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Ollie woke to the soft shuffle of feet down the hallway and the quiet creak of his bedroom door opening—then closing again without a word. For a moment, he stayed still, eyes closed, half-buried in his pillow as the sunlight filtered in through the half-open blinds. He could hear Charles humming in the kitchen, that light French lilt sneaking into his vowels whenever he cooked, and Max moving heavier through the living room, dragging something—probably the folding table for gifts. Birthday morning always felt like this. Like the house remembered. Like it had learned how to wake gently on these days. Ollie smiled to himself, heart warm. Not because he expected anything grand or huge, but because he felt seen. Sixteen wasn’t a milestone like eighteen or twenty-one, but it was his milestone, and it mattered to him in ways he didn’t always have the words for. There was something magic about the way his family loved him on these days—quiet, purposeful, and whole. And yet, there was something else under his skin today. Something humming in his chest. It was the anticipation of a plan that had nothing to do with cake or candles.
Because this year, he had made his own plans. Not big ones, just… real ones. The kind you carry in your pocket like a secret. Kimi had promised. They’d texted about it for weeks, voices hushed under bedsheets with AirPods in, laughing over shared playlists and whispered dreams. After the family dinner and the usual Leclerc-Verstappen chaos, they’d meet at the harbor, just the two of them. Sunset. Music. Maybe they’d share headphones again, the way they had that afternoon behind the bleachers after Ollie’s race last month, when Kimi had leaned in and said he liked the way Ollie closed his eyes when the bridge of a song hit him. Maybe Ollie would finally give him the little silver ring he’d ordered — the one with the etched wave, delicate and quiet and exactly Kimi-shaped. And maybe—God, maybe—if he found the courage, if the moment felt right, he’d say it. I love you. He wasn’t sure if Kimi would say it back, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to say it first. On his birthday. When he felt most like himself.
All day, he floated. Not in a loud way—Ollie wasn’t one for bouncing off the walls or drawing attention to himself—but in the soft, contented way of someone who felt the world was about to turn in his favor. Charles caught it first, of course. “Mon ange, you’ve been smiling at the fruit bowl for five minutes,” he said with a knowing grin as he folded birthday napkins. Ollie flushed red and ducked behind his juice. Oscar teased him, bumping his hip while he passed. “Must be Kimi,” he whispered like it was some big state secret. Max just watched him with that quiet, thoughtful look he always wore when Ollie was happy—the one that held both pride and a flicker of protectiveness, like he wanted to freeze time just to keep this softness safe. The day unfolded in layers—Charles baking an absurdly elaborate raspberry cake, Oscar wrapping his gift with three different types of tape, Max sitting him down to tell him that sixteen was when he started driving in F1, which only made Ollie roll his eyes. But underneath it all, the minutes ticked down toward the moment Ollie had circled in his mind like a star.
He snuck glances at his phone every ten minutes. No new messages from Kimi, but he wasn’t worried. Not yet. He imagined him rushing through airport terminals, pushing past cameras, dodging PR handlers. Kimi always showed up. He always did. He’d promised this time, too. “I’ll make it back. I swear on every lap time I’ve ever beaten you with.” Ollie had laughed then, hiding how much it meant. Now, as the afternoon shadows stretched longer over the tiled kitchen floor, Ollie slipped outside and sat on the back steps. The air was warm with spring, laced with the smell of Max’s barbecue and the faint salt from the sea. He pulled out the little box from his jacket pocket—the silver ring tucked into a velvet pouch. He held it up to the light, watching it catch the sun like a ripple. His thumb brushed the curve of it again and again, as if wearing it smooth with the sheer force of hope. Just a few more hours, he told himself. And then the sun would set, and Kimi would be there.
The message came at 5:17 p.m.
I’m so sorry, babe. They added a sponsor shoot. I’m still in Italy.
I don’t think I can make it back in time tonight.
At first, Ollie didn’t even blink. He just stared. His stomach dropped so quickly it felt like he’d been tipped off a cliff. The words reloaded. Over and over. Still in Italy. Can’t make it back. He read it three times before he realized he’d stopped breathing. His fingers curled tight around the phone, pressing into the edges. And yet, somehow, the only thing he typed back was:
It’s okay.
It wasn’t.
He didn’t cry. Not right away. He stuffed the ring box back in his pocket and walked back inside. Charles was lighting candles. Oscar was setting plates. Max looked up at him with that soft father look, but Ollie didn’t meet it. He pasted on the smile. He blew out the candles. He made a wish, and it tasted like ashes. No one said anything when he barely touched the cake. Charles kept glancing at him across the table, a line forming between his brows. Max didn’t ask questions, but his hand hovered at Ollie’s back when he passed. And Oscar, being Oscar, didn’t push—but he didn’t joke anymore either. Ollie felt the weight of their love like a blanket he couldn’t lift. He was drowning in it, but it wasn’t enough to stop the cold from settling in his bones.
At 7:42, Kimi called.
Ollie slipped into the garage, closing the door quietly behind him. His fingers were shaking as he answered.
“What happened?” he asked. His voice was low, distant.
“I tried to get out of it. I did. But they kept pushing this extra event and—Ollie, I’m sorry. I panicked. I didn’t want to lose the seat.”
Ollie said nothing.
“I’ll be back tomorrow. First train out. We can—”
“You always put racing first.”
The silence on the other end was heavy. Dense. Like the thick part of a storm right before it breaks.
“I thought you understood,” Kimi said at last, and it wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t kind either. It was tired. It was frustrated. It was not today.
Ollie hung up.
And for a long time, he sat there in the dark, the smell of grease and engine oil thick around him. The silver ring still heavy in his pocket. The playlist unopened. The sunset gone.
Happy birthday.
~~~~
Kimi sat on the edge of the stiff hotel bed in Milano like he’d forgotten how to move, like if he shifted even a little, something inside him would splinter. The room was quiet—too quiet. No voices from the hallway, no hum of the TV, no laughter crackling from his phone’s speaker like there usually was when Ollie was on the line. His phone lay face-up beside him, black screen reflecting just a sliver of his cheek and the hollow in his eyes. The silence felt unnatural, almost cruel, like the world had been put on pause the moment the call ended and Ollie’s voice had gone quiet. You always put racing first. That part hurt. But what gutted him was the part that had come after it, lower, smaller, almost whispered. I thought you were different.
The words hadn’t just landed—they’d carved themselves into him. They were still echoing, heavy and sharp, each syllable like someone dragging dull nails down his ribs. He could feel them lodged behind his breastbone, right where Ollie’s laugh usually lived. Kimi exhaled shakily, dragging both hands through his hair and clutching at the roots like pain might stop the ache. How was he supposed to explain? That he hadn’t meant to stay. That he’d checked the train schedule three times and nearly bolted out the door, but something always pulled him back—his team, his engineer, the press coordinator gently reminding him how many people had worked to get him there. It had all felt too big to leave, and now he was realizing just how much he’d left behind.
He pictured Ollie in that tiny kitchen in the Monaco flat, probably still wearing that oversized blue hoodie—the one he always said made him feel small enough to hide in when his nerves got too loud. He imagined the birthday playlist carefully curated on Spotify, the candles Ollie had bought even though they weren’t allowed to light them in the apartment because Max would freak out. He pictured the nervous little smile Ollie would’ve had, trying to play it cool while waiting for Kimi to walk through the door. And then the way that smile would’ve dimmed, slowly, minute by minute, hour by hour, as the realization set in—he’s not coming.
Guilt settled over Kimi like a lead blanket. It wasn’t just that he’d missed a birthday. He’d missed him. He’d missed the small things that made Ollie who he was—the way he got hyper-focused and made Pinterest boards for random ideas, the way he said “I love you” like it was just another part of breathing. The way he always looked at Kimi like he was enough, even when Kimi wasn’t sure he believed it himself. It felt like Kimi had been running so fast toward his own future that he hadn’t realized he’d dropped his heart somewhere along the way.
He tried texting. The first apology was too long. He read it twice, hated the tone, and deleted it. The second one sounded robotic—too cold, too formal, like something he’d write to a team principal. That one went in the bin too. He stared at the screen for what felt like an hour, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, mind going blank. The third draft sat blinking in his notes app like it was daring him to hit send. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I wanted to be there more than anything. But even that felt like a lie. If he’d wanted to be there more than anything, wouldn’t he have found a way?
He threw the phone onto the pillow beside him, not in anger, just in helplessness. The guilt was eating him alive. He curled forward, elbows braced on his knees, face buried in his hands. He felt like a failure in two languages. In two countries. In two lives. Too young for the professional world he was racing in, too serious for his friends back home, and too in love to be this careless with someone like Ollie. The worst part? He didn’t know how to fix it.
On instinct, he reached for his phone again—not to message Ollie, not yet. He scrolled through contacts with shaky fingers until he landed on one he wasn’t even sure he was allowed to use for things like this. Charles (future Papa). He stared at the name for a long moment. Then, heart pounding, he hit call.
It rang twice before Charles answered, his voice warm but cautious. “Kimi?”
Kimi nearly broke just hearing it. “I messed up,” he said, his voice cracking right down the middle. “I didn’t show up. I was supposed to be there, I promised I’d be there. He was waiting for me.” His throat closed up. “And I just… I stayed. I don’t know why. I kept thinking just one more obligation, and then it was too late.”
There was silence on the other end, but not the kind that judged. The kind that listened.
“I hurt him,” Kimi went on, barely above a whisper. “And he said—he said I always put racing first. He said he thought I was different. What if I’m not?” He pressed the heel of his palm into his eye, forcing himself not to cry. “I didn’t mean to hurt him. But I did. And now I don’t know what to do.”
Charles sighed, quiet and soft like the sea. “Kimi… loving someone doesn’t mean you’ll never mess up. It just means you care enough to do something about it after.” There was a pause, then something gentler. “When I was your age, I thought showing up in person didn’t matter if I sent love from afar. But it does matter. Especially to someone like Ollie.”
Kimi nodded, eyes burning. “I don’t want to lose him.”
“You won’t,” Charles said gently. “But you do need to show him he’s worth the detour. Not just say it. Show it. That’s how you make things right.”
And Kimi believed him. Because Charles knew Ollie. Knew that soft, sensitive heart that beat too loud and cared too much. He knew that forgiveness wasn’t just about words—it was about actions, about presence, about showing up at the door with nothing to offer except yourself and saying, I still choose you. Even when I failed you.
He thanked Charles, voice trembling, and hung up.
Within five minutes, Kimi was on his feet, moving on adrenaline alone. He stuffed his charger into his backpack, grabbed the hoodie Ollie had given him last spring—navy blue, smelled faintly like lavender—and pocketed his ID. He didn’t even check the time when he booked the train back to Monaco. He just found the earliest departure, paid the ridiculous last-minute price, and headed out into the night.
The station was almost empty when he got there, just him and a few strangers waiting in silence. When the train pulled in, Kimi climbed aboard and slumped into a window seat. The world outside was dark, the trees just a blur of shadows. The train rumbled forward, pulling him closer to the boy he loved and farther from the version of himself he never wanted to be again.
He didn’t know if Ollie would forgive him. He didn’t know what words would be enough. But he’d show up. And maybe—just maybe—that would be the beginning of something better.
~~~~
The bedroom was dim, cast in the familiar amber glow of their bedside lamp, and yet everything about it felt unsettled. Max lay flat on his back, arms folded tightly over his chest, staring up at the ceiling like it had personally offended him. Charles was curled on his side, eyes tired but alert, watching his husband stew in the thick silence that hadn’t left them since Ollie had gone to bed with a mumbled “Goodnight,” so unlike him it ached. “He didn’t even want his cake,” Charles whispered finally, voice barely audible. Max didn’t answer right away. His jaw was clenched, the tendons tight like piano wire. “That boy planned every second of this birthday for weeks,” Max bit out, voice low but sharp, “And then that kid—what, forgets? Doesn’t show? Doesn’t even text?” The frustration rolled off him in waves, masking something deeper, older, more fragile. “He lit a damn candle by himself.” Charles reached for his hand across the duvet, threading their fingers together. “Maybe it wasn’t deliberate,” he offered, but Max shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Ollie doesn’t cry for no reason. He was trying not to tonight. He thinks no one noticed, but—” His voice cracked unexpectedly, and he turned his head away, blinking hard. “I hate seeing that look on his face. It’s like I let it happen. Again.” Charles scooted closer, pressing their foreheads together. “We didn’t let anything happen. He’s loved. He knows it.” Max exhaled roughly, and then, after a beat, whispered: “Yeah. But he wanted Kimi.”
Two floors up in Oscar’s room, the tone was wildly different—but the concern lived in the spaces between the laughter. Lando lay sprawled on his stomach, chin resting on a pillow, while Oscar perched cross-legged at the foot of the bed, phone in hand as he scrolled through Ollie’s Instagram. “You know,” Lando said, voice half-teasing but laced with affection, “your brother posted thirteen stories in a row about birthday music and sunsets. And now it’s just…radio silence. That’s not subtle.” Oscar snorted. “Subtlety isn’t really his strong suit,” he said, but then his smile faltered slightly. “He’s quiet when it matters. And when he’s scared.” Lando sat up a little. “Do you think it was Kimi? He was buzzing all week about this ‘secret plan,’ and now—poof.” Oscar nodded slowly. “Ollie doesn’t get mad like that unless he feels…forgotten.” There was a long pause. “You ever think about how much pressure it is to be someone’s safe place?” Lando tilted his head. “All the time,” he said softly. “But also… I want to be.” Oscar looked up at him, something warm and grateful flickering in his eyes. “Me too.” Lando grinned. “Wow, so sappy. Should I get the tissues?” Oscar threw a pillow at him. “Shut up and cuddle me, Norris.”
Back in the master bedroom, Charles was tracing slow circles on Max’s arm now, trying to bring him back down from the ledge his anger had climbed. “Remember when you missed our second anniversary because you locked yourself in the simulator for twelve hours?” he said gently, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Max groaned. “Don’t remind me. I thought you were going to dump me on the spot.” “I nearly did,” Charles admitted. “And then you turned up at my apartment with a broken bouquet and a speech about how you were terrified of failing at love the way you failed at family.” Max huffed a breath that could’ve been a laugh. “Yeah. Romantic, right?” Charles leaned in, pressed a kiss to Max’s temple. “It was honest. You were scared. And I stayed.” The room went quiet for a moment, wrapped in memories and warmth. “Kimi’s young,” Charles said at last. “He’s scared, too. But if he’s worth it…he’ll come back. He’ll fight for our boy.” Max turned his head toward him. “And if he doesn’t?” Charles smiled, dangerous and fond. “Then we make it very clear the Verstappen-Leclerc family does not tolerate heartbreakers.” Max chuckled. “Damn right we don’t.”
Meanwhile, Oscar was mid-yawn when his phone buzzed. He glanced down at the screen, eyes widening. “Kimi texted Dad,” he said aloud. “Said he’s coming back on the first train out. Asked him not to yell.” Lando grinned. “I would pay money to see that confrontation.” Oscar shook his head. “Nah. I think he means it. He wouldn’t message Dad if he wasn’t serious.” He tossed the phone aside and curled up under Lando’s arm, letting himself settle into the comfort of someone who knew exactly when to talk and when to just hold him. “You think Ollie will forgive him?” Lando asked quietly. Oscar didn’t answer right away. Just let the silence stretch. “He will,” he said finally. “But not because of a big apology. Because he shows up. That’s all he ever wanted.” Lando pressed a kiss to the side of Oscar’s head. “Remind me never to miss your birthday.” Oscar smiled. “You wouldn’t dare.”
And in the quiet of the house, as the city hushed itself to sleep and the weight of an almost-missed birthday lingered in the air like the faint scent of blown-out candles, the people who loved Ollie Verstappen-Leclerc—his parents, his brother, his almost-boyfriend—each held onto one truth in their own way. That love wasn’t about getting it perfect. It was about noticing. About showing up. About choosing each other again, even when it hurt.
~~~~
Kimi knocked three times, then stopped himself from doing it again. His hand hovered over the door like maybe if he prayed hard enough, Ollie would just open it smiling—no anger, no hurt, just that easy, sunlit grin that made Kimi forget the world. But nothing happened. He heard movement inside—shuffling, maybe a pillow shifting. Kimi’s heart kicked against his ribs like it wanted to escape his chest. He waited. Knocked again. “Ollie,” he said softly, lips brushing the wood. “Please. I know it’s late. I just—I couldn’t not come.” Silence. A sharp breath behind the door. Then footsteps, slow and cautious. When the door creaked open just enough to reveal one stormy eye beneath messy curls, Kimi thought he might cry. But that eye was cold. Distant. “Why are you here?” Ollie asked, voice stripped of warmth. Kimi stepped back, hands raised like surrender. “Because I love you,” he whispered. “Because I should’ve been here hours ago. Because I’d do anything to take it back.” The door didn’t budge.
So Kimi did something humiliating—he dropped to his knees. Right there in the Verstappen-Leclerc hallway, on the hardwood floor that still smelled faintly of Charles’ weird organic lemon oil. “I fucked up, Ollie. I know I did. I chose the wrong thing. I smiled for cameras when all I wanted was to be here. With you. On your birthday. I swear, I was thinking about you the whole time. Every interview, every handshake. But I know that’s not enough. I know I hurt you.” Ollie’s eyes widened slightly, but he stayed in the doorway, gripping the handle. “You don’t even understand why it hurt,” he murmured. Kimi’s voice cracked. “Then tell me. Please. I want to understand. I need to.” He looked up, his voice desperate and trembling. “Don’t shut me out. Please. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
It took another long beat before Ollie sighed, stepping back with a quiet, “Get up.” Kimi scrambled to his feet, heart thudding. He followed Ollie inside, into the low-lit bedroom with fairy lights tangled around the bedposts and the faint sound of some indie playlist humming from a speaker. The space felt warm, lived-in, and heartbreakingly familiar. Ollie sat on the bed but didn’t invite him closer. “You didn’t just miss the cake,” he said, voice sharper now. “You missed the playlist. The harbor. The talk I wanted us to have. I was going to tell you I loved you for the first time. Not just in my head. For real. But you weren’t there.” The words hit Kimi like a car crash. “Ollie…” he tried. “Don’t. Just… don’t talk yet.” Ollie looked at him—really looked at him—and Kimi saw it then. The ache. The vulnerability that Ollie hid under sarcasm and playlists and dramatic sighs. “I’ve loved you since I was eleven,” Ollie whispered. “You were the first person who ever made me feel like I was something more than loud. Or annoying. Or too much. I didn’t want to love anyone else. And I still don’t. But I needed you.”
Kimi stepped forward like he was afraid the floor might disappear under his feet. “I’m yours,” he said simply, voice raw. “All of me. The scared parts. The confused parts. The stupid, selfish parts that chose a fucking sponsor dinner over you. I’m so ashamed of that. But I swear to you, Ollie—I will never put anything above you again.” Ollie’s jaw twitched. Kimi kept going, desperate now. “I don’t know how to be perfect. But I know how to be honest. I’ve missed you every second. I’ve been aching to come back. And I’ll spend every day proving it to you if you let me.” His voice broke. “Please let me.” Something shifted in Ollie’s face. Like the clouds moving just enough to let the sun spill through. “You’re a dumbass,” he whispered. “The biggest one.” And then—finally—he reached for Kimi’s hoodie and yanked him forward by the collar, crashing their mouths together in a kiss that tasted like salt and forgiveness and everything Kimi had been starving for.
Kimi gasped into it, hands flying to Ollie’s waist, but Ollie didn’t let up. He kissed him hard. Vindictive. Like he wanted Kimi to remember every second he hadn’t been here. His hand curled around the back of Kimi’s neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss, and when Ollie bit his bottom lip—sharply, possessively—Kimi let out a whimper that made Ollie smile against his mouth. “You’re mine,” Ollie growled, dragging him down to the bed. Kimi collapsed willingly, limbs trembling, breath shallow. “Always,” he gasped. “God, Ollie, I’m yours.” They made out like the world was ending. Like the night might disappear before they could get it all out. Kimi found himself in Ollie’s lap, straddling him, clutching at his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Every kiss was an apology. Every sigh a vow. They kissed until they were dizzy, sweat cooling on their necks, hearts pounding in sync.
And then Ollie pulled back just enough to reach beneath his pillow, pulling out a small velvet pouch. “I was gonna give this to you last night,” he muttered. “But, well, you know.” He opened it and held out a silver ring—simple, thin, engraved with a tiny sun. “It’s not a big deal. It’s not a proposal. I just… I wanted you to have something. To know I see forever in you, even if we’re just kids.” Kimi’s hands shook as he took it—but then he laughed, breathless and wide-eyed. “No fucking way.” He reached into the front pocket of his hoodie and pulled out his own pouch. Inside—another matching ring. Engraved with a moon. They both stared at each other for a second, then burst into uncontrollable laughter, tears slipping down Kimi’s cheeks as he gasped, “We’re ridiculous.”
Ollie slipped the ring onto Kimi’s middle finger, then held out his own. Kimi mirrored him, sliding the matching band into place. Ollie kissed the back of Kimi’s hand gently, then looked him in the eyes, voice suddenly soft. “I will love you as honest as I can, as much as I can, and as long as I have breath in me, Kimi Antonelli.” Kimi broke into sobs. He crashed into Ollie’s chest, hugging him tight, kissing at his collarbone, then his neck, then up his jaw. He found Ollie’s mouth again and kissed him with everything he had—deep, open-mouthed, full of heat and heartbreak and belonging.
“I love you, Oliver Verstappen-Leclerc,” Kimi whispered between kisses. “You’re everything and then more. I really love your name, but someday I hope you’ll take mine.” Ollie smiled into his lips, murmuring, “I’ll think about it. Maybe you’d take mine, Antonelli.” Kimi exhaled like it was the first breath he’d taken in hours. “I would do anything for you, Ollie. Anything.”
And beneath fairy lights and tangled blankets, they kissed like two people finding each other again. Not perfectly. Not painlessly. But fully. As though the whole world had narrowed to the space between their mouths and the rings on their hands. As though nothing else existed.
Except love.
And the boy who came back.
~~~~
Max didn’t mean to stop. He really didn’t. He’d only meant to pass by Ollie’s room on the way to make coffee, maybe peek in for just a second. Not because he was worried, of course—not too worried—just… checking. Just confirming that his youngest hadn’t cried himself to sleep or thrown Kimi out sometime in the middle of the night. But the second his eyes landed on the slightly ajar door, cracked open with a kind of intimate carelessness, Max’s breath caught somewhere deep in his chest, and his feet locked in place like something primal had rooted him there.
The soft golden light of morning slipped across the floor in slender ribbons, climbing over the edge of Ollie’s bed. And there, right in the center of the tangle of navy sheets and childhood dreams turned teenage chaos, was his boy. His little Ollie—though not so little anymore. Curled up tight against the one person he’d said the word forever to at fifteen years old. Kimi’s arms were wrapped around him like they were afraid to let go, even in sleep. Ollie’s curls were pressed into the crook of his boyfriend’s neck, and Max could see—clear as day—the matching silver bands glinting faintly on their middle fingers, a quiet promise nestled against soft skin and trust.
Max swallowed thickly, but his breath caught all over again when he spotted Kimi’s hand—resting, not inappropriately, but… intimately. Fingers gently curled just under the hem of Ollie’s shirt, thumb against his waist like he’d fallen asleep mid-soothe, like he’d been rubbing slow circles against Ollie’s skin long after they stopped speaking and started breathing each other in again.
Max narrowed his eyes.
“Absolutely not,” he whispered to himself.
From behind, soft steps padded down the hallway, water still dripping from damp curls and a towel slung lazily around the neck of the only man in the world who could coax Max Verstappen back from the brink of a full-blown Dad Panic. Charles came to a smooth stop beside him, catching the same glimpse of teenage serenity through the door, and a knowing little smile curled onto his mouth as he leaned in close.
“They’re okay,” Charles whispered gently, not asking, not guessing—knowing. Like he always did.
Max let out a breath through his nose, arms crossed over his chest like he could will himself not to barge in and demand Kimi scoot to the other side of the bed right now. “They look suspicious.”
“They look like two boys in love,” Charles countered, eyes soft. “Like they finally remembered how to hold each other without all that pride in the way.”
“They look like they did something funny.”
Charles barked out a quiet laugh. “Oh, Maxie.”
“I remember being sixteen, Charles,” Max hissed. “I remember sneaking you into my room. I remember what it felt like to want you so bad it hurt. That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Charles pressed a hand to his mouth, eyes dancing with mischief and fondness and maybe a little bit of guilt. “Okay. Fair. But do you remember what it felt like to be told no by someone who didn’t understand what you were feeling?”
That stopped Max short. He went quiet.
“Do you remember wishing someone trusted you with your own heart?” Charles added, softer now.
Max closed his eyes, exhaled like it hurt. “Shit.”
“I know,” Charles said, stepping behind him, wrapping him up in the warmth of his towel-damp chest, chin resting against Max’s shoulder. “But look at him, Max. He’s safe. He’s smiling in his sleep. You saw what he looked like yesterday—curled in on himself like the world had cracked. Now look at him.”
Max did. And it nearly knocked the air out of him. Ollie’s lashes fluttered faintly in sleep, his face smooth for the first time in days. He looked young again. Not a bundle of sarcasm and emotional knots, not a voice raised in heartbreak. Just a boy—his boy—who’d been loved back together in the quiet hours of the night.
“He looks… okay,” Max whispered, voice thick.
“He is okay,” Charles said, kissing the back of Max’s neck gently. “Because he got the thing we all need, whether we’re sixteen or sixty—someone who loves us enough to come back.”
Max’s eyes dropped again to the silver bands. His jaw clenched slightly. “Those better not be—”
“They’re not engagement rings,” Charles interrupted, grinning. “They’re promise rings. Teenagers do that. It’s cute.”
“It’s terrifying.”
“It’s love, Max.” Charles nuzzled in closer, pulling him away from the door. “And they’re asleep. Which means nothing funny happened. Probably.”
Max resisted the pull for half a step. “I still don’t like it.”
“I know you don’t. But I like you, and you’re cute when you’re grumpy and overprotective.”
“I’m not grumpy.”
“You’re so grumpy.”
“I’m watching him,” Max mumbled, letting Charles guide him away from the doorway. “That boy better not screw this up.”
“You’ve said that six times.”
“And I’ll say it again.”
Charles giggled softly, pushing Max back toward their bedroom. “Come on, grump. Let’s let them sleep. You can yell at Kimi over pancakes later.”
Max allowed himself to be tugged along, hand in Charles’s, heart still heavy with too many kinds of love. As they passed their own bedroom door, Charles turned, pressed Max gently against the frame, and slid his hands under his husband’s shirt with a familiar ease.
“I know a way to take your mind off it,” he whispered against Max’s ear.
Max arched a brow, mouth twitching at the corner. “You’re insatiable.”
“You’re warm. And soft. And too distracted to say no.”
Max finally smiled, shaking his head. “Alright. But if they moved one inch closer by the time we come back out—”
“Then we’ll add a pancake penalty,” Charles said brightly, kissing him once, twice, then pulling him inside with all the assurance of someone who had loved Max Verstappen through every fight, fear, and overprotective instinct for twenty years.
And as the bedroom door closed behind them, the house stayed quiet, golden with morning light, and at peace for the first time in far too long.
Ollie woke first, his eyes blinking open to the golden warmth of late morning sunlight trickling through the gauzy curtains of his bedroom. For a moment, he lay still, caught between dreams and reality, until the soft exhale against his bare shoulder reminded him—he wasn’t alone. Kimi was curled into him, arms loosely looped around his waist, face pressed into the crook of his neck like he’d been trying to disappear there during the night. Their legs were tangled in the sheets, skin against skin, and Ollie could feel Kimi’s even breaths where they ghosted warmly over his collarbone. A quiet joy bloomed in his chest—slow and full and honest. They’d made it. Through the tears and the late-night confessions, through the tension and the aching silence of the past weeks, through everything that had nearly come between them. And now he was here, real and warm and softly drooling on Ollie’s shoulder, and Ollie felt so stupidly full of love he could hardly breathe.
He shifted slightly, lifting a hand to Kimi’s cheek, brushing back the curls that had fallen across his face. Kimi stirred with a small groan, burrowing closer, his body stretching out as he blinked up, squinting at the light. “Morning,” Ollie murmured, voice husky with sleep and fondness. He leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to Kimi’s lips—gentle at first, just a press of warmth and intention. But Kimi sighed into it, mouth parting, and Ollie couldn’t help himself. The kiss deepened, languid and heavy, his hand slipping to the nape of Kimi’s neck, fingers tangling in the hair there as he tilted his head and pulled him closer.
Kimi made a soft, startled sound as Ollie’s other hand found his hip under the blanket, fingers sliding across warm skin. Their bodies molded together instinctively, and Ollie grinned against Kimi’s mouth when he felt him shiver. The kiss grew messy, breathless, lips parting and reconnecting, teeth grazing lips, Ollie tugging playfully at Kimi’s bottom lip until he gasped. And then—Kimi pulled back with a flushed face and wide eyes, swatting Ollie’s chest with a weak slap. “Ollie, if you keep doing that, I’m going to have to walk out of this room with a hard-on in front of your whole family.”
Ollie laughed, low and unrepentant, his eyes still dark with sleep and want. “So? You think they don’t know what teenagers in love look like?”
Kimi groaned, burying his face in Ollie’s neck, his voice muffled and mortified. “No, no, no, you don’t get it. Your dad already thinks I’m corrupting you or something. If he even senses I’ve got a semi around his baby boy, I swear to God he’ll tackle me into the wall and kill me with his bare hands.”
Ollie barked a laugh, then immediately tried to stifle it, biting down on his fist as he whispered, “Stop. You’re gonna make me laugh too hard, and then he really will hear us.”
Kimi shifted to look up at him, expression halfway between fond exasperation and abject terror. “Do you know what it’s like to be fifteen and in love with a boy whose father could deadlift a car if sufficiently provoked? If I have to do the walk of shame through the kitchen while Max Verstappen watches me from behind a mug of coffee like I’m a walking felony, I will combust on the spot. I’m serious, Ollie. This is life or death.”
Ollie grinned, pulling Kimi closer until their foreheads touched. “Okay, okay, we’ll cool it. For now.”
They lay there for a long moment, the teasing melting into something quieter, heavier. Ollie let his hand drift down Kimi’s back, fingers brushing over the curve of his spine, anchoring him in place. “You know,” he said softly, voice catching a little, “I still can’t believe you’re here.”
Kimi nodded, eyes soft. “Me neither. After everything that happened…”
“Last night was the scariest thing I’ve felt in a long time,” Ollie murmured. “That fight, the way we couldn’t talk… it felt like I was losing my best friend. My person.”
“You didn’t,” Kimi whispered. “I almost let you go, but I couldn’t. I’m never letting you go again.”
Ollie bit his lip, blinking fast, and then nodded. “We have to figure out how to not let that happen again. Like… we’re young. And I know racing’s coming, and we’re going to have to deal with distance and media and pressure. But I want to do this with you. Properly. Not just when it’s easy.”
Kimi’s eyes grew a little watery, and he reached up to cup Ollie’s cheek. “I want that too. I don’t care how many airports or simulators or time zones are between us. You’re my priority, Ollie. We’ll call. We’ll visit. We’ll carve out time like our lives depend on it. Because maybe they do.”
Ollie leaned into his palm, closing his eyes. “We’re gonna fight sometimes,” he said quietly. “But we can promise not to run. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”
Kimi nodded, then smiled softly. “No more hiding. No more shutting down. You get all of me, Ollie. Even the messy, complicated bits. And I want all of you too.”
Ollie leaned forward again, kissing him slower this time, like a seal pressed over the words they’d just shared. They stayed like that, lips brushing in soft intervals, hands roaming gently, their bodies still wrapped up in the safety of each other. They didn’t need to move yet. Not while the sunlight still warmed the blankets. Not while the house stayed quiet outside the door.
At least, until Ollie froze, eyes going wide. “Shit,” he whispered. “You were right.”
Kimi blinked. “About what?”
“My dad. If we’re not out there soon, he’s gonna think we’re doing something way worse than making out.”
Kimi groaned again, this time louder, rolling onto his back and covering his face with both hands. “Oh God. I’m going to die. He’s going to smell the guilt. I can’t look him in the eye—he’s going to know. He’s gonna know, Ollie!”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being realistic! Max Verstappen is an apex predator when it comes to protecting his kids!”
There was a sharp knock at the bedroom door just then, followed by Charles’s laughing voice on the other side. “Max, stop staring at the door. They’re teenagers, they’re fine!”
“I wasn’t staring!” Max protested immediately.
Kimi’s face turned bright red, and he flopped face-down onto the mattress with a loud groan. Ollie burst out laughing again, reaching for him and yanking the blanket over both of them like that would protect them from the embarrassment radiating through the door.
Kimi lifted his head slowly, staring at Ollie with wide eyes. “We are never leaving this room again.”
“You say that,” Ollie said, smiling as he pulled him close again, “but you’re the one who still wants breakfast.”
Kimi groaned again, but when Ollie kissed him, he kissed back—soft, grateful, and so full of love it was almost too much.
The kitchen was warm with morning light, the smell of coffee thick in the air, and the low hum of Charles humming some half-French, half-nonsense tune as he stirred scrambled eggs in the pan. Lando was leaning against the counter like he lived there—because he practically did—while Oscar flopped onto the breakfast nook bench with all the elegance of a deflating air mattress. Ollie padded in a minute later, barefoot, hair a mess, wearing the hoodie Kimi had worn the night before. Kimi followed a beat behind, looking freshly scrubbed and nervously boyish in his Monaco GP t-shirt, cheeks already turning red as soon as he spotted the full kitchen.
Max was at the espresso machine, dressed in soft black sweatpants and a tight white tee that made him look like a bouncer who secretly made banana pancakes on the weekends. He turned at the sound of their entrance, eyes immediately narrowing in on the way Ollie looked very pleased with himself—and how Kimi looked like he wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole.
“Well, look who finally emerged,” Max said, loud and pointed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sleep well, boys?”
Ollie gave a sweet, innocent smile. “Like a baby.”
Kimi made a choked sound and ducked his head, already reaching for a glass of orange juice like it was his only lifeline.
Oscar glanced up, eyebrows raised. “Both of you, huh?”
Lando was cackling into his mug. Charles just snorted and flipped the eggs with a little more flair than necessary.
Max leaned against the counter, arms crossed, gaze fixed squarely on Kimi. “You know, I remember the first time Lando stayed over. Slept on the couch like a gentleman. Wouldn’t even take his shoes off. I thought he was going to have a heart attack when I asked if he wanted to help with the dishes.”
“Because you asked it like it was a test,” Lando said, mock-offended. “You held up a dish towel like it was a threat.”
“I was being welcoming,” Max deadpanned. “Now look at you. Stealing my eldest. And you—” he turned his attention back to Kimi, who was visibly debating if sprinting out the door would be considered rude. “You’ve been around since you were what, ten? Eleven? Used to fall asleep on our couch with a stuffed Ferrari. And now you’re—” he waved vaguely at the obvious evidence of shared sleep, “—making yourself real comfortable, huh?”
Kimi’s entire face went scarlet.
“Dad,” Ollie said, trying and failing to hide a smug grin, “you like him, remember?”
“Oh, I do,” Max said with mock solemnity. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t haze him. It’s tradition.”
Charles finally turned from the stove, sliding eggs onto plates and walking over to kiss Max’s cheek. “Ma chérie, remember when you were sixteen?”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Max muttered darkly, which made Charles laugh harder, burying his face in Max’s neck as he wrapped his arms around him from behind.
Oscar leaned into the chaos, nudging Ollie. “So. Hoodie swap? That official now?”
Ollie grinned, unabashed. “We’re a team.”
“A team that was up very late,” Lando stage-whispered, making Kimi groan.
“I swear we just—” Kimi started, and stopped, looking to Ollie for help.
Ollie just gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You slept great, didn’t you, amore?”
Kimi nodded frantically. “So great. We only slept.”
Max made a loud, exaggerated clearing of his throat. “Good. Let’s keep it that way until you’re at least—”
“Max,” Charles warned gently, still pressed to his husband’s back, “don’t start listing age requirements. You’ll just embarrass yourself.”
“I’m just saying,” Max mumbled, grabbing his coffee. “He’s still my boy.”
“And I love him,” Kimi said suddenly, quiet but firm. His voice was soft, trembling a little, but clear. “And I’ll always try to deserve him.”
The teasing eased slightly. Max looked at Kimi then, really looked—past the nerves and the mortification, to the kid who had spent more Sunday mornings at their house than his own, who’d been in and out of their lives like another son for almost a decade. His expression softened into something warmer.
“I know you will, kid,” Max said, voice lower now. “You’ve got a good heart. Just… don’t forget, okay? Racing can take a lot from you. Don’t let it take him.”
Kimi nodded, eyes glassy. “Never again.”
“God, you two are so dramatic in the mornings,” Oscar groaned, reaching for the toast.
“Tell me about it,” Lando said. “Remember when we were all flirty and low-key? Before we moved in and I discovered Oscar makes lists of conversation topics for breakfast?”
“Organization is hot,” Oscar said, deadpan.
Ollie laughed, all bright eyes and pink cheeks and smugness barely held in check. Kimi leaned close and whispered something in his ear that made Ollie’s ears turn redder, though he didn’t stop smiling. The kitchen filled with the easy noise of clinking dishes, quiet teasing, and the unmistakable warmth of family.
And if Ollie’s fingers brushed against Kimi’s under the table more than once—well. No one mentioned it.
They had all the time in the world.
The house had fallen silent again, the kind of quiet that only came when every room was full and no one needed anything anymore. Outside their window, the breeze moved gently through the trees along the coast, the sea breathing its soft rhythm in the distance. Inside, Max lay flat on his back, one arm behind his head, the other stretched toward Charles, fingers loosely twined with his husband’s under the covers. They hadn’t spoken in a while—not out of tension, but the kind of deep, tired comfort that comes only after a long day that had been emotionally full in all the right ways. The kind of day that left you soft in the chest.
Charles turned his head against the pillow and smiled at him in the dark. “They’re really in love, Max,” he said, voice low and hushed in the way you speak sacred things aloud.
Max didn’t answer at first, just closed his eyes and exhaled. “Yeah. They are.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was thoughtful. “I saw it in the way Ollie looked at Kimi when he finally forgave him. Like he’d been underwater for days and could finally breathe again. And Kimi—God, that boy was shaking. He looked at Ollie like he was afraid and home all at once.”
Charles squeezed his hand, fingers warm and steady. “It’s not just young love. They work at it. You saw the way they talked last night. How they held each other. They’re kids, but they’re doing the work people twice their age refuse to do. Communication. Apologies. Patience.”
“They learned that here,” Max murmured, eyes still closed, voice thick with something he didn’t name. “We taught them what love’s supposed to feel like. That it’s not about who wins. It’s about who stays. Who listens. Who forgives. We gave them a home where it was safe to love without fear.”
Charles felt a wave of pride and emotion swell in his chest. He turned on his side, watching Max in the quiet, his strong, weathered face softened by the dark. “And Oscar… he and Lando are like this old married couple sometimes. The way Oscar will take Lando’s hand without thinking. The way Lando waits for Oscar to speak first if he knows he’s upset. There’s a depth to it. They’ve built something stable. Safe. Lando brings joy into Oscar’s life, Max. That big, stupid, ridiculous smile. And Oscar makes Lando feel wanted in a way I think he always longed for.”
Max opened his eyes and looked at Charles, something quiet flickering there. “Do you remember what it felt like? When we first got together? When everything was hard and fragile and you weren’t sure if I’d bolt or fight or break something just to feel in control?”
“I remember,” Charles said softly. “And I remember the moment I realized you weren’t running anymore. That you wanted to stay. It was the night you held Oscar for the first time. I saw your whole heart shift.”
Max blinked fast, his throat tightening. “I didn’t think I’d ever be a good dad,” he said quietly. “Not with the example I had. But look at them, Cha. Look at what we’ve done. Our sons are good. They love hard and honest. They open their hearts even when it’s scary. And the people they’ve chosen—God, they’re lucky. But so are Lando and Kimi. They’ve found homes in our boys, too.”
Charles leaned over and kissed Max’s shoulder, his hand sliding up to rest against his chest. “You sleep so well now,” he whispered. “Remember how you used to wake up in the middle of the night? Checking on Oscar when he first came home. Later on, Ollie. You’d sit at the edge of their beds and just… breathe.”
“I still do sometimes,” Max admitted, voice barely a breath. “But now it’s different. I don’t do it because I’m afraid they’ll disappear. I do it because I can’t believe they’re real. That we really made this life. That we’re here, in a house full of love, and no one’s scared anymore.”
“They’re safe,” Charles whispered. “They’re loved. We did that.”
Max turned toward him finally, reaching out to cradle Charles’ jaw. “I don’t say it enough, but you made me brave enough to be this man. You made it safe for me to become the kind of father who could raise sons like Oscar and Ollie.”
Charles leaned in and kissed him, slow and sure. “And you made it possible for me to dream of this life. Of mornings full of laughter and teasing, of our boys in love with good, kind people, and of you—still the same fire, but gentler. More at peace.”
Max closed his eyes again, and this time, when he breathed out, it sounded like surrender. “I can sleep,” he whispered. “I can sleep because they’re loved. Because they’re okay.”
And Charles, curled against him with a full heart and a quiet smile, simply whispered back, “Me too.”
~~~~
The house had settled into a warm hush, the kind of quiet that comes only after a day full of laughter and love. Ollie had gone to bed early, tired from the birthday fuss and sugar crash. Charles was humming somewhere in the kitchen, and Max had retreated to his study, the soft golden glow of his desk lamp spilling under the crack of the closed door.
Kimi stood outside it, fingers curled nervously around something in his pocket — a little folded paper with scribbled menu ideas and a rough sketch of a candlelit table. He’d rewritten it three times. He could race a kart at 200 km/h blindfolded before he could knock on this door.
But he did.
Three soft taps. Then silence.
A beat later, Max’s voice came from inside, warm and low. “Come in.”
Kimi pushed the door open slowly, eyes flicking to where Max sat behind his desk, still in a t-shirt, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose as he paged through paperwork with a pen in hand. His expression softened the second he saw who it was.
“Kimi,” Max said, setting the pen down. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I—uh.” Kimi stepped in, closing the door gently behind him. “Can I ask you something?”
Max leaned back in his chair, arms crossing casually over his chest. His smile tugged into something amused. “You’re not asking for Ollie’s hand in marriage, are you? Because I’m still recovering from the fact that you two hold hands in public.”
Kimi blushed so violently his ears turned red. “No! I mean—not yet! I mean—”
Max chuckled, waving a hand. “Relax, jongen. I’m teasing. What’s up?”
Kimi cleared his throat and tried again. “I missed Ollie’s birthday dinner. I really hated that. I want to make it up to him. And I… I had an idea. For something special. If you’ll let me.”
Max raised an eyebrow, curious now. “Go on.”
“I want to take him out,” Kimi said quickly, the words tumbling out now. “On the water. Not far, just—just for a couple hours. Something quiet and romantic. And I was wondering if maybe… maybe I could borrow your boat. Free Man. I know it’s smaller, but it’s perfect. I’ll take care of it. I’ll clean up after. I’ll be responsible.”
Max’s mouth twitched at the name — Free Man, a quiet tribute to Charles, the man who had made him one. The boat was rarely used these days, mostly for solo afternoons or family weekends. Letting Kimi take it felt a little like handing him a piece of his own heart.
“You want to borrow my boat,” Max said slowly, dragging the moment out. “For a romantic date with my youngest son. Alone.”
Kimi opened his mouth, then immediately closed it. His throat bobbed. “Yes, sir?”
Max narrowed his eyes — then broke into a wide grin. “God, you’re adorable when you panic.”
Kimi groaned quietly and buried his face in his hands. “I knew this was a mistake.”
“No, no,” Max laughed, getting up from his desk and walking over to the cabinet. He pulled open a drawer and fished out a small keyring with a silver tag. He held it up between his fingers.
“You can have it,” Max said easily, “on one condition.”
Kimi looked up, hopeful. “Anything.”
“You convince Oscar and Lando to chaperone.” Max smirked. “Just in case you get any brilliant teenage ideas involving unsupervised sunsets and shirtless swimming.”
Kimi flushed again, but he was grinning now too. “Fair.”
Max stepped closer and dropped the keys into Kimi’s hand, then squeezed his shoulder before walking back to his desk.
“You’ve grown up a lot, Kimi,” he said more softly. “I trust you. And I love how you love him.”
Kimi blinked fast at that, heart clenching. “Thank you, Max. I mean it.”
Max didn’t look up. “Just remember, I still have a sailboat and a particular set of skills. Hurt him and no one will ever find you.”
“Noted,” Kimi whispered, backing out of the room before he melted into a puddle of feelings.
The next afternoon was bright and lazy, sun spilling over the tiled patio behind the house. Oscar and Lando were sprawled on the grass, Lando shirtless, sunglasses perched halfway down his nose as he flipped through a sailing magazine. Oscar was sipping lemonade and scrolling his phone, legs tangled with Lando’s as if by magnetic force.
Kimi stepped out of the house and hesitated for a second. Then he marched over to them like a soldier about to enter war.
“Hey,” he said.
Oscar looked up. “Hey, little bro-in-law.”
Lando grinned. “What’s up, loverboy?”
Kimi bit his cheek, deciding not to rise to the bait. “I need a favor. A big one.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow. “You in trouble?”
“No! I’m doing something nice! I just need you to be fake adults for a few hours.”
That got their attention.
Kimi sat down cross-legged beside them and laid out the plan, from the missed birthday dinner to the boat to Max’s condition. He explained how much he wanted the night to be perfect for Ollie. When he was done, the silence stretched for a moment.
Oscar nodded slowly. “So you want us to be your chaperones?”
Lando was already grinning. “Hell yes. I love yacht dates. This is amazing.”
Oscar held up a hand. “Wait. Let’s not agree so fast. Kimi…”
Kimi turned toward him nervously.
Oscar stared him down for a full ten seconds, face completely deadpan. “This is a big responsibility. Romantic date. Emotional stakes. You better have candles. You better feed him. There better be soft music.”
“I—yes—there will be—” Kimi fumbled.
Then Oscar burst out laughing, ruffling Kimi’s curls affectionately. “I’m messing with you. Of course we’ll do it, dummy.”
Lando high-fived him. “We’ll stay out of the way. You plan the night, we provide the vibes.”
Kimi’s shoulders dropped in visible relief. “Thank you. Thank you both.”
Oscar smiled, softer now. “Make it a night he remembers. You’ve got this.”
Monaco glittered in twilight, the sea kissing the golden shore with its gentle hush. The marina was quiet this time of day, most of the yachts docked in neat rows, their sails furled and lights beginning to glow like sleepy fireflies. Ollie didn’t know why Kimi had insisted on a second birthday surprise. He’d already had a cake, already opened presents, already been smothered in family love. But Kimi had taken his hand that evening with a shy little smile, the kind that tugged at Ollie’s chest, and said, “There’s one more thing.”
Now they were walking hand in hand down the docks, past boats with names etched in shining gold. Ollie was rambling about how he didn’t need anything else, how just having Kimi with him was already more than enough. Kimi only hummed and nodded, fingers squeezing his a little tighter.
And then Ollie saw it. The small yacht lit softly in amber, its polished wood glinting under the lights. There was a table set on deck—actual candles flickering in glass holders, two plates already waiting, food warm and steaming, petals scattered like they were caught in a breeze.
He stopped walking. His breath hitched.
“Kimi…” he whispered, his eyes wide, his voice already cracking.
Kimi turned toward him, his cheeks as pink as the sunset behind him. “Surprise,” he said, voice small, almost unsure. “It’s your birthday. I didn’t get to show up for the dinner. I wanted… I wanted to make it special.”
Ollie’s eyes went glassy, the emotion hitting him in one tidal wave. He didn’t say anything for a second. Just looked at Kimi. Then he laughed—wet, breathless—and threw his arms around him, hugging him tight against his chest.
“How—how did you even—?”
Kimi just grinned. “Your dad might’ve lent me the boat. On one condition.”
Ollie pulled back just enough to look at him. “Which was?”
The unmistakable sound of Lando’s voice rang from behind the helm. “That we play babysitter!”
Ollie turned to see Lando saluting with exaggerated formality and Oscar beside him, lounging like he owned the world. “We don’t eat. We don’t talk. We just sail. So don’t worry. We’re only here to make sure no one falls overboard or sets anything on fire.”
“I take my duties seriously,” Lando said solemnly, before dissolving into a grin. “Now go enjoy your ridiculous teenage date. We’re just background noise.”
Oscar elbowed him and gave Kimi a thumbs-up. “It’s all you, Casanova.”
Kimi pulled Ollie up onto the deck, leading him to the table with a soft smile, his fingers brushing Ollie’s as if grounding himself. They sat, and for a moment, neither spoke. It was just quiet, the soft rock of the water, the creak of the deck underfoot, the gentle glow of candles painting warm shadows on their skin.
“You did all this?” Ollie finally asked, his voice thick with disbelief.
Kimi nodded. “I wanted you to know how sorry I am for missing your dinner. And how much you mean to me.”
“You didn’t have to go this far,” Ollie murmured, but he was already leaning forward, brushing their knees together under the table, his voice soft and reverent. “But you did. And it’s perfect.”
They ate slowly, laughing as they fed each other bites, occasionally stealing kisses across the table when they thought Oscar and Lando weren’t looking. (They definitely were.) The evening stretched long and warm around them, stars blinking above like blessings scattered across the velvet sky.
At one point, Kimi stood and walked over to Ollie’s side, curling into him without hesitation, letting his head rest against Ollie’s shoulder. Ollie immediately brought an arm around him, holding him like something precious and rare.
“I keep thinking nothing will ever feel like this again,” Kimi whispered. “Like this moment—it’s the kind you never get back. And I don’t want it to end.”
Ollie tilted his head, kissed Kimi’s hair. “Then we won’t let it. We’ll make a hundred more. A thousand.”
Kimi pulled back just enough to kiss Ollie’s hand. “You’re everything to me, Ollie. You’ve been part of my life since I was eleven. I don’t know how to do life without you. And I don’t want to find out.”
Ollie’s eyes welled up again, but he was smiling. “I feel the same. You’re in my heart, always.”
Then a yell cut through the peace.
“You ready, boys?” It was Oscar from the other end of the boat, already holding a phone to his ear.
“For what?” Ollie called back, laughing, confused.
Oscar only grinned. “Just watch!”
The sky exploded in light.
A rush of gold, red, blue. Fireworks lit the sky like a symphony, each burst timed and dancing above the sea. Ollie gasped, eyes wide, and then he saw it—“Happy Birthday, Bear” spelled out in light and spark, before fading into a final breathtaking cascade.
Tears sprang to his eyes, and he turned to Kimi in awe. “You—this—you did all of this?”
Kimi nodded, blinking fast. “With help. But yeah.”
Ollie didn’t even wait. He pulled Kimi into a kiss, slow and soft at first, before deepening it with a kind of desperate gratitude, as if he could press every feeling into that moment.
Their rings clicked gently against each other as their hands tangled, and under the fireworks, with stars above and the sea below, they kissed like they were the only two people in the world.
A little further back, Oscar slipped an arm around Lando’s waist, and Lando leaned into him, whispering, “They’re us a few years ago.”
Oscar smiled, chin resting on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Let’s make sure they get everything we had. And then some.”
The sunlight pooled softly across the floor of the Leclerc-Verstappen household, filtered through linen curtains that swayed gently with the sea breeze. Monaco in the morning was a quiet sort of dazzling — the kind of brightness that didn’t shout, just whispered its luxury through warm terracotta and the scent of salt and croissants. And in the heart of it, tucked beneath a heavy duvet, Ollie stirred, his cheek pressed to the same spot on Kimi’s chest where he’d fallen asleep the night before. His fingers were still curled loosely against the fabric of Kimi’s hoodie, their legs tangled in a mess of bare calves and discarded socks.
It took him a minute to register the warmth wasn’t just from the sun. His skin was still glowing, his heart somehow still full — maybe fuller — from the night before. The boat. The candles. The stars. The way Kimi had looked at him like he was the whole ocean, not just a boy trying to learn how to carry love like it was a gift and not a weight.
Kimi blinked awake beside him, murmuring something sleepy and unintelligible as his arms instinctively tightened. Ollie laughed softly, barely more than a breath, and pressed a kiss to Kimi’s temple.
“Morning,” he whispered, and Kimi made a noise that might have meant anything from I love you to Let me die here in peace.
They eventually peeled themselves from the bed — slowly, reluctantly, as if moving too fast might break the fragile, glowy bubble around them — and padded barefoot into the kitchen, the smell of fresh bread and sizzling butter calling them like sirens.
Charles was already there, still in his soft pajama pants, humming some French melody under his breath as he flipped golden crêpes with the ease of someone who had made them for nearly two decades. He looked over his shoulder the moment he heard them.
“There’s my baby bear,” Charles said with a smile so full of light it made Ollie’s throat catch. He leaned down immediately and kissed the top of his son’s head, letting the moment linger a second longer than usual. “Sleep well?”
Ollie nodded, cheeks pink, glancing toward Kimi with that shy, sparkling grin that only ever belonged to someone freshly in love. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “like a baby.”
Max was seated at the table pretending to read the paper, glasses low on his nose, one brow raised just slightly — though the corners of his mouth twitched like he was barely holding in some long-prepared dad joke.
“Morning, boys,” he said, flipping a page far too theatrically. “You look… rested.”
Ollie narrowed his eyes in fond suspicion while Kimi turned bright red and tried to hide behind his boyfriend. Ollie shoved his shoulder playfully.
“Oh my God, Dad.”
Max smirked, pleased with himself, then gave Kimi the briefest wink — just enough to make him even redder.
Oscar and Lando were already splayed across the couch, half-watching something dumb on TV, half-playing a heated round of Mario Kart with the volume off. Ollie dropped onto the couch between them, dragging Kimi with him by the sleeve, their fingers already locked together.
And maybe it was a bold choice — maybe it was still early enough in the morning for good decisions to be suspended — but Ollie leaned in and gave Kimi a soft, barely-there kiss, right on the corner of his mouth. It was gentle and sweet and private, or it would’ve been, if Max hadn’t made a dramatic cough from behind the paper loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood.
“Just reminding everyone that I am right here,” Max muttered without looking up.
“You were worse at that age don’t make me remind you,” Charles chimed in from the kitchen, his tone breezy as he stacked a plate with steaming crêpes. “Honestly, I still have the dent in Seb’s hallway wall to prove it.”
Oscar snorted, nudging Lando with his elbow. “Bet it wasn’t Dad’s fault, though.”
“Absolutely not,” Max agreed. “I was a gentleman. Your Papa, on the other hand…”
“Max Emilian,” Charles warned with a laugh, pointing a spatula in his direction. “Not before breakfast.”
The house burst into warmth then — in smells and smiles and overlapping voices — in clinking cutlery and someone shouting that they burned the toast (Lando), and Ollie laughing so hard he nearly dropped his juice. There was no rush, no tension, just the easy rhythm of a family that had learned to hold each other gently. Kimi fit into it without even trying — folded into the chaos with the kind of ease only love could explain.
After breakfast, the morning melted into midday. The sun got higher, the laughter got louder, and eventually they all ended up outside. Lando and Oscar challenged Max to a two-on-one game of football with Charles as the chaotic referee. Ollie laid back in the grass under the shade of the lemon tree, Kimi beside him, both of them watching with lazy affection as their family made noise around them.
At some point, Max wandered over, tossing a towel over his shoulder, sweat-damp curls sticking to his forehead. He dropped down beside Ollie with a huff, arms stretching back behind him, legs kicked out long.
“Fun night?” he asked softly.
Ollie nodded. “The best.”
There was a pause, just long enough for the quiet to mean something. Max turned his head and looked at him — really looked — with that gaze he rarely showed in public. The one full of history and hope and everything he couldn’t say out loud. Then, with a hand that was both worn and careful, he reached over and ruffled Ollie’s curls with aching affection.
“You’re becoming a really good man, Ollie,” he said, voice low. “Not because you’re perfect. Because you try. Because you care deeply. And because you love out loud.” He paused, smirking again just slightly. “Even if your taste in boys means I now have to deal with another pain-in-the-ass son-in-law.”
Ollie laughed, blinking fast as he leaned into his dad’s shoulder, heart full and eyes watery.
“I love you too, Dad.”
Max dropped a kiss to the top of his head. “I know, kiddo. And I sleep better at night knowing someone like Kimi loves you back.”
Across the lawn, Charles raised a glass of orange juice toward them with a knowing smile, Oscar spun Lando around in a tackle that ended in a squeal, and Kimi stretched out beside Ollie, eyes closed, hand still tightly held in his.
And in that golden morning lull, with the sea sparkling just beyond the garden wall, and love saturating every inch of the air, it was easy to believe — this family, these moments, were forever.