Chapter Text
Federica walks into his room with an envelope in her hand. From the shy smile and the look in her eyes, Kimi already knows what it is: Wimbledon.
“Andrea,” she says, handing him the crisp white envelope. “ L'invito di Eleonora .” Still spread in bed with his headphones still on, he takes it and opens it, just to be sure. Inside, a green card with the Wimbledon logo reads plainly:
“Kimi Andrea Antonelli, you’re invited to attend the women’s final match between Eleonora Pulli and Ella Rolabav on July 12th, 2025.”
He rolls his eyes and slips the paper into the bedside drawer, but still mutters a quick grazie mille to Federica as she quietly leaves the room. Then he picks up his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he finds the one he's been looking for.
kimi
wimbledon?
georgie
Jannik got me tickets for men’s finals, Kim
You got women’s?
kimi
eleonora…
Kimi and Eleonora had been together for a year, and he’d been certain she was the one. She fit into his world seamlessly. His parents adored her, too. His dad couldn’t stop telling everyone in the F1 paddock about his brilliant, future Wimbledon‑champion girlfriend, and his mum was forever boasting to her ex‑model friends about how Eleonora had both beauty and brains. At first, Kimi shrugged it off. But over time the cracks began to show: Eleonora started slipping off to post‑match parties without him, and those endless walks through the paddock with the flashing cameras and the endless attention made him uneasy.
Ever since the photos of her cheating on him went viral on Twitter under the headline “Tennis Ace Cheats on F1 Heir in Midnight Make-Out Shocker,” Kimi had been dodging every social event even remotely related to cars, tennis, or that stupid Australian photographer who leaked the pictures out of pure spite just because Kimi’s dad once refused to be photographed by him over some old grudge.
Ever since the scandal, Kimi had received an invite to every single tournament Eleonora played. Without fail, her name popped up on the envelope or backstage list-sometimes both. He knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted him back, and she hadn’t been subtle about it, even dropping hints in post-match interviews like the cameras weren’t rolling.
He ignores the Wimbledon invite for a few hours until his phone buzzes with a text.
franquito
sei in uk? una dona (se dice asi?) me invitó a wimbledon
Kimi giggles at Franco starting his text in Italian, but switching to Spanish right away. He puts his lips in a pout, contemplating his answer.
Should he take the invite sitting in his drawer, but only to hang out with Franco? Should he just answer no and stay in his bedroom in Bologna like he has been doing for months?
He shakes his head and whispers to himself “ fuck it.”
kimi
no but i got an invite for the womens final
see there then?
When he arrives at the restaurant inside the All England Club, Kimi spots Franco almost instantly dressed in a beige suit, of all things, casually biting into strawberries with cream like he’s lived there his whole life. One arm is slung around the back of a chair where, to Kimi’s surprise - no, scratch that - shock Lando Norris is sitting.
Kimi actually does a double take.
“Did you come alone, Kim?” Lando asks, smiling at him as they shake hands in greeting.
“Yup, my dad was busy with driver's negotiations,” Kimi sees Franco freezing for a bit, “with someone’s managers,” Franco keeps eating pretending Kimi is not talking about his managers. “My mom is in Milano and my brother is coming tomorrow with Alex, I guess.”
“When are you coming back to the paddock?” Lando asks, casually swiping a strawberry from Franco’s plate.
“Eu!” Franco scolds, smacking his hand too late to stop him. “ Chorro! .”
Kimi laughs and takes one sip from the drink he got before sitting down. Vodka and orange juice, a match made in heaven.
“Never,” he says, his lips still attached to the glass. “They even took Imola from me”.
“If I win Silverstone next week, come to my party,” Lando says with a grin, like he already knows he will.
Kimi nods and takes a final sip from his drink, the warmth of the alcohol settling in his chest and, without him meaning to, a dumb little smile spreading on his lips too.
“Should we buy some champagne and head into the court?” Lando suggests, already half-standing.
Franco hums in agreement, popping the last strawberry into his mouth. Kimi glances at his watch, then nods again, a little too easily. Why not?
Lando wins the British Grand Prix. Kimi watches it unfold on the hotel TV, just a few kilometers away from Silverstone, tucked in his room in London.
He claps when Nico Hülkenberg makes it to the podium as he feels genuinely happy for him, but lets out a louder cheer when Pierre crosses the line with an incredible result. At the end of the day, Pierre was still the other driver in his dad’s team.
franquito
i need to drink a lot of alcohol or ill end up in the news
kimi
fraaan :( not ur fault at all, the car sucks overall :(
see u at the party still?
franquito
sisi
i’ll tell landito to send u the dire
He guesses “the dire” means “the address” so he just nods to his phone and scrolls away from Franco’s chat into another contact’s.
kimi
congrats on the points, ale ale ale!
pietro
merci kimiiiiiiiii! 🤟
He locks the phone and throws it into the bed. He walks to his suitcase, still lying on the floor wide open, the Wimbledon suit hanging from it, almost touching the floor.
He signals Barto to pull up in front of a club located in the middle of the London countryside. The driver waits until Kimi steps inside before pulling off, reassured by Kimi’s usual promise: “I’ll call you if I need a ride back. Don’t worry, Barto. Sleep well.”
He never calls Barto.
By the time Kimi walks into the club, it’s only supposed to be about half an hour after the party officially “started.” But judging by the crowd (sweaty, half-drunk, and moving like they’ve been at it for hours) it might as well be sunrise. He scans the dance floor, faces flashing under neon lights, but none of them look familiar.
Still, it’s clear they recognize him . Whispers ripple through the crowd, subtle glances thrown his way, but no one dares approach.
He makes his way toward the bar, eyes sweeping the room casually until they catch on a figure he does recognize.
“Pierre?” Kimi asks, still a bit unsure if that figure wearing a sharp suit under the blinding lights is him. However, the man comes closer with a wide grin (and a drink in hand).
“Kimi, I thought you weren’t coming or did your dad send you to spy on Lando’s bad influence?,” Pierre says, sipping on the yellowish drink.
Kimi gets closer so Pierre can hear him clearly. “No, he doesn’t know I’m here,” Kimi says, looking around, the people dancing, the barman just mixing drinks and juggling in the process. He missed the adrenaline rush of a girl eyeing him from head to toe while Bruno Mars played in the background. He missed the burn of alcohol after he took a tequila shot Pierre took from a passing waitress then shoved it into Kimi’s hand, grinning like trouble. Most of all, he missed feeling alive.
He is dancing to House music that is blasting in the main dance floor when someone he doesn’t recognize touches Pierre’s shoulder and he freezes. The guy looks excited, but alarmed.
Pierre turns back to him and mouths “follow me” with a big grin on his face so Kimi does that. He elbows a few people, until the fresh air hits his face, sending his hair everywhere and making his vision blurrier than before.
The guy and Pierre lead him to a place a few meters from the club, then sees it. There are two cars parked next to each other and a whole crowd around, probably a lot of the people who were in the club are now standing in a circle.
Kimi leans in to Pierre.
“What's this?” He asks. When Pierre looks at him, Kimi has never seen Pierre this happy, not even when he got a miracle podium last year.
“A race,” Kimi nods at the obvious answer for an obvious question. “That car,” the Frenchman points to a red and black car with a big ‘87’ written on the top and the sides, “Oliver Bearman, Lando’s favorite.”
Kimi scans every detail of the car, the sponsors and the colour until he finally takes a peek at the driver. A young dude is sitting, helmet still resting on his lap.
He looks cute with his eyebrows frown and his tongue between his lips, like he’s thinking too hard about something. His hair is a bit messy, but only because it’s just a bit curly.
“He doesn’t look like someone who does illegal races,” he points out, just loud enough for only Pierre to listen.
Pierre laughs. “That’s the point,” he points to the other car, “neon yellow with black blobs? is that a word?,” Kimi shrugs, he doesn’t know either, “Whatever, that’s Lando’s car. See?” Pierre points to the big black “4” painted at one of the sides of the car.
From the crowd, Kimi’s eyes catch movement near the yellow car. People part as someone weaves their way through.
“Franco?” he murmurs, he’s not exactly surprised he’s there, but he’s still not sure what’s going on. Do these people even know who Lando, Franco, Pierre, and him are? He thought they might, but no one seems to care about any of them at the moment. He shakes that question out of his mind to keep observing the scene.
Franco leans in, sliding his head into the driver’s window. For a moment, Kimi freezes.
He watches as Franco and Lando exchange a kiss. It’s quick, but it lasts more than a peck. Kimi is sure he saw a tongue and some teeth as Franco’s hand slides across Lando’s cheek like a familiar touch.
He mindlessly takes a few steps back and he probably mumbles something too because Pierre leans in beside him.
“Yeah, that’s what they do,” Pierre says with a grin. “Don’t get too shocked. They’re kind of inseparable.”
Suddenly, engines roar and there’s plenty of smoke surrounding them. At first, Kimi is a bit scared, but then the feeling of adrenaline rushing through his veins and his heart beating fast in his chest come. He missed feeling like this.
He screams in excitement and Pierre wraps an arm around his shoulders as they cheer. A blonde beautiful girl waves the green flag and both cars jump into action.
It’s just a minute and probably a kilometer away, but it’s clear that Oliver’s red-and-black 87 car crosses the finish line first. Lando’s car had made a strange sound just after a few meters, the same kind Kimi’s dad’s cars make right before something gives. Even Pierre had muttered, “It broke. Sounds like an Alpine.”
The crowd still cheered for the winner, Kimi even clapped at him as this Oliver guy is spinning and spreading dust everywhere as Lando is getting out of the car, laughing bitterly.
Kimi doesn’t notice when Oliver jumps out of the car and walks towards the crowd, but as he turns in his direction, he observes Franco handing him a bottle of Moet. He pops it open and lets the sparkling liquid spray wildly over the crowd, drenching everyone including Kimi.
Laughing, he wipes champagne from his eyes and calls out:
“Losers get kissed before the race, winners get kissed after it,” then he looks straight at Kimi, who freezes.
Kimi had always thought the whole “the world freezes” thing in movies was complete nonsense…until now. The noise, the champagne drenched crowd, and even the lingering smell of burnt rubber fades. It’s just him and this guy, Oliver.
He can vaguely hear the cheers behind them, Lando’s laugh echoing somewhere probably at the cheeky comment, maybe even Pierre whispering right in his ear, “Go on! Kiss the winner.”
He’s never kissed a guy before. Never even thought about it, really. But for some reason, he can’t move, can’t look away from those warm, dark brown eyes staring at him like they’re asking permission. Like they’re making sure he’s okay.
And somehow, he is.
Oliver’s hand comes up, gently cupping his face, tilting his chin. He’s taller definitely taller and it makes Kimi feel smaller in a way that isn’t uncomfortable, just unfamiliar.
Kimi’s heart is racing now, pounding in his chest like it’s trying to escape. This is ridiculous , he thinks. He’s kissed girls before. Models. Tennis players. Friends of a friend. But none of them ever made him feel like this .
“Ready?,” the guy asks, a sweet tone in his voice. It’s intimate, like they weren’t surrounded by a lot of people like they really vanished. Kimi nods before thinking as he wets his lips, getting ready for the almost inevitable.
He doesn’t flinch when soft lips meet his own. It’s short, but so sweet and so short that he chases another one. This time he moves closer, their bodies together and the kiss is softer, wetter and longer.
"You're beautiful..." Oliver says, his eyes searching Kimi’s face, a question behind his eyes.
“Kimi-My name is Kimi,” he says. The bubble breaks and Kimi feels a bit more on Earth. “Oliver?”
“Please, Ollie…I’m only Oliver to my gran,” he says with a grin, rolling his eyes just enough to make Kimi laugh.
Kimi steps back and straightens his shirt, like coming back from a trance-He looks at the people, but he's surprised that almost everyone is already either walking back to the club or in their conversation. He even spots Lando and Franco checking the car, analyzing damage like proper F1 drivers.
“Well, Kimi, do you like cars?” Ollie asks.
“Mmh,” Kimi looks around, thinking about the consequences of his answer. “Yes,” he finally says.
“Let’s go for a ride, then,” Ollie says, leaning in to press a quick peck to Kimi’s lips before grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the car behind them.
He jumps into the passenger seat, and immediately grabs the two seatbelts. “Just in case,” he smiles at Ollie.
“Trust me,” Ollie says, already starting the engine.
He looks out the window as the car speeds past the club, catching a glimpse of Franco, Lando, and Pierre standing just outside. They’re gesturing, shaking their heads, probably talking about Lando’s car. He’ll text Franco and Pierre later, once he’s back on solid ground.
Ollie’s already flying down the highway when Kimi’s mind brings him back to reality-Kimi has no idea how fast they’re going, but his hand instinctively shoots up to the grab handle.
He doesn’t recognize the highway they’ve taken, but the wind hitting his face is impeding his brain cells from overthinking about the whole situation.
“Do you like it?,” Ollie asks, a square smile on his face, eyes small from the wind hitting his face at such a speed.
“Yeah,” Kimi responds, laughing a bit.
“Let’s take the next exit,” the driver swings and they’re slowing down into the city. Kimi’s head feels a bit heavy and airy as they pull up in front of a large house in a part of town he doesn’t recognize. But it looks nice. Peaceful.
“Where are we?” he fishes for his phone in his pocket, just in case he needs to call the cops or…Pierre.
“Ever broken into a house?” the Brit asks with a grin, already unbuckling his seatbelt like it’s the most casual thing in the world.
Kimi feels panic in his body, and his brain won’t work. He tries to open his seatbelt, but it doesn’t move because it’s not a normal one.
“Here, let me,” Ollie says, already leaning in. “But don’t run off, yeah? You’ll have fun,” he adds with a wink, now just inches from Kimi’s face.
Kimi swallows hard. He doesn’t say anything, just watches as Ollie unclips the seatbelt and opens the door like it’s no big deal.
“Come on,” Ollie says, getting out and stretching like breaking into a house is just something he does every week.
Kimi stays put for a moment, eyeing the big, quiet house in front of them. It’s the kind with giant windows, a perfect lawn, and definitely some fancy alarm system like his.
“You’re actually serious?” he asks, finally stepping out. “It has an alarm.”
Ollie’s halfway to the gate, looking back at him with a smirk and a look in his eyes that showed he didn’t care a bit about the alarm. “Dead serious.”
Kimi rolls his eyes but grins, jogging to catch up. “You’re insane.”
They stop at the front door. Ollie pulls out a key.
Kimi stares at it. “Wait. You have a key?”
Ollie turns to him, grinning like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You actually thought I was gonna break in?”
Kimi blinks in disbelief. “You said-”
“I asked . I never said we were going to,” he says, unlocking the door and pushing it open. “God, you’re naive.”
Kimi opens his mouth, then closes it again. His brain still feels blurry. “So… whose house is this?” he observes if there’s a plaque or something.
“Technically? My friend’s. He’s in Brazil for a wedding. I told him I’d water the plants and feed the cats. So,” Ollie shrugs, “here we are.”
Kimi steps inside, slowly. The house smells like something expensive. It’s not his kind of expensive, it’s less designer, more lived-in. Books stacked under a glass coffee table. A skateboard leaned against the wall. A cat that disappears around the corner before Kimi can be sure it was even real. It looks homey.
Ollie kicks off his shoes and disappears into the kitchen like he owns the place.
“You want tea?” he calls out.
Kimi blinks again. “You’re actually making tea?”
“I guess by the accent, you’re Italian, but,” Ollie says, setting down a couple of mugs. “But you’re in England, don’t you?”
Kimi laughs, mumbling a “yes” while running a hand through his hair. He slowly walks into the living room, eyes scanning the place. “This is so weird.”
He stops at a bookshelf, eyes trailing over framed photos. One catches his eye: an even younger Oliver, maybe eleven or twelve years old, standing on a podium with a trophy too big for his arms. His smile is wider, unfiltered, missing some teeth. Next to him, on the P2 step, stands a guy with black curls and sun-kissed skin, the Brazilian flag stitched proudly into his racing suit. And on the other side, Kimi looks at the photo twice just to be sure. The person on the P3 step is Franco, with big green eyes, light brown hair poking out from under a P3 hat, and the Argentinian flag around his shoulders.
Next to the framed picture, a dusty helmet sits on a shelf, scuffed and clearly used. He picks it up carefully, brushing a thumb over the name in faded letters: BEARMAN - 87.
“You used to race,” Kimi says, loud enough for Ollie to hear from the kitchen. Kimi turns the helmet in his hands.
“I still do,” Ollie replies, voice muffled by boiling water. “Just not where people cheer for you at the end.”
When Ollie comes back in, two mugs in his hands, Kimi’s still holding the helmet. He doesn’t say anything, just raises an eyebrow.
Ollie shrugs. “Told you I was good.”
Kimi smirks, returning the helmet to accept the mug. It smells like mint and something sweet. He doesn’t know how this night got here, but strangely, it feels… okay.
He sinks into the couch, eyes still on the photos. “So you know Franco.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Ollie says, “I raced against him.”
“Do you know who I am?,” Kimi cuts the thoughts floating around his mind.
“Of course I know,” Ollie says, sipping his tea, eyes flicking toward Kimi like he’s measuring the weight of every word. “To be fair, I didn’t expect the son of Antonio Antonelli to show up at…” -he pauses, searching- “ there ,” he finally says, with a half-smile. “And I definitely didn’t recognize you until your tongue was in my mouth.”
Kimi looks him over. Oliver’s all height and long limbs, nothing like the smaller, stockier drivers he’s used to, like Pierre or Tsunoda.
“Sure,” Kimi says, rolling his eyes. He’s not fully buying the ‘I didn’t recognize you’ bit, but he’s curious now. “Tell me more about you.”
“Why?” Ollie asks, setting his empty mug on the table. “Is this a test or something?”
Kimi lets a laugh escape between his teeth. “Just curious.”
“Let’s get to the point,” Ollie says, leaning back. “I drove against Franco and Hadjar in F2, then had to quit. That what you wanted to know?”
Kimi takes another sip of his tea, the warmth helping him settle a bit. He leans back on the couch, eyes still on the other boy.
“No,” he says finally. “I wanted to know how someone goes from racing in F2… to kissing strangers at midnight during illegal races.”
Ollie lets out a small laugh. “Fair. That part wasn’t exactly in the plan.”
Kimi raises an eyebrow. “So what happened?”
Ollie leans back too, resting one arm along the couch. “I ran out of money. Simple as that. No sponsors, no seat. Tried to stay close to the sport-sim work, coaching kids, whatever paid. Then Lando dragged me to a party and dared me to race someone. I won. People liked it. And it kind of... took off from there and now people text me at 2 a.m. with a location and a time.”
Kimi raises an eyebrow. “Sounds lonely.”
Ollie shrugs again, but there’s a beat of silence before he speaks. “It’s not great. But it’s something. At least when I’m racing…even like that…I feel like I exist again.”
Kimi looks down at his mug. “Sounds kind of lonely.”
Ollie shrugs. “It can be. But when I’m behind the wheel, it feels real again. Like I’m still me.”
Kimi nods slowly. “I get it. I kind of stopped showing up too.”
Ollie glances at him. “What, just disappeared?”
“More like... hid,” Kimi says. “Didn’t tell anyone. My girlfriend cheated on me and I just froze.”
There’s a pause. Ollie nudges his foot against Kimi’s lightly. “Well, you showed up tonight.”
Kimi smiles. “Yeah. I did.”
Ollie gets up and stretches. “Come on. I want to show you something.”
Kimi groans. “If this ends in a locked basement, I’m calling Pierre.”
Ollie laughs. “Relax. No basements.”
He leads Kimi down a hallway. The house is still quiet. More photos, medals, a dusty skateboard. At the end, Ollie opens a door. It’s a garage. A small one. A car sits in the middle, half-covered by a blanket. It’s clearly old, half-taken apart, dusty.
“I’m fixing it,” Ollie says, flicking on the light.
When Oliver pulls into his hotel, he doesn’t expect the guy to lean into his seat and undo the seat belt from him. However, he lets him.
“So…” Kimi says, voice low. He’s had fun-more fun than he expected. And even if that kiss happened just a few hours ago, there’s still this strange, warm feeling in his stomach.
Maybe it’s just been too long since he met someone new. That has to be it.
He doesn’t like guys. Not like that .
“Can I kiss you again?” Oliver asks, a hand already cupping his face, eyes soft, lips parted and already wet.
Kimi can’t find his voice, so he just nods, something warm rising in his chest, spreading fast-until Ollie finally leans in and closes the gap. The kiss starts soft, almost shy. Just a press of their lips.
But Kimi moves, adjusting slightly, tilting his head for a better angle. His hand finds Ollie’s neck, grounding himself as the kiss deepens. It turns messier, slower. There’s more tongue now, more want. It’s nothing like the one behind the club.This one feels like they’re not kissing just as a dare or for the adrenaline of winning. Ollie is kissing him like he means it. Like he’s the only person that exists right now.
There’s a light, blinding, fast. He seeks it, a man behind a camera smiles awkwardly at him. He detaches from Ollie quickly, entirely and in a second, he’s breathless in the lobby of the hotel.
What the fuck?
The call from his dad arrived as he put a spoonful of eggs on his plate.
“ Pronto ?” Kimi greets him. “H-how are you?” only to be met with his father’s sharp, furious voice.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?,” Kimi gulps, leaving the plate on his table and eyeing if any other hotel guest notices his dad is screaming at the top of his lungs. “Do you have any idea who you were photographed with? Lando Norris? This is not how you behave!”
“Lando?” Kimi feels lighter, not caring so much suddenly.
“At a party, I don’t remember where Camelia said it was,” Kimi rolls his eyes at the mention of Camelia, his dad’s assistant. Poor woman. “You don’t get photographed with another team’s driver, do you hear me? Lando Norris is not one of ours,” he says. “You’re allowed with Franco. With Pierre. That’s it.”
“Got it, I guess,” Kimi says, sitting down with his plate. “Is that all?”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve brought this up. Wimbledon was fine because Franco was with you, but this …” his dad’s voice trails off, heavy with disappointment.
“Okay, Dad,” Kimi says, trying to push the tight feeling in his chest away. “C-Can I go? My breakfast’s getting cold.”
“American breakfast again?” his dad asks, the frustration mostly gone now.
“Yeah. Sorry,” Kimi mumbles, ending the call before the bacon and cheddar rant kicks off.
Mouth full of eggs and bacon, he spots a familiar face.
“Kim,” George greets him.
Kimi instantly feels lighter as his brother sits across from him, flashing a white smile and bright eyes. He looks calm, relaxed, like nothing in the world could bother him. Unreachable.
“Why the long face?,” George asks, already picking some fruits.
“Dad,” Kimi says, looking around expecting people to be looking at them as they’re being loud, but nobody was even looking in their direction. “He called me and scolded me…”
“What for?,” George replies as he finally sits down to eat with him.
“Camelia saw some pictures of me at Lando’s party last night,” Kimi says, finally biting into his eggs. They’re already cold. “I don’t get why I can’t talk to other drivers.”
“Back when I raced,” George starts and Kimi has to remind himself his brother did have an F1 phase. “Teams didn’t like billionaire sons getting too close. They think you’re trying to steal their drivers, or make them ask for better deals.”
Kimi frowns. “Why would dad use me as…” He makes air quotes. “A luring tool ?”
“Why wouldn’t he?” George says, casually chewing on a piece of dragonfruit. “You’re smart. You get away with stuff.”
Kimi takes a sip of juice. “Alpine can’t afford Lando Norris, George.”
George leans forward, thinking. “Maybe it’s not about Lando. Maybe his drivers will think about leaving if they see you two getting close.”
Kimi bites his tongue, stopping himself from saying the obvious: Franco’s already sleeping with Lando. And Pierre knows why he was there. No one thinks that.
“Why are you defending Dad?” he says instead, biting into a cannoli.
“I’m not defending the old sport,” George fights back, mouth full of watermelon now. “Just ignore him, do your thing.”
“I will do that,” he smiles at his brother. “How are you doing?”
He pays in cash just in case the Uber driver cares about who he was driving to a party and steps out of the car.
The first thing he notices is the not so improvised finish line drawn on the asphalt. The second is the music, so loud that people are already dancing and drinking in the street. He doesn’t recognize anyone, so he takes a deep breath before walking in.
He spots Lando talking to a blonde girl. After elbowing his way through the crowd and just as he’s about to tap Lando on the shoulder, a hand grabs his arm and makes him turn.
“You came,” Oliver says, drink in hand and a goofy smile on his face. Kimi notices the way the Brit’s eyes trail down his body, and it sends a strange funny feeling through his stomach.
“Last few days in England, then back to boring Monaco,” he says.
“Drink?” Ollie asks, holding out his own glass.
“Sure,” Kimi accepts, the hot of the vodka hitting as soon as the liquid touches his lips. “Woah!”
“Vodka with orange juice,” Ollie says, still smiling. “Fancy a dance?”
Kimi nods and follows him across the house.
Ollie doesn’t grab him or tries to show off. He just dances, hands occasionally brushing Kimi’s, like by accident, but not. Kimi attempts to follow, a bit stiff at first, but then looser. The vodka helps. The smile on Ollie’s face helps more.
At one point, Ollie leans in to say something and his heartbeat fastens.
“You're not bad.”
“I’m Italian,” Kimi replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Ollie laughs and they keep dancing, a little closer now. Their arms brush, then their hands. Kimi doesn’t pull away. He lets it happen. Lets the warmth spread. He doesn’t realise how close they’ve gotten until he looks up and sees Ollie’s face just a breath away.
“You alright?” Ollie asks, voice low.
Kimi nods, heart racing again.
“You’re sure?” Ollie’s hand is already at his waist, not grabbing, just there.
“I’m sure,” Kimi says, not even realizing he’s smiling until Ollie smiles back.
Ollie moves in. Their foreheads touch. Kimi closes his eyes.
And just like that, they’re kissing again.
This time it’s slower. No crowd. No champagne. No camera flash. Just them, dancing to a song they don’t know, kissing like they have nowhere else to be.
That’s when his phone buzzes. Kimi tries to ignore it, too focused on biting the taller’s bottom lip, but it becomes annoying.
“Sorry,” he says, detaching himself. “I’ve to take this.”
5 missing calls from Dad. 2 missing calls from Georgie.
Incoming call - Georgie
He takes the call, but still squeezes himself out of the house, walking as far as possible.
“George?,” he yells, trying to cover the loud music in the background. “What’s happening?”
“Get yourself on the first flight to Monaco,” George says. “Dad’s going to ask for your head.”
“Sorry?,” he asks, not because he didn’t hear it. He did, but what?
“Do you know who Oliver James Bearman is?,” George says and Kimi freezes. The cold wind hit his face, watering his eyes.
It’s over.
He sees a tall and slim man walking towards him.
“Y-yes,” he’s scared to ask, but he gulps and does it anyway. “Why?”
“You’re in trouble, pal,” George says, concern in his voice. “I can’t cover you with this one, come to Monaco.”
Kimi closes his eyes. “Okay, see you in a few hours.”
Ollie is already standing in front of him, looking worried, lips in a pout and eyes full of confusion.
“I’ve to go,” Kimi says, his eyes locked to the ground, avoiding Ollie’s.
“W-what’s wrong?,” he asks, a bit desperate.
“I-I don’t know,” Kimi starts walking away.
He doesn’t realize his hands are shaking until he tries to open the Uber app, but keeps missing it. “ CAZZO! ,” he yells.
“Let me sort it,” Ollie says, taking the phone from his hands. “Same hotel as before?”
Kimi nods, anger taking over his body. He wants to throw a full tantrum like a kid denied a toy, but instead he counts to ten, trying not to look ridiculous in front of this tall, annoyingly attractive guy.
Well, he probably already looks ridiculous, running away because daddy demanded.
As Ollie hands him back the phone, Kimi slides a hand behind his neck, pulling him in for a slow kiss.
If this is the last time, he won’t waste any second of it.
To be continued...