Work Text:
Sometimes Sebastian tells Kimi “good job” and Kimi wonders if it means anything.
He knows what it’s supposed meaning is—to congratulate, celebrate, or compliment a performance by an individual that meets or goes beyond a written or arbitrary standard—but he’s not sure he understands. Why should a performance be rated by a sequence of words, particularly by phrases which change each day? If one’s performance was complete, it would be processed as a good job. If the performance was incomplete, it would be a bad job.
The solution was simple.
Yet far too complicated for many.
There are other phrases. “Well done” is another. “Excellent”, “Nice”, “Fantastic job”, and so on. They all fall under this category: too many words for too many purposes.
(He had determined “nice work” was much more descriptive than the options above. Similarly, “good work” also made sense, although they had no direct opposites. The phrase “bad work” did not exist, but rather lived in the form of “try again” or “stop doing that”.)
It was only a small hindrance to his day — it had to be with how complex daily life was within a celebrity position — because he has come to learn the programming of praise and scolding, one which was far easier to discern the difference between serious and care. For years, he believed he understood, the intricacies of language all stored away at the back of his head, cycling in and out of his brain each time the phrase was used. He was familiar with the terms, even if he wasn’t friendly with them. He had no reason to believe they meant anything.
They were only words…just like everything else he said…
(Apparently, they meant a lot.)
Hanging out with Sebastian was enjoyable. Kimi quickly recognizes the relief and comfort of life alongside Sebastian. It was calming. Words seemed to mean exactly as they were said, and if they didn’t, it was corrected until the process was conveyed. It’s a bit of a learning curve, yet Sebastian doesn’t hesitate to take it into stride.
It’s from Sebastian that Kimi learns of a term that will redefine everything he’s come to conclude in a much simpler way.
Script failure.
It’s not an actual linguistics term (Kimi has tried to look it up on the internet but nothing came to his attention, often leading him to C++ and Python help threads), but rather a descriptor which defines the inability to formulate words more appropriate to the setting, causing an individual to rely on pre-programmed statements learned from others around which were considered the proper response. Such example of script failure, so Kimi’s noted, is when someone says “I’m sorry” after learning a spouse had passed away, implying that the death of said spouse was the speaker’s fault. A very routine example, but one that would suffice enough to explain. The logic of its usage is perfectly detailed enough that Kimi incorporates the term into his language, both to apply to those around him and to himself.
It makes understanding miscommunication easier.
Even if emotions overriding logic still continue to leave him wondering.
It serves its purpose as intended, and Kimi no longer struggles to make sense of the illogical world quite as greatly as before. He becomes familiar with the common script failures and which are mostly likely expected for each situation. Some which he follows as well because he’s not a man of words, only analyzing language. Even Sebastian is not immune to such things, and Kimi is glad because it helpes him improve his listening and understanding the underlying meaning.
It’s a handy tool.
Unfortunately, it only works on part of language. And the pieces which it applies to greatest are the compliments or sympathies offered by people who believed kindness was rooted in sweet talk.
(He understands that’s how it was supposed to be).
But Kimi finds it more complicated than the other option: a friendly insult. A “fuck you”. An “I hate you so much”. A “you’re a fucking asshole”. In his mind, it makes sense, because the fluctuations in voice tone spelled out the meaning behind each word — the words would tumble out either under one’s breath or drawl upon the filler articles — and it’s practically universal across languages. Insults are his language. His comfort.
A place of trust.
(Kimi once explained it to Fernando, who responded with, “you have been neglected love from childhood.” Kimi highly doubts that. An aversion to affection isn’t the right word, tone, or line to describe said phenomenon.
He now believes Fernando was suffering from script failure at the time.)
Thus became Kimi’s life: driving, avoiding complex interviews, listening to vocal tones, and Sebastian. Sebastian could become Kimi’s whole world, so it seemed, his joy contagious and sometimes even overriding logic to make Kimi smile — he has no intention to tell Sebastian the dad jokes are terrible because they make Sebastian smile, and Kimi feels obligated to smile as well.
For the first time in a long time, the world falls into pieces that make sense. A series of compartments which open up to a list of scenarios, each of them equipped with an instruction manual that makes sense. Problems which arise are only temporary blips. Most of them are with the team, but a few are simply issues he and Sebastian run across in their friendship (advice from both Lewis and Nico Rosberg tell him that this is normal. Friendship is never quite straightforward). Kimi doesn’t mind the moments of problem solving. He knows it takes work for two lives to intertwine with one another, and Kimi has to learn what Sebastian wants or needs, sometimes without always relying on direct understanding despite Sebastian’s obvious skill in communicating such. It’s worth his time to detect the issues with Sebastian and develop a plan to counter them or find some conclusion that benefits them both.
It’s easy going.
Until it wasn’t.
And it fails when Sebastian says the three words Kimi’s dreaded.
“I love you.”
There is no script failure for “I love you”. There is no alternative phrase that can convey the same emotion. What tools are available are in the response itself, and not the initiating line. The proper answer should be to respond truthfully, but Kimi can’t even decide what he does feel.
(He picks ‘empty”.
And it’s reflected in his response.)
“Okay.”
Sebastian’s face falls—it’s never hard to tell that Kimi’s screwed up. “Okay? What does that mean?”
Kimi’s not even sure. “Why?”
“Because you’re amazing,” Sebastian says, cheering up just enough to smile (Kimi knows smiling means “good work”. He’s doing the right thing). “You’re nice to me. You never let others take advantage of you. You’re a bit harsh, but I’ve never seen you lie, and you always want to listen to what I have to say. You never make it hard to understand anything you say either, and if you do, you’re always willing to redefine it until I understand. And… you’re pretty.”
Sebastian’s eyes make no contact when saying those words. There’s a hint of red across Sebastian’s face as well.
This is supposed to be emotional.
So why does Kimi feel empty?
He manages words. “Thank you.”
Sebastian loses his smile once more — Kimi finally feels something: worry — and searches for an answer in Kimi’s face. “Do you… not feel the same way?”
“You listed the more basic human qualities about me.”
“Oh my god,” Sebastian groans. “Sometimes I wish you would just understand normally—”
(What does that even mean?)
“—Kimi, I’m asking you if you want to date me.”
The pieces fell together. This was supposed to be genuine.
But Kimi doesn’t know how to believe it.
And his own script fails.