating.

He knew he needed to focus, to get back to the task at hand, but all he could think about was the connection you and Pepe shared.

Something about it felt... different. Real. And it left him with an unsettling feeling that wouldn’t go away.

When the race had ended, the chaos of the track slowly settling into a distant hum, but Paul couldn’t shake the feeling that had settled in his chest.

As the teams started to pack up to make way for the Formula 1 race that afternoon, he made his way toward the paddock, his eyes distracted by the blur of motion around him. But then he spotted you.

You were standing by the pitlane wall, just a few feet away from where Pepe was sitting, his helmet in his hands as he stared down at the pavement.

He looked dejected, frustrated—anyone could see that the race had taken its toll on him.

Without hesitation, you walked over to him, your steps soft but purposeful. For a moment, you simply stood there, your presence like a quiet comfort that seemed to ease some of the tension in his posture.

Then, without a word, you knelt down next to him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

Paul stopped in his tracks, watching as you leaned in, speaking softly to him.

From this distance, he couldn’t hear the words, but he could see the way Pepe’s shoulders relaxed, the way his gaze softened when he looked up at you.

You were there, steady and unwavering, offering him the kind of support that was deeper than mere sympathy.

For a brief moment, you touched his arm, a comforting gesture, before you sat down beside him on the wall.

The two of you sat there for a few minutes, a quiet exchange between you—one that was more than just words.

It was the way you both seemed to draw strength from each other in that moment. Paul couldn’t look away, a strange feeling swirling in his stomach.

There was something so undeniably intimate about the way you were together, something that he couldn’t ignore, no matter how much he tried.

He tried to push the thought away, to focus on his own race, but his mind kept returning to the sight of you with Pepe.

There was a connection there—something Paul hadn’t fully understood until now. You weren’t just friends; there was a deeper bond between you two. And the way you comforted him, like you had been doing this for years, made Paul’s chest tighten.

He quickly turned on his heel, retreating into the crowd, but the image of you and Pepe sitting together lingered in his mind.

It was clear now: whatever he had been trying to ignore, whatever unease had been growing inside him—it was real.

Over the off-season, Paul found himself in Rome with his family. The trip was meant to be a much-needed break—a time to relax and recharge before the next season began.

Rome was beautiful, rich with history, and bustling with energy.

But despite the charm of the city and the warmth of his family's company, Paul couldn't shake the restlessness in his chest.

In the evenings, after dinner, he would slip away from the table, retreating to the quiet of his hotel room.

It was easier to find solace there, away from the laughter and conversation, where he could get lost in his thoughts. That’s when he would inevitably pick up his phone, scrolling aimlessly through social media.

At first, it was just to catch up on messages or check in with his friends. But then, his thumb would always land on your profile.

He didn’t want to look. He really didn’t. But each time, the curiosity pulled him in.

There were so many photos of you and Pepe—casual beach days, dinners out, and snippets of your life together that made it clear how much you two meant to each other.

One photo stood out: you both were laughing on a boat, the Monaco coastline in the background, the sunset painting the sky.

You looked so carefree, so happy, and the way you were looking at Pepe—there was no mistaking it.

The caption was filled with sweet words and inside jokes, the words that only made sense to you two.

Another picture showed you both sitting at a café in Barcelona, the table littered with coffee cups and your faces lit up with smiles.

Paul stared at the screen, his stomach sinking. Each photo seemed to reaffirm the reality he didn’t want to face—that you and Pepe had become something more than just friends.

The truth stung. It felt like a door had quietly closed in his face, one he hadn’t even noticed before.

He tried to push the feeling away, telling himself that he had no right to feel this way. He was in a relationship, after all.

Yet, each photo made it harder to ignore the hollow ache in his chest. You had moved on, and it hurt in a way he couldn’t explain.

Sighing, he leaned back on the bed, his phone still in his hand. The city of Rome, with all its beauty and history, felt distant now.

The quiet hum of the hotel room contrasted sharply with the thoughts swirling in his mind. The pictures of you and Pepe lingered there, impossible to shake.

In Qatar, after a much-needed break, Paul finally achieved his first win. The atmosphere in the paddock was electric, the energy palpable as he stepped out of the car, feeling the weight of his hard work pay off.

The team surrounded him, celebrating with high-fives and cheers, the moment finally here after so many near-misses.

He stood there, basking in the glory, as the crowd's applause and his team's jubilation blended into a blur of pride and excitement.

Through the chaos, he caught sight of you approaching him. You looked professional, a smile on your face as you walked over to offer congratulations.

"Hey, congrats, Paul," you said warmly, the familiar tone of your voice always sounding like a breath of fresh air in the sea of race talk. "Huge win, and you were announced as Alpine’s reserve driver too."

“Thanks, really appreciate it," he replied with a grin, still riding the high of the moment.

You quickly shifted to work mode, pulling out your phone to shoot content for the Formula 2 account.

It was the usual routine—candid photos, a couple of quick clips, capturing the excitement of the win for the followers.

The energy between you two was easy and light, the kind of interaction he had grown used to over the past few months.

But then, after a brief exchange, you checked your watch, and without much more than a final smile, you were off, heading toward the direction of the paddock.

Paul watched as you quickly made your way through the crowd, no longer in his peripheral vision. His stomach turned slightly.

There was something about the way you’d left, the urgency in your step, that left him uneasy.

It wasn’t anything he could pinpoint exactly, but the thought of you rushing off to find Pepe—that same feeling from before, that quiet ache—was there again.

He forced himself to push the thought aside. This was his moment, his victory, and he couldn’t let the nagging feeling disrupt it.

But as he continued to smile for the cameras, the feeling lingered, hanging over him like a shadow that wouldn’t let go.

Just as Paul was getting lost in his thoughts, he heard footsteps approach. Looking up, he saw Pepe walking over, a wide grin on his face.

"Congrats, man," Pepe said, clapping him on the shoulder in a friendly gesture. "Well deserved."

“Thanks, mate. It’s been a long time coming," Paul replied, trying to match the warmth in his voice, though something about the moment felt oddly distant.

You were right beside him, your presence unmistakable. "Great job, again, Paul," you said, offering him a smile that was both genuine and professional, but Paul couldn’t ignore the way you seemed to linger slightly longer by Pepe’s side.

He almost didn’t notice, but the subtle touch of your hand on his arm, a brief glance between you two, felt like another reminder of the bond that had grown stronger between you and him.

“Thanks," Paul said again, forcing a smile as he noticed how the two of you seemed to exist in a world of your own, separate from the celebration.

It stung, but he pushed the feeling away.

Pepe caught his eye, giving him a quick nod, a silent acknowledgment of his victory. "Catch you later, then. Still need to debrief with the team in a bit," Pepe added before turning to walk off with you.

The two of you walked away, side by side, and for a moment, Paul couldn’t shake the feeling that the distance between them had grown too large for him to close.

The season finale in Abu Dhabi was electric, the energy palpable as the drivers celebrated their achievements. But Paul couldn't fully immerse himself in the chaos of it all. His eyes kept drifting to you.

Pepe had just crossed the line, winning the sprint race, and as the team gathered in parc fermé, you were the first to reach him. Paul stood back, watching as you rushed over, your face lighting up with excitement.

Without hesitation, you threw your arms around Pepe, pulling him into an embrace that felt effortless and natural.

The world around you both seemed to vanish in that moment, the noise of the crowd, the clamor of cameras, all muted by the closeness you shared.

The way you held him, the way his arms wrapped around you with such ease, felt so intimate, so real. Paul stood frozen, a lump forming in his throat.

It wasn’t just a congratulatory hug—it was something deeper, something unspoken.

The connection between you two was undeniable, and the ache in Paul’s chest grew with each second.

He looked away, but it didn’t help. He had a girlfriend, didn’t he? He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. And yet, the longing lingered, gnawing at him.

He tried to shake it off, focusing on the race, the celebrations, the team around him—but the hollow feeling inside him wouldn’t disappear.

As the crowd around you and Pepe swelled, he could still see you both, your laughter, your smiles, the way you fit together.

A part of him realized that he had missed his chance, that what he felt didn’t matter. But that didn’t stop the ache.

It was as if the season had ended, but a new kind of race had begun inside him, one he wasn’t sure he could win.

28 notes · View notes

n0vazsq · 2 months ago

Text

Sailor song | PA17 x Reader

pairing . . . paul aron x reader

summary . . . When you and Paul share an intimate moment, you try to distract yourself from the presence of Paul

request . . . no!!

word count . . . 1.1k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . ok so i died??

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

. . . The night was quiet, save for the hum of a far off engine and the crackle of leaves underfoot. You leaned back against Paul’s car, arms crossed and fingers hidden in the sleeves of your jacket.

The faint glow of the streetlights lingered between you both, casting soft light in the cool air as you exhaled slowly, letting go of the tension that had been building all day.

Paul stood a couple of feet away, hands shoved in his pockets, watching you like you were the only thing worth noticing tonight.

There was a look on his face, something thoughtful but teasing, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to say something ridiculous or if he’d actually just tell you the truth for once.

The silence hung there for a moment, heavy yet somehow comforting.

"You’re staring again," you muttered, trying to sound unimpressed.

He grinned in that lazy, Paul sort of way that always made you want to punch him. Or kiss him, depending on the day. "Can’t help it."

"Can’t help what?"

He tilted his head, his eyes skimming over your face as if searching for something. "I saw her in the rightest way…"

"Oh my God." You groaned, cutting him off before he could go any further. "You’ve been listening to too much music again."

But Paul wasn’t done. He stepped closer, a lopsided smirk tugging at his lips as he ignored your complaint.

"Looking like Anne Hathaway," he finished softly.

You turned your face away, half laughing to cover the way your cheeks burned. "What does that even mean?"

"It means you look good," he said simply, voice exceptionally quiet.

You fiddled with the strap of your bag, anything to keep your hands busy, to keep from focusing on how Paul was looking at you.

The nervous energy in the air made it hard to breathe, but you tried not to let it show, but failing as you coughed slightly.

"Inhaling while she fidgeted with her bag. And coughed, and coughed," he murmured, more to himself now than to you.

You glanced up sharply, raising a brow. "You’re so dramatic. Is this a monologue?"

"Maybe," Paul teased. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, kicking at a random rock. "Or maybe I’m just telling the truth."

"You wouldn’t know what to do with the truth if it smacked you in the face," you shot back, but the words didn’t hold much truth. Ironic much.

That made him laugh, soft and warm in the space between you both. "You think too much."

"You don’t think enough." You frowned at him, already half defensive before you’d even thought of a reply.

Paul shrugged like you hadn’t just hit a nerve, like it wasn’t something you’d both known for a while now. "One of us has to keep things interesting."

You stared at him, heart caught somewhere between frustration and something softer, something you weren’t ready to name. He made it look so easy.

Letting go, letting things just be, while you sat here, overanalyzing every glance, every breath, every moment that hung too long in the air.

Paul leaned against the car next to you, so close now that his shoulder brushed yours. "And then," he murmured, his voice low and teasing, "she came up to my knees, begging, 'baby, would you please?',"

You groaned, rolling your eyes hard enough to hurt. "Please shut up, Paul."

He ignored you completely. "Do the things you said you’d do to me, to me…"

"Paul," you warned, though it didn’t stop the corner of your mouth from twitching upward.

"Say what you want, but you like it when I talk like this," he said, his voice holding that infuriating self assurance you’d come to expect.

"I really don’t," you said flatly, glaring at the smirk on his face.

He leaned closer, his voice soft enough to send a shiver down your spine. "Oh, won’t you kiss me on the mouth and love me like a sailor?"

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. Paul always knew how to toe the line between a joke and something more. Something dangerous.

"That’s enough," you whispered, your voice straining just a little.

But he didn’t pull back. He stayed close, eyes still locked on yours, his grin softening into something quieter. "When you get a taste," he murmured, "can you tell me what’s my flavor?"

"Why are you like this?" you muttered, though you didn’t step away.

"Because you keep coming back," Paul replied easily, like the answer was obvious.

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you just looked away, staring at the dark street stretching out in front of you.

For a few seconds, neither of you said anything. You could hear Paul breathing, steady and calm next to you, like none of this was a big deal, like you weren’t absolutely losing it on the inside.

"I don’t believe in God," he said finally, "but I believe that you’re my savior."

The words were quiet, but they hit you harder than any of his teasing lines before. You turned to look at him, your expression softer now, thrown off by the way his gaze held steady.

"Paul…"

He smiled faintly, like he wasn’t expecting you to say anything else. "It’s true."

You opened your mouth to argue, to brush it off or tell him he was being ridiculous again, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Not this time.

"I know you’ve got all those thoughts swirling around in that head of yours," he added, his voice almost shy now. "But you don’t have to think so much all the time, you know? Not here."

You stared at him, and for the first time tonight, Paul didn’t look so cocky. He looked real, just a boy leaning against a car, trying to say something he didn’t have the words for.

"You’re exhausting," you finally said, but the fondness in your voice gave you away.

Paul grinned again, some of that familiar mischief returning to his face. "And yet, you’re still here."

You sighed, shaking your head as you looked away, but you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah," you murmured. "I’m still here."

And in the quiet that followed, Paul just stayed beside you, close enough to touch but not pushing, not forcing anything else.

Maybe, for once, you didn’t need to think about it too much.

Maybe, for tonight, this was enough.

188 notes · View notes