Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

George presses the phone closer to his ear and steers the grocery cart down the narrow aisle, its wheels rattling softly over the tile. Shelves on both sides display bright boxes of cereal and rows of snacks that Kimi once insisted were “basically breakfast,” despite George’s repeated objections.

“I got a call from your teacher,” George says, hearing the faint disappointment in his own sigh as he scans the shelves in front of him.

“You did?” Kimi blurts out immediately.

George pauses in front of the cereal section, his gaze moving from box to box.

“Mhm.”

There is a brief silence on the other end of the line.

“Oh,” Kimi says weakly.

“They don’t have your favourite cereal,” George continues, sounding almost distracted. “I’ll get the honey one instead, okay?”

“Dad—”

“Now, where was I?” George nudges the cart forward. “Right. Your teacher called and asked me to come to school tomorrow.”

Silence answers him. George can practically picture Kimi’s face, the sudden panic, the frantic replay of every questionable decision from the last forty-eight hours. A laugh slips out before he can stop it.

“I swear it’s the last time, dad,” Kimi whines, stretching the plea in that way only teenagers can manage when they already know they’re guilty.

George raises an eyebrow automatically, even though his son can’t see him.

“I find that extremely hard to believe,” he says dryly. After all, how many ‘last times’ has there been?

Then he spots it. A single box of honey flakes, the only one that doesn’t have all these chemicals, sits near the back of the shelf, almost hidden behind a row of chocolate cereal, the last one. George reaches for it at the exact moment someone else does.

A hand beats him to it.

Right in front of him, alpha lifts the box off the shelf and drops it into his cart as if he owns it. George stares.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he says, his voice so polite it clearly means the opposite. “But I was going to grab that box.”

The man meets his gaze. Then he smiles, slow, smug, and far too pleased with himself, showing off a row of infuriatingly perfect white teeth.

“I’m terribly sorry too,” he replies easily. “But I definitely took it first.”

George feels a sudden, overwhelming urge to hit him with something heavy. Preferably the cart.

Before George can come up with a proper response, the man turns and walks away, pushing his cart down the aisle with the casual confidence of someone who has never faced consequences in his life. Within seconds, he disappears.

“Dad?” Kimi’s voice crackles through the phone again. “Did something happen?”

George looks back at the shelf. It stands empty. The last box is gone.

“I just lost your cereal,” he mutters. Irritation spikes, and he stomps his foot against the floor, as if that might somehow summon another box into existence. It doesn’t. He sighs. “So, how do you feel about pancakes for breakfast?” he asks, already steering the cart toward the dairy section.

Kimi answers vaguely, his words hesitant, but George reassures him that waking up a little earlier will be fine. Under that quiet parental pressure, the teenager gives in and agrees to everything, as long as George forgets about the call from his homeroom teacher.

“Oh, by the way,” George adds, almost as an afterthought, “I took some time off work. I’ll be at the match.”

Joy bursts through the phone immediately, shouts, excited squeaks. George smiles despite himself. For a moment, he forgets that his child is already fifteen. The happiness sounds so pure, so simple, like it belongs to someone much younger.

And honestly, he wouldn’t change a thing.

“You’ll see, Dad,” Kimi says, his voice bright with unwavering confidence. “We’re definitely going to win.”

George rubs the back of his neck and glances around the kitchen, weariness settling into his shoulders. The apartment is unusually quiet, broken only by the soft bubbling of the pot on the stove.

He flicks his gaze to the wall clock. Nearly eight. Kimi should be home from training any minute.

Restless, he begins setting the table, carefully laying out plates and cutlery. His attention drifts back to the pot every few seconds, as if checking it might somehow speed time along.

The silence shatters with the loud slam of the front door.

A second later, a young boy bursts into the kitchen, breathless, energy spilling into the room all at once.

“I’m home!” Kimi pants, trying to catch his breath. He braces his hands on his knees, then pushes himself upright, brushing his bangs out of his eyes.

“Let me guess,” George says, crossing his arms, a teasing note in his voice.

“You and Isack already stuffed yourselves with junk before dinner again?” For a split second, panic flashes across Kimi’s face, and George has to bite back a smile. “…Are you still going to eat?”

“I will,” Kimi replies quickly, nodding. A moment later, he realises he’s been tricked and shoots George a slightly offended look.

They eat together, talking about the upcoming match, Kimi’s progress at training, and George’s new boss.

“It’s all anyone’s talking about at the department,” George sighs, giving a small shrug. “Toto is retiring, and someone from Belgium is being transferred to replace him.”

“Really?” Kimi looks up from his plate, surprised, even setting his fork aside. “Does that mean I’m not allowed to come by anymore?”

He frowns, clearly displeased. Waiting for his parent at work has long since become a habit. Toto, and a few of the other employees, would secretly slip him sweets whenever George wasn’t looking.

Kimi had grown fond of those quiet hours after training, tucked away in the staff lounge, where his favourite treats always seemed to appear in the cupboard as if by magic.

“I’m not sure the new boss will appreciate it,” George sighs, sounding tired. “But when has that ever stopped you?”

Kimi lets out a quiet laugh, though he decides he’ll test the waters first before jumping to conclusions. The last thing he wants is to cause trouble for his dad.

“I’ll do the dishes,” he offers, gently guiding George back into his chair before he can protest. A moment later, he’s already at the sink, and soon after, he returns with a cup of bergamot tea, setting it carefully in front of him.

Warmth spreads through George’s chest, easing the tension and pushing his worries to the back of his mind. He didn't even notice how Kimi had grown from a stubborn and mischievous child into a caring and reliable boy. 

There was a time when calls from school came almost daily, when George barely managed to keep up, constantly pulled away by that insistent homeroom teacher. For a while, it felt like he spent more time at the school than at home.

“By the way, Kimi,” George lifts his head from his thoughts just in time to notice the teenager’s back tense. “What happened at school?”

“…I failed the chemistry test?” Kimi says after a pause, going very still as he waits for the inevitable sigh behind him.

But it never comes.

“I’m not going to school,” George mutters instead, hiding a nervous smile behind his mug as he takes a too-hot sip of tea. “Just tell them I died, alright?”

More than anything, omega hated being lectured by Mr. Perez about how important education was now and that he should take Kimi seriously, because he was a capable kid and could well be among the top five students at the school, and so on down the list. 

George wasn't chasing after putting his child on a chain and forcing him to do things he didn't like. Studying is not easy for everyone, and he did not want to oblige his kid to attend a million additional classes with tutors at all.

"Dad," Kimi drawls, turning around and staring at him, "I was told not to come without you."

“How badly did you write this test that I'm being called back to school?” George puts an empty mug in the sink, pats his son on the head and slowly leaves the kitchen. “In any case, I won't be able to do it tomorrow. Tell Mr. Perez that I will come on Friday.”

Kimi follows his parent and listens to every word, nodding like a dummy.

“Now show me," omega commands, and Russell Jr. opens his eyes in surprise, "show me the chemistry test that you failed."

The teenager groans painfully and trudges into the room for the hated textbook.

The morning feels grey and not very welcoming. George looks around the kitchen with sleepy eyes, searching for an apron. He opens the refrigerator and takes out the products he needs. 

For a moment, he closes his eyes and stretches, bending slightly in his lower back. After some time, he finds a pink apron with cartoon characters and lets out a quiet laugh. Kimi chose this one, insisting that it didn’t look ridiculous at all, but actually suited him.

George quickly mixes the pancake batter. He remembers the recipe from the Internet and checks it in his mind, making sure he didn’t forget anything or make a mistake. Then he starts frying the pancakes in the pan.

Slowly, a warm and delicious smell fills the apartment. It is almost seven in the morning, and George feels the time pushing him to finish faster and get ready. He puts a full plate of pancakes on the table and covers them carefully with a paper towel. 

Then he places a jar of jam and maple syrup next to it. He takes a pack of milk from the refrigerator and pours a big glass. Kimi should wake up any minute.

George stands in front of the mirror and studies his reflection for a few minutes. He fixes the collar of his white shirt and looks at the black jacket lying on the bed. There is no strict dress code at the office, but he still prefers to look clean and neat. Only on very bad days, he allows himself to wear a hoodie and ripped jeans.

The jacket fits him well, and George feels quite satisfied with how he looks. He fixes a few stray strands of his blond hair and gives himself one last look.

When he walks out of the bedroom, Kimi is already eating breakfast. The teenager keeps checking his phone and types messages quickly, completely distracted. George makes himself a strong coffee, then sits down across from him and watches him carefully.

“Thanks for breakfast,” Kimi says. He gathers the dirty dishes and carries them to the sink, then leans down to kiss his parent on the cheek. “It was very tasty.”

George smiles, clearly pleased, and finishes his coffee. Then he suddenly remembers the time and looks at the wall clock. Being late is not part of his plans today, so he starts hurrying his son. In the hallway, he checks Kimi’s bag to make sure the folder with sketches is inside.

They leave the apartment at half past seven. On the landing, they both stop suddenly, surprised, and stare at the pile of boxes near the neighbour's apartment.

“I think Nando said something about new neighbors,” George says while he struggles a little with the lock. At that moment, a door nearby slams loudly. And George turns to the sound, slightly confused, and nervously grins. “The cereal thief,” he blurts out.

The alpha standing opposite him looks at George in disbelief at first, then breaks into a shameless, almost playful smile, clearly remembering what happened yesterday. Kimi looks between the two adults, confused.

“Max Verstappen,” the man says, introducing himself. He smiles, showing charming dimples. “I’m really sorry I took that unlucky box of cereal first.”

“Forget it,” George says, rolling his eyes, but he still puts on a polite smile. “George…” A sleepy teenager steps out from the neighbor’s apartment, tying his sneakers and immediately drawing everyone’s attention. “…Russell. Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, hello, I’m Arvid Linblad,” the boy says. He smiles shyly, adjusts the straps of his backpack, and gives a small, polite bow.

“Oh, that uniform!” Kimi points his finger at , young boy who is wearing exactly the same school uniform as his own. “I'm Kimi, hope we'll meet again at school.”

George pulls his son towards the stairs, reminding him that they are actually late, apologises to the new neighbours for the quick and messy acquaintance and hurries to get out of here as soon as possible, hoping to contact the nasty alpha as little as possible.

A light drizzle ruins the mood in a second, settling somewhere heavy between the ribs and gathering on the car windshield. George drives carefully, keeping his eyes on the road. From time to time, he quietly sings along to popular songs on the radio and taps his fingers on the steering wheel when the traffic light turns red.

“By the way, I’m going to take the car to the service this weekend. I’m not sure if something is wrong, but it’s better to check,” he says.

Kimi groans, already imagining how early he will have to wake up.

“There’s nothing you can do. Safety comes first,” George adds with a small laugh as he stops near the main gate.

The teenager sighs but agrees. He grabs his backpack, wishes his parent a good day, and quickly gets out of the car, disappearing into the crowd of students. George slowly drives away and heads to his meeting with the client.

He feels very unhappy about it. Usually, the creative director talks to clients and discusses everything. Sometimes Lewis does it too, because Toto gave him part of his responsibilities. George normally only attends the first meeting, listens carefully to what the client wants, and then steps back. After that, Toto or Lewis present ideas and make corrections without him.

“So why do they need me now…” George sighs, remembering the unpleasant looks from the client, and shrugs slightly.

He glances at his phone and notices two missed calls from Alex, but decides to call him back later, after the meeting.

George arrives at the office closer to twelve, feeling terribly angry, like he wants to destroy everything around him. He ignores the greetings from the staff, walks heavily to his desk, and drops the folder on the table with a loud sound, making it clear to everyone that one of the lead art directors is in a very bad mood today.

He pulls off his jacket, throws it over the back of his chair, and turns when he hears a quiet cough. Lando stands a few steps away, hesitating.

“How did it go?” he asks carefully, watching the omega, who is clearly shaking with anger.

“That’s how it went,” George says, after he grabs the folder again and throws it straight into the trash.

His team groans. The younger man quickly takes the folder out of the bin and opens it, flipping through the drawings and sketches.

“What didn’t he like this time? Is this the fourth time you redo this?” Lando walks closer, looking at the folder with interest. “George, do you want me to take this project?”

“Really?” George asks, already hoping to finally get rid of this project that has been draining all his energy, and his team’s, for months.

“No, of course not,” Lando says with a guilty smile. “This project is yours. Aren’t you the one who handles the biggest and most important projects?”

“No, I don’t want to do this anymore,” George says. He takes the folder from Lando’s hands and drops it on top of a small stack of the same rejected versions. “Seriously, last time he wanted a white and pink concept, and today he wants black and brown! Do I look like someone who can change a project that took months to make just in one second?”

Lando, and Alex laughs loudly, earning an annoyed look from George.

“By the way, why did you call me?” George suddenly remembers the missed calls and runs a hand through his hair.

“I wanted to remind you about the meeting that starts in…” the alpha says, then checks his watch. “…actually, in five minutes.”

“You just arrived,” Lando says with a wink, clearly enjoying this. “Our new creative director is such a hot dude, and…”

Georg raises his hand, stopping him. Everyone already knows he is not interested in alphas, so Lando can keep his imagination to himself.

George gathers all the rejected versions from the table, he already remembers each of them by heart, and asks Alex to inform the team about the evening meeting. It's actually not Alex's job, but he will still do it.

He and Lando enter the meeting room almost last. Alex disappears somewhere behind them, but they don’t pay attention, still talking about their current projects. When George closes the door and looks around, he almost drops all his folders.

“Oh shit,” he mutters under his breath.

Max Verstappen stands there, and looks just as surprised.

A moment later, Alex steps forward, and Max gets up from his seat and gives a short introduction. George feels like he must have done something terrible in his past life, because now that man looks at him with a thoughtful expression that promises nothing good.

“What about Mr. Smith’s project?” the alpha asks, looking through the documents in front of him. “It’s been in development for… six months?” He frowns and looks at George.

Omega forces a smile, trying not to let all his frustration show.

“Seven, actually,” Russell corrects him and pushes the folders closer. “He already rejected four of our options. The first time, he suddenly decided he wanted everything in Baroque style, but he told me that only when I brought the first version. Then he rejected another one because, and I quote, ‘It’s all fine, but I think light tones would be better.’ And today he decided black and brown is perfect.” George exhales sharply. “Tell me honestly, does my team look like we have nothing better to do?”

He notices the shocked looks from his colleagues, but he doesn’t stop. He is too tired to stay quiet anymore. Getting rid of this client becomes his main goal. They already have too many projects, and even for him it is too much to keep redoing the same one again and again.

“Okay, I understood,” the alpha says calmly. He looks through all the versions and nods slightly. “All of these are good. Only a crazy person would reject them.” He closes the folder. “Redo the project one last time. I will handle the meeting myself.”

George doesn’t like the idea of starting again, but he feels real relief. At least he won’t have to deal with the client’s unpleasant attention anymore.

The rest of the meeting passes quietly, and nothing really interests him anymore.

Arvid stares out the window, pressing his cheek against the glass and playing with the edge of his jacket. The jet lag hits him hard, he feels sleepy and drained.

“Are you worried?” Max asks, watching him from the corner of his eye.

“A little,” he admits. “Everything is… new. It feels strange.”

“I’m sorry I took you away from your friends,” Max says, guilt clear in his voice. He brought Arvid here, to an unfamiliar and still unwelcoming London.

“Hey, it’s okay, really,” Arvid answers quickly. He doesn’t want Max to feel guilty. After all, Max was the one who took him in after the accident that killed his parents.

Arvid remembers that time only vaguely. Back then, Max had been close with Arvid’s father. Close enough to step in when everything went sideways. It was the second time Arvid had ever seen him.

Max was already living and studying in Monaco, so Arvid moved to the warm city, learned a new language, and slowly got used to a completely different way of life.

Max’s parents hadn’t liked the idea at first. Taking in someone else’s child, bringing him abroad, no less, felt like too much. But Max insisted.

Now, Arvid doesn’t regret anything. Sometimes he even feels grateful, remembering how, on that rainy day, an adult alpha took his hand and led him away.

“Are we going to visit uncle Charles?” he asks.

“I’m not sure we can go sometime soon,” Max replies. “I’ll have a lot of work, Mr. Wolff retired, and I need to deal with all the documents. But Charles said they will visit us in a few days.”

Arvid nods, understanding. He yawns into his palm and reluctantly says goodbye when the car stops near the main gate.

Students around him stare with open curiosity and whisper to each other. Arvid suddenly wants to get back into the car with his brother. He checks the time on his phone, about fifteen minutes before class. 

He looks around the schoolyard and notices his new neighbor standing on the steps with a small group of friends. Kimi sees him and waves brightly, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Hey, we met again,” the omega says with a smile as Arvid walks over, shifting a little nervously. “This is Isack, Ollie and Gabi.”

“Arvid Linblad,” he says, smiling politely as he looks at them with quiet interest.

Five minutes later, Arvid learns many new things. Isack turns out to be Kimi's cousin, and they both go to the volleyball club. Kimi is one year older than Arvid and seems easy to talk to. 

“By the way, Arvid, what class are you in?” Gabi suddenly asks, right before the bell rings.

Arvid quickly opens his backpack, takes out his transfer document, and scans it with his eyes.

“1-A,” he says, then looks at them with slight panic. He has no idea where the classroom is or where he should go.

“Oh, you’re in the same class as Isack,” Kimi says, patting his shoulder.

The bell rings. Isack nods to him and gestures for him to follow, weaving through the crowd of students rushing to their classes. Arvid stays close behind, and in that moment, he feels sure, he doesn’t regret leaving warm Monaco for this unfamiliar London.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” Kimi’s voice reaches him through the noise.

“This feels like some kind of curse,” George says during the evening team meeting as he shares his thoughts on the new concept. “At this point, I’d just tell them to fuck off,” he adds honestly at the end, “but we can’t ruin our reputation, right?”

“If I had the chance, I would fucking strangle this Mr. Smith,” Yuki says, looking completely exhausted and irritated. The whole team has been working overtime because of this project, and George can’t disagree.

“Why don’t you take a day off? You look terrible.”

Yuki shrugs, then immediately turns it back on George and grins when he refuses.

“You should take a day off from all of this, George,” Yiki says as he stands up and stretches his stiff muscles. “I don’t remember the last time you rested. If you didn’t have Kimi, you would probably sleep here at the office.”

“You know too much,” George mutters, but then casually mentions that he already took Friday off for his son’s match. The team reacts with pleased voices, wishing him a good time with Kimi, and Russell just snorts quietly.

“By the way, about the bakery project,” George continues, shifting back to work. “I think we should change the concept a little. We need more coffee tones and wooden elements.” He takes a few rough sketches out of the folder and hands them to the team.

“Oh, I like this even more,” Alex says, nodding with satisfaction. He makes some unclear happy sounds, and Yuki immediately teases him.

“You always like everything.”

‘When am I gonna like everything?’ George mutters as he walks out of the meeting room first. Before leaving, he tells everyone not to stay too long. Five voices answer him at once, promising they won’t, but he doesn’t really believe them.

“Are you leaving already?” Lando asks. He sits in his chair, holding a cup of hot tea.

“Kimi called. I need to go to school,” George says with a sigh. He really doesn’t want to see the homeroom teacher before Friday.

“He got into a fight again?” Yuki asks, sounding almost impressed.

George hits him lightly on the shoulder.

“He failed his chemistry test,” he says instead. Then he waves him away from his desk, grabs a bag with documents, and leaves the office, even though he doesn’t feel like going at all.

“Did Mr. Perez call Uncle George again?” Isack isn’t even surprised. He pats his cousin on the shoulder with fake sympathy, joins the conversation, and explains everything to a very confused Arvid. Calling a parent to school is something normal for Kimi, but if it’s about grades, then you can only feel sorry for him.

“More than anything, dad hates lectures about school performance,” Kimi sighs, already imagining what will wait for him at home. “Oh! Isack, cover me,” he suddenly says and runs off, grabbing his backpack and disappearing through the school doors.

“That won’t save him anyway,” Gabi says, rolling his eyes. Then he quickly puts on a sweet smile when an adult omega walks up to them.

“Hi, guys,” George says, smiling. He nods back at their greetings and looks around, searching for his son. “Isack, while I talk to Mr. Perez, find Kimi and tell him not to even think about running away.”

George almost walks inside but stops at the last moment. He turns back and looks at Arvid, recognizing him as the new neighbor.

“Arvid, right?” George asks. Arvid nods uncertainly, and George gives him a gentle, reassuring smile. “If no one comes to pick you up and you don’t have anywhere to go, I can give you a ride home.”

“Oh, that’s really not necessary,” Arvid says quickly, waving his hands a little.

“It’s no trouble,” George replies calmly. “We’re neighbors now, so I won’t take no for an answer. They said there will be heavy rain, so you might get caught in it.”

After George disappears inside the class, Isack sends Kimi a message, telling him to get back immediately. Gabi and Ollie head off to their extra classes, wishing him good luck before they leave.

Arvid feels like time moves too slowly. He keeps adjusting the straps of his backpack, waiting, not really listening to Isack’s jokes or Kimi’s constant complaining.

“I have an idea,” Kimi suddenly says, snapping his fingers. He licks his dry lips and points at his cousin. “You just need to stay overnight at our place.”

“Brilliant,” Isack says, rolling his eyes. “And you think Uncle George won’t scold you in front of me?”

“At least I won’t have to study chemistry,” Kimi mutters, frowning as he remembers all those confusing formulas and reactions he tried to learn the night before.

Isack laughs. Arvid smiles quietly, while Kimi just rolls his eyes again. Studying is definitely not his strong side.

George appears about twenty minutes later. He looks calm and even smiles a little, but the boys immediately understand that the smile is not real. Kimi knows he won’t avoid a serious conversation at home.

“Kimi is in trouble,” Isack whispers to Arvid in the car, trying not to laugh. “He will probably have to take extra chemistry classes now.”

“Why do you think so?” Arvid asks, watching the back of Kimi’s head and sometimes glancing at George in the driver’s seat.

“Do you smell it?” Isack asks quietly. “Lily of the valley?”

Arvid nods. He can feel a soft, clean scent around George, even mixed with the stronger alpha smells, Isack smells like cinnamon, and Kimi smells sharp, like herbs, almost too strong for him.

“Now smell again,” Isack continues. “Do you notice something else? Uncle George usually smells like lilies of the valley, but when he feels very strong emotions, you can notice roses too. Do you think he is happy right now?”

It takes a moment for Arvid to understand, but when he finally does, he can only feel sorry for Kimi, who sits very quietly in the front seat.

They reach the entrance just as the first heavy drops of rain fall from the sky, quickly darkening the asphalt. At that moment, Arvid feels grateful that George insisted on giving him a ride.

“Isack, will you stay with us tonight? The weather is really bad,” George says, looking worriedly out the window while dialing his older brother, Nico’s, number.

“Of course,” Isack answers through clenched teeth when someone hits him sharply in the ribs.

“That’s good,” George nods and focuses on the call. “Nico, Isack is staying with us today, so don’t worry.”

“Georgie, just don’t spoil him too much, okay?” Nico’s voice sounds tired but calm. “How was your day? Is the new boss handsome?”

“Jesus, Nico, stop,” George says, rolling his eyes when he hears quiet laughter on the other end. “I’m not looking for a relationship, you know.” He walks into his bedroom and closes the door softly, leaning back against it. “Kimi needs a father figure, I understand that, but… you know how your blind dates always end.”

George winces, remembering all those failed meetings that never went anywhere. Kimi always made it clear he didn’t need another parent, he picked fights on those days and ended up getting called to school almost every time.

“I still don’t understand who came up with that idea,” Nico says, laughing. “They fight like they are not even brothers.” He remembers those two teenagers with bruises, one with a split eyebrow, the other with a split lip. Back then, both he and George were completely shocked and didn’t understand why they fought at all.

“They just don’t use their brains,” George says loudly, hearing laughter coming from the living room.

“Anyway, don’t tell Kimi anything,” Nico adds. “I’ll send you the time and place later.”

George doesn’t even have time to argue before the call ends with short beeps.

Max looks through the latest projects with tired eyes. The art directors prepared everything neatly, and he studies each file carefully, adding notes on small stickers. He tries to understand everything as quickly as possible so he can guide the department in the right direction. He checks deadlines, makes sure the team mostly follows the schedule, and then stops at a neat stack of folders on the edge of the table.

“There’s definitely something wrong here,” he says quietly, going through George’s project again. He can’t find any real problems in any of the versions. Because of that, Max decides to attend the next meeting himself instead of George and figure everything out in person. 

Honestly, it already feels strange that George attends those meetings at all, when the creative director should handle them.

“Boss, weren’t you supposed to go home two hours ago?” Alex asks, standing in the doorway.

“I’m almost done,” Max replies. He puts the folders back in place, stands up, and stretches his neck. “Why are you still here?”

“George’s team is stuck because of Mr. Smith’s project,” Alex explains. “I’m helping them a little.”

“How long have you been staying after six?”

“Usually never,” he says. “But this project keeps changing all the time, so other work gets delayed. George worries about it too much, so the whole team stays late.”

Max nods and makes a mental note to deal with it later. Delays and blocked work are always bad, but a tired team that keeps redoing the same project just to hear ‘Everything is fine, but I want something different’ is even worse.

Max leaves the office at nine, already annoyed by the terrible weather outside. The rain catches him twice on the way, soaking him completely. His clothes cling uncomfortably to his body, and even running from the parking lot to the entrance doesn’t help. He shivers, his teeth chattering from the cold, and his trembling hand barely manages to get the key into the lock.

Arvid meets him with loud complaints and worried noises. He rushes around the apartment, searching for a towel, scolds him for acting too calm, and quickly pushes him toward the bathroom, telling him to take a hot shower.

“You didn’t get caught in the rain?” Max asks later, drying his wet hair with a towel.

“No, George gave me a ride home,” Arvid answers.

Max raises an eyebrow in surprise, throws the towel over his shoulder, and takes a sip of hot tea.

“How was your day at the new school?”

“I thought it would be terrible,” Arvid says, “but I met Kimi and his friends. Isack is in my class, so he helped me everywhere and even held my hand so I wouldn’t get lost.” He smiles, remembering how worried Isack looked when he lost him in the crowd on the way to the math classroom. “How was your day?”

“It was okay,” Max says, yawning into his fist. “Just bad luck with the rain. But that’s not a big problem.”

They spend some more time talking about their day, sometimes teasing each other. When the clock passes eleven, Max sends Arvid to the bedroom. Still, neither of them falls asleep for a long time.

George feels a surge of warmth as he walks into his son’s bedroom and finds the boys asleep in each other’s arms. He remembers how annoyed they were when he suggested they share a bed, even though Kimi has a large double bed. ‘We’re not little kids anymore, we’re adults!’ they had protested.

“Such kids,” Russell murmurs with a smile. He notices an open laptop at the edge of the bed and immediately guesses what happened: they stayed up late watching horror movies, just like they always do, and then lay awake for hours, jumping at every little sound. He quietly pulls out his phone and snaps a few pictures to send to Nico later. “Hey, boys, wake up, you’ll be late for school.”

Isack frowns, shoves Russell Jr.’s leg off his hip, and jerks upright. Still half-asleep, he looks around before nudging Kimi, who’s drooling onto the pillow.

“Get up,” he says, pinching his thigh and earning a string of curses in return.

“Breakfast’s on the table. Don’t take too long, or you’ll be walking to school,” George calls with a laugh as he leaves the room.

Outside, the weather is miserable. The forecast on the news says it will last until next weekend, and even in the best-case scenario, it won’t clear up until midweek. George clicks his tongue in annoyance as he checks his inbox, then glances at the closet and dives in headfirst, pulling out black jeans and a couple of shirts. He hesitates between black and maroon while listening to the boys argue in the kitchen about who has to do the dishes, then finally chooses the maroon.

After he combs his hair and spins once in front of the mirror, the omega leaves the bedroom and heads to the kitchen. He finds the boys loudly playing rock-paper-scissors.

“Seriously, forget the dishes and go get dressed, we don’t have much time.” The bad weather has already caused heavy traffic across the city, so getting to school will take longer than usual.

George shoos them out of the kitchen, rolls up his sleeves, and quickly washes the dishes. It doesn’t take long, and he still manages to yell at the boys a couple more times to hurry up.

“Remind me, what time is your match on Friday?” he asks later in the car, wincing when water from a wet umbrella drips onto the floor mat.

“Four,” Kimi answers, brushing his damp bangs aside.

“Why so late?”

“There’s a semifinal between other schools before lunch. We don’t know who we’ll face in the final yet.”

At moments like this, George feels like he doesn’t know much about his son’s life, what’s going on with him, what he worries about. Most days, he only sees him in the evenings. Sunday is the only day they really spend together, and even that depends on work or whether Kimi goes out with friends.

George gives a small, awkward smile, trying to hide the worry in his eyes behind his bangs. The thought that he doesn’t spend enough time with his son keeps bothering him, even as Isack jokes that if Kimi doesn’t mess up in the final quarter, they’ll definitely win.

Kimi almost groans and wants to smack his forehead. He knows comments like that upset his dad, who works so hard to give him a good life. 

He remembers how difficult things were when they first moved to the UK, how his uncle Nico and his husband Lewis, were the only ones who helped them back then. He remembers his dad’s tired face, how he still smiled, ruffled his hair, bought him ice cream, took him to parks, and then stayed up all night working just to make ends meet.

He remembers the small apartment on the outskirts of the city, the struggles they went through, and the quiet nights when his dad cried, thinking no one could hear. Kimi remembers everything. He knows he can’t forget any of it, because one day he wants to thank him, for all the hard work, the patience, the love, and the care.

“Dad,” Kimi draws out, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “If we win… can we go to that place again?”

George doesn’t understand at first, but then he notices the way Kimi licks his lips, clearly nervous, and it clicks.

“I thought you said you were too grown-up for places like that,” George says with a laugh. “We can go anytime, Kimi.”

“Max! Max, wake up!”

Arvid shook the sleepy alpha by the shoulder, somewhere between panicked and annoyed as he announced that they had apparently slept through every alarm in existence.

In response, Max only groaned and cracked one eye open long enough to glance at the clock on the wall. The sight of the time told him everything he needed to know, he was almost certainly going to be late.

He also felt freezing.

A quick glance toward the half-open curtains revealed why: the bedroom window was still wide open, letting the cold rain-soaked air drift inside all night.

While Arvid sprinted around the apartment in search of his English History book, muttering increasingly dramatic complaints under his breath, Max moved through his morning routine with irritating calmness. He brushed his teeth slowly, shaved, combed his hair back into place.

“We’re late,” Arvid whined for what was probably the fifth time, clutching the now-found book to his chest while doing absolutely nothing to help the situation anymore. “Please hurry up.”

Max ignored him entirely.

He pulled on a white shirt and dark trousers, paused by the window to glance at the grey blur of rain outside, then, after a brief moment of consideration, reached for a dark sweater as well.

Breakfast was immediately ruled out. Arvid was already hovering impatiently in the hallway, shifting from one foot to the other as he waited for Max to finally leave the bedroom.

“I’ll try to pick you up after school,” Max said while tying his shoes.

“Focus on your work, Max,” Arvid replied as he stepped out onto the landing, his gaze flickering briefly toward the neighbour’s door. “If anything, I can always ask Kimi to take me home.”

“And when exactly did you two become best friends?” the alpha wondered aloud as he opened a large black umbrella and stepped out into the pouring rain.

Arvid pretended not to hear him over the loud drumming of raindrops against the asphalt.

Truthfully, he was still a little surprised himself by how easily he had slipped into Kimi’s little group during a single lunch break, as though he had known them for years instead of arriving from Monaco not that long ago.

“Gabi promised to help me with English,” Arvid said with a grin once they were in the car and pulling out of the parking lot. “Even though he literally flew in from Brazil. He’s actually really good at grammar.”

“I’m glad you made friends so quickly. Hopefully you won’t teach them any bad habits from Monaco,” Max laughed. “I’d rather not have to apologize to their parents if something happens.”

Arvid rolled his eyes immediately.

“That happened once,” he muttered defensively. “And nobody got drunk against their will.”

He was still deeply embarrassed about that entire disaster. Most of the night after the infamous vodka bottle, which one of his friends had smuggled in from somewhere, remained a complete blur in his memory. But the headache the next morning, combined with Max unexpectedly returning home early and mocking him without mercy, had been more than enough to make sure he never repeated it.

“Have a nice day, Arvid,” Max said warmly, patting him on the head before the younger one climbed out of the car.

George studies Yuki’s sketches first, then the list of materials attached to them. With a pencil, he circles the details that need fixing, briefly goes over the budget, and sends him back to his desk.

“Try using a different material, Yuki,” he says. “I like the idea, but it goes over budget.”

Yuki only nods and gives up his seat for Franco. George reviews his drawings next, praising the layout before immediately shutting the entire concept down.

“This is a bakery, Franco,” he says flatly. “Why are there so many rooms?”

“It’ll be fixed,” Colapinto replies with a quick salute before hurrying off to redo everything.

“George, Max is asking for you,” Alex announces, appearing in the department as quickly as he disappears again.

Russell mutters a curse under his breath and tells the designer to come back later. Reluctantly, he drags himself toward someone else’s office, lingering outside the door for a moment before knocking softly.

“Come in.”

The moment he hears Max’s voice, George already wants to turn around and leave.

“You called?” he asks, stepping inside and fixing the alpha with an expectant look.

Max gestures for him to sit. George drops into the chair while Verstappen pulls out one of the completed projects waiting for approval.

“This needs to be redone.”

George stares at him for a few seconds, as if genuinely expecting a joke to follow, and when none comes, he slowly places both hands on the table.

“No.”

For the first time that day, Max looks up properly from the documents.

“No?” he repeats.

“No,” George says again, his voice perfectly calm, which somehow feels more confrontational than if he had started shouting immediately. “You can reject the project if you want, but I am not sending my team back to the beginning because you’ve decided you don’t like it anymore.”

Max leans back in his chair.

“It has nothing to do with whether I like it.”

“Then what does it have to do with?”

“The concept isn’t finished.”

George lets out a short laugh. The kind of laugh people make when they’re trying very hard not to say something insulting.

Max feels an immediate spark of irritation.

“We spent five months developing this project,” George says, tapping the folder with two fingers. “Five months. It passed every internal review. It passed budget approval. It passed the client presentation. It was approved by the previous creative director during the first reconciliation meeting.”

“The previous creative director isn’t responsible for the company anymore.”

“And now we’re pretending his approval means nothing?”

“No,” Max replies evenly. “I’m saying that I wouldn’t have approved it.”

“Do you even understand what’s happening in my department right now?” George demands. “Dorian is handling two supplier negotiations. Franco is already behind on another project. Yuki is covering work that should be done by three separate people. We don’t have time for this.”

“Then make time.”

George looks genuinely offended.

“That’s your solution?”

“That’s management.”

What follows is another argument that drags on for nearly forty minutes.

George picks apart every point Max makes, bringing up deadlines, budgets, supplier schedules, and the workload already crushing his department.

Max counters each argument with frustrating patience, insisting that quality matters more than speed and that compromises can always be found. Neither of them is willing to back down, and with every passing minute George becomes more convinced that the alpha is impossible.

“No,” George says eventually, the word cutting through the room before Max can continue. “Management is making sure people don’t work themselves into the ground.”

Max opens his mouth, intending to argue. Then he stops.

Because the strange thing is that George hasn’t once complained about his own workload. Not once.

The omega has spent the last forty minutes arguing with him, pacing around the office, waving his hands around like he wants to physically beat some sense into him, and somehow every single argument circles back to the same thing.

Five months of work that his team poured into this project.

Max had initially assumed that George was angry because his project had been rejected.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

Looking at him, it becomes increasingly obvious that George would have accepted the extra work without complaint if it affected only him.

What infuriates him is the thought of pushing his team even harder.

He’ll argue with management. Fight impossible deadlines. Take responsibility when things go wrong.

And somehow carry half the department on his shoulders while pretending he’s perfectly fine.

Max feels something unpleasantly warm settle in his chest.

George, meanwhile, is still talking.

He pushes away from the desk and starts pacing again, launching into another explanation of exactly why this redesign is a terrible idea and why Max’s expectations are completely detached from reality.

Max should be listening. Instead, he finds himself watching the way George’s hands move when he speaks.

Watching the frustration flash across his face whenever Max interrupts. Watching the stubborn determination that refuses to let him sit down and accept defeat.

The omega is beautiful when he’s angry. Max hates that realisation almost immediately.

Somewhere between George’s third complaint about deadlines and his second threat to quit, Max stops paying attention to the argument entirely.

And all Max can think is:

Fuck he’s gorgeous.

Their argument lasts nearly an hour.

George knew from the beginning that Max wasn’t going to change his mind. The alpha was too stubborn for that. But at least George had expected him to argue back.

Instead, the more time passed, the stranger the conversation became. Every criticism George threw at him received a calm response. Every concern about deadlines was met with another infuriatingly reasonable counterargument.

And at some point George began to notice something that made him even angrier. Max wasn’t looking at the project anymore. The folder lay forgotten on the desk between them.

George was halfway through explaining why redesigning the supplier section would add at least three extra weeks to the schedule when he suddenly stopped. Max was staring at him. 

George frowned.

“Are you listening?”

“Of course.”

“Then tell me what I just said.”

Max didn’t even hesitate.

“Three additional weeks because the suppliers would need new estimates.”

George hated the fact that the answer was correct.

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

One of Max’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” George snapped. “Like you’ve completely forgotten we’re discussing a project.”

The corner of Max’s mouth twitched. George immediately pointed a finger at him.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Whatever that is.”

“George—”

“No, because I’m standing here trying to explain why this is a terrible idea, and you look like you’re about to laugh.”

“I’m not.”

“You absolutely are.”

The bastard actually looked amused. George wanted to throw something.

“Oh my God, do you even realize what’s happening in the department?!” he finally explodes, throwing both hands into the air. “My team already has three fucking projects, and now you expect us to pull off a fourth?”

For the first time, Max’s expression shifts. Enough for George to realise that the alpha had been paying attention all along.

Which somehow makes everything worse. Because now George has no idea why Max keeps looking at him like that.

The argument would probably continue for another hour if not for Alex choosing that exact moment to knock loudly on the door before sticking his head through the narrow opening.

“I’m really sorry, but your meeting starts in ten minutes, boss.”

George has never been happier to see him. He shoots Max one last murderous glare, snatches the folder from the desk, and slams the office door hard enough to make the walls shake.

He curses all the way back.

By the time he storms into the department, everyone already knows to stay quiet.

“Congratulations,” George announces bitterly. “We’re redoing Mr. Yu’s project. The same one we submitted last month.”

Franco swears loudly in Argentinian. Yuki only sighs and looks away, probably swearing under his nose. 

George doesn’t even want to think about the disaster waiting for them, so instead he starts giving out short instructions, assigning deadlines for work they already barely have time to finish.

“We’ll deal with the rest later,” he mutters, throwing the folder onto his desk.

“Do you want me to arrange you coffee and cake?” Alex asks carefully, already halfway ready to sprint to the café across the street.

“You’d better arrange a funeral for that stupid—”

The alpha cuts him off with a hand over his mouth while Lando rubs his back soothingly.

“Americano and tiramisu, right?” Franco asks immediately, already backing toward the exit.

George only waves him away.

Everyone in the department still remembers Franco’s internship. Back then, he constantly mixed things up, missed details, ruined deadlines, and earned brutal criticism for it. George had shouted at him in front of the entire office once, thrown his sketches into the trash and cursed so creatively that even the senior designers went silent.

Russell could be an absolute asshole, but his criticism was always useful, and somehow Franco improved frighteningly fast because of it.

Yuki had gotten lucky. He completed his internship before George was promoted to department head, back when interns were supervised by someone far patient. By the time Russell took over, he was already safely past the stage of having sketches thrown back at his face.

“George only gets this angry when interns show up,” Lando whispers to Yuki from the corner, carefully watching as George slowly settles into his chair, “or when Franco starts missing deadlines again.”

“There are no interns right now,” Yuki murmurs with a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “And Franco’s actually on schedule for once.”

Her gaze drifts toward Max’s office.

“This is definitely about Max.”

“Yeah,” Lando agrees immediately. “Actually… isn’t this around the time they usually hire interns? April, right?”

“I think George would genuinely kill someone if they dumped interns on him right now.”

Yuki rolls her chair back to her desk and returns to work.

Ten minutes later, Franco rushes back into the department carrying an Americano and a box of tiramisu. George thanks him absentmindedly and offers the desserts to the rest of the team, only to receive a chorus of refusals.

Alex finally leaves once George settles into work again, scribbling pencil notes across sketches and asking someone to bring him the latest reports from the material suppliers.

The second time George explodes happens three days later.

The moment he steps back into the department, he feels the tension in the air, heavy, suffocating. Everyone suddenly looks very busy. George narrows his eyes at Franco, but the beta only looks away and swallows nervously.

“What happened?” George asks slowly, scanning the room.

“Interns,” Yuki says carefully. “Starting next week.”

That is enough.

George immediately turns on his heel and marches straight out of the department again. Nobody even needs to explain who the interns were assigned to.

Max is halfway through reviewing contracts when his office door flies open hard enough to hit the wall. Alex’s horrified apology follows immediately from somewhere in the corridor.

“George—”

Too late.

Russell storms inside looking genuinely murderous. Max doesn’t even need to ask. He already knows. The intern assignments were finalised that morning.

“Absolutely not.”

George doesn’t bother with greetings. Max sets down his pen.

“Good afternoon to you too.”

“No.”

“Hello, George.”

“No.”

“Excellent conversation.”

George points a finger at him.

“Take them back.”

He is genuinely furious now.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, George is already swearing that he’ll never agree to take more than two projects again, even if they beg him on their knees.

He barely notices himself leaning over Max’s desk, palms pressed flat against the surface as he vents every ounce of irritation directly into the alpha’s face, completely forgetting about professionalism, hierarchy, or basic workplace etiquette.

Which is exactly why Max catches him off guard.

One second he’s sitting calmly in his chair, and the next he stands abruptly, leaning forward until George can feel the warmth of his breath against his skin. The scent of dark chocolate wraps around him immediately, overwhelming at this distance.

“What the hell—?”

Russell jerks back several steps, staring at him.

Max only grins, head tilting slightly to the side.

“You’re too easy to tease,” he says lazily. “Fine. I’ll assign the interns to someone else. Now please go work on your projects.”

“Gladly,” George spits out.

When he returns to the department, he’s noticeably calmer, though still visibly irritated. He gives Yuki several quick instructions before dumping another pile of work onto Franco, who looks far too afraid to even raise his head.

The rest of the workday passes surprisingly peacefully.

At exactly six in the evening, George starts forcing everyone out of the office.

“You’ll have enough work tomorrow,” he says, shoving a protesting Yuki lightly toward the exit. “I’m off tomorrow, but I already left your assignments, so please get out of my sight.”

Only once the department is completely empty does George finally relax.

He gathers the materials scattered across the desks and slowly returns to his own workspace. Pulling out his phone, he sends Kimi a short message saying he’ll be staying late and that there’s no need to wait for him for dinner.

He recognises Franco’s messy handwriting immediately, pencil notes scattered across almost every page. George opens the necessary programs on his computer and dives into work, clicking the mouse and occasionally tapping at the keyboard.

Mr. Yu’s project slowly takes shape in the design program. After finishing part of it, George leans back in his chair and reaches for Yuki’s folder instead. He carefully studies the list of materials and suppliers, crossing out unnecessary options with a pencil and adding new ones in the margins, leaving a note for Yuki to compare everything and choose the best alternative.

Then he moves on to the next project. Sticky notes quickly appear across the sketches, each one pointing out mistakes or things that need fixing.

Franco’s folder gets a sticker with an angry face drawn on it and a sharp reminder about the deadline, because the Argentinian has a habit of ignoring them until the very last moment.

George rolls his shoulders, trying to ease the tension in his stiff muscles. His eyes burn from exhaustion, and he barely notices the sky outside the windows growing darker with each passing hour. The weak light of the desk lamp is the only thing illuminating his workspace, but he can’t bring himself to switch on the main lights.

Squinting tiredly, the omega searches through the piles of folders and loose papers until he finally finds his sketchbook.

Mr. Smith’s requests still irritate him.

George grips the pencil tighter and starts sketching rough lines across the blank page. One stroke after another slowly forms the foundation of a new draft. He’s so focused that the quiet rustle of paper almost goes unnoticed.

Almost.

George looks up sharply when a paper bag with the logo of a Chinese restaurant lands on his desk.

“Isn’t your son waiting for you at home?” Max asks casually, dragging over a chair and sitting down beside him.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Russell replies, staring at him in confusion.

“Arvid’s staying over at a classmate’s house tonight,” Max explains, nodding toward the bag. “Go on. I didn’t know what you liked, so I just ordered what I usually get.”

“Is this some kind of carrot-and-stick method, or are you plotting something?” George asks suspiciously as he pushes the documents to the edge of the desk and pulls the food containers out of the bag.

Max smirks slightly.

“What do you think?”

George decides not to answer that.

Instead, he silently hands one of the boxes to the alpha, mutters a quiet thanks for the food, and finally starts eating. The late dinner helps a little, enough for the tension in his shoulders to ease as he slowly regains some energy before returning to work.

Max stays beside him the entire time.

He watches George sketch in silence, following every movement of his hands, occasionally making small comments that are irritatingly accurate.

“Isn’t that too much brown?” he asks at one point, glancing at the colored sketch.

“Mr. Smith wanted brown everywhere,” George sighs, setting the pencil and sketchbook aside for a moment before stretching lazily in his chair.

Then he gives Max a narrowed look.

“Your behavior is honestly starting to scare me, by the way.”

Max raises his eyebrows in mock surprise before that familiar grin slowly returns to his face.

George doesn’t even flinch when the alpha moves closer again, leaning slightly into his space. By now, he’s convinced it’s all just another game, another way for Max to get under his skin.

So George decides to play along.

Carelessly, almost teasingly, he lifts both hands and places his palms against Max’s cheeks, squeezing them slightly.

Max doesn’t react.

He simply lets George do whatever he wants, watching him with quiet curiosity, as if waiting to see how far the omega is willing to go.

“Don’t do this with me, alright?” George says softly.

The skin beneath his palms is distractingly warm. His gaze drifts down for a second, lingering on Max’s lips before he continues.

“It really looks like you’re flirting with me, you know.” A faint smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Your behavior could lead to misunderstandings.”

Then George pulls away first.

He glances toward the wall clock and exhales tiredly. Somehow, time has slipped by unnoticed; it’s already well past midnight.

Gathering the scattered materials from his desk, George yawns and covers his mouth with his hand before looking back at Max, only to pause.

There’s something unfamiliar in the alpha’s expression now.

Something George has never seen directed at him before.

“Are you spending the night at the office, Mr. Verstappen?” George asks, his tone automatically slipping back into something more respectful.

He stands from his chair and watches as Max returns it to its proper place before nodding toward the exit.

By the time they reach the parking lot, George is barely functioning.

Max catches him lightly by the wrist and leads him toward his car before the omega can even think about heading for his own.

“You’re not driving like this,” the alpha says firmly. “You’re exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” George mutters weakly, even though his eyes are already half-closed.

“Think about Kimi,” Max adds as he opens the passenger door. “What if something happens on the road?”

That argument leaves George with surprisingly little energy to protest.

The exhaustion crashes over him all at once, heavy and unbearable after too many sleepless nights in a row. He barely reacts as Max guides him into the passenger seat and fastens the seatbelt for him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, George remembers that tomorrow he’ll have to take a taxi to work to pick up his car.

The radio plays quietly as they drive through the empty nighttime streets. The presenters talk softly about something George doesn’t even process before sleep drags him under completely.

Max notices almost immediately.

A small smile appears on his face as he lowers the volume, and the rest of the drive passes in silence, interrupted only by George’s quiet breathing and occasional soft snores.

Beneath the lingering scent of lilies of the valley, Max catches something else too, faint notes of roses. He really likes it.