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McLaren had told both Oscar and Lando that they wanted their drivers to have special helmet designs for the Monaco Grand Prix. That would be McLaren’s 1000th Grand Prix as a team and they wanted to go all out. Special suits, special livery, special helmets.
They’d told them at the Miami Grand Prix that they’d have design meetings when they got back to headquarters, a few different designs from a sponsor that hadn’t been solidified yet and an artist there to draw up a design if they wanted to tweak it.
The drivers had a joint meeting, Oscar and Lando together with a few members of a design team. Turns out the sponsor was Lego, pitching a split helmet design to both drivers. Half the classic McLaren papaya and half a color of their choice, with the orange side being opposite.
They discussed Lando’s helmet first. Lando’s orange half was to be on the left and they laid out color options for him to choose from for the right side. They had gold, a darker green like he’d used on his 2025 Vegas helmet, his classic neon yellow that borders on neon lime green, and a few others. Of course he chose his signature helmet’s color rather quickly.
Oscar’s went a little less smoothly. The right side of his helmet was orange and he could choose the other. Unlike Lando, he didn’t really have one signature color that people associated with him, his normal helmet was a mix of red, yellow, and blue. He thought the red clashed with the orange too much and yellow would’ve been too close to Lando’s. They gave him an option of having the Australian flag be the other half which he liked but then he saw the digital drawing of the blue. The shade they picked wasn’t his usual shade of blue, it was a little brighter with darker streaks mixed into it.
Something in his chest twisted violently.
Blue. Almost like William’s blue, before they’d gotten Atlassian as a primary sponsor. Before 2025.
Logan’s shade of blue.
He stared at the image for a little too long. So long that one of the designers cleared his throat and lightly pushed the IPad with the design closer to him.
“You like the blue one?”
Oscar blinked and looked up at her. “Hmm?”
“The blue one.” The woman said again. “You like it?”
His eyes drifted back to the screen. Orange and blue.
The colors sat opposite each other, so defined and different yet so complimentary.
For a split second, he found himself thinking about things he’d seen on social media. Fanart with blue and orange backgrounds, fan edits with orange and blue text, comments pointing out the specific colors over the years. All things that deeply connected the colors opposite on the color wheel back to him and Logan.
It should’ve been ridiculous. Logan didn’t own the color blue and Oscar didn’t own orange, it’s a fandom thought that’s been shoved down people’s throats by fans who couldn’t let a childhood friendship dissipate from the spotlight.
Instead, it made his stomach hurt.
Because he hadn’t spoken to Logan in almost six months. Not since their phone call after Abu Dhabi where Logan comforted him on his loss of the championship and promised him he’d do better next season.
Except he hadn’t been. The regulations all changed and fucked Oscar’s chance to use the lead McLaren had over the other teams to win his championship the way he should’ve last year, but he fucked that chance too.
Then came the season opener, where a stupid positioning over a curb followed by a torque spike sent him into the wall in front of his home crowd. Then China where the car wouldn’t even start.
Sure, Japan was much better. A P2 finish in the first race he actually started in 2026 was much more desirable than anything else, but he knew his chances of being a World Champion in 2026 were close to nothing. The Mercedes was too good and Ferrari wasn’t far behind, McLaren couldn’t keep up this year.
Miami was his favorite though. Not as good of a finished as Japan, but a much better race to podium at. Oscar knew Logan was there, he was right there. Not in the way he felt him in Miami in 2025, in the salt in the air and in the heat in the wind when he won his friend’s home race, no. Not in that way.
Logan was physically there in Miami that year, doing some fan event. Oscar stood on the Miami podium in P3 and knew for a fact Logan Sargeant had to acknowledge him.
He hadn’t been acknowledging him outside of instances like that since Abh Dhabi.
Logan’s presence floated around Oscar but never fully landed since December. He liked everything Oscar put out on Instagram, every post and story without fail. He never commented or replied, but the evidence was there. He even liked race clips or podium graphics McLaren’s Instagram and the official F1 account put up about Oscar, he liked almost every single one.
But he couldn’t pick up his phone when it lit up with Oscar’s caller ID. He couldn’t type a text message back to the many Oscar had sent and hit send himself.
It was like Logan was standing outside the door into Oscar’s life but absolutely refused to come inside.
It left a bitter taste in his mouth but fondness for the older man remained on the tip of his tongue.
“You okay, mate?”
Lando’s voice snapped Oscar out of what felt like a year long trance but couldn’t have been longer than a minute.
“You’ve been staring at that one for like, 30 seconds.”
A few people laughed, Oscar forced a smile.
The woman hunched over the table swiped her finger across the IPad back to the half orange-half Australian flag design.
“This was the favorite among the team.”
It was good, Oscar really liked it. That helmet was the option that felt most appropriate, the one that he should pick. The one that should be the most personal.
But it wasn’t.
“Can I see the blue again?”
She nodded and swiped back to the other design, stepping back from the table to let Oscar’s eyes glance over it.
“This one.” He said finally, tapping his fingers on the table in some pattern he didn’t realize he was making. “I think I like this one best.”
“You sure? It’s probably the simplest design. We have more if you want-“ one of the younger guys said, rummaging through a folder he was holding, but Oscar shook his head and cut him off as politely as possible.
“No, I’m, um…” he finally tore his eyes from the shade of blue and looked up at the lead of the team, “I want this one.”
Orange and blue.
Over the course of their small break between Miami and Monaco, Oscar spent the majority of that time in the UK. He spent hours in the simulator as usual, prepping upgrades to the car, and did media duties with Lando and on his own.
He didn’t think about the helmet and the undertones of why he’d chosen it until he was holding the final product.
Oscar had arrived in Monaco on Tuesday. It was the most famous F1 race of the season which came with a ridiculous amount of media, hence why he had to be there earlier than usual. He and Lando filmed the unboxing of their helmets for the media team and when that was done, Oscar took his helmet and went down to the garage.
The McLaren engineers and crew were still setting everything for the weekend up in the garage but since he was early, he figured he’d help or watch, whichever they wanted.
He ended up sitting in the back of the garage, perched up on a counter with his legs dangling and his helmet in his lap.
He would be posting the pictures the team had captured for his special helmet reveal on Thursday and for the first time, he realized what he’d done and why he’d done it.
His fingers gently swept over the left side of the helmet, feeling the smoothness underneath the ridges of his fingerprints.
Orange and blue.
Colors that really shouldn’t mean anything. One belonged to McLaren, one belonged to nobody at all. But they did mean something.
They had become synonymous with them years ago.
Looking at it now, he knew exactly what would be said when he did post a helmet reveal. What his fans would see and how they’d insist there was some hidden meaning behind the split design. And maybe there was.
He knew exactly which face would flash through his mind every time he looked at it, the same face that was flashing through his mind now.
Logan leaning against the barrier of the trailer car pulling them through the drivers parades, his smile radiant and voice steady. Logan’s arm brushing his as they walked, too close but neither stepping away. Logan laughing so hard at things Oscar said that he nearly choked on his water. Logan standing next to him in old Prema photos, both of them too young and naive to realize their time racing together was running out. Logan answering his calls, his American voice and how it sounded through the phone. Logan answering his texts. Just Logan.
Oscar knew in the design meeting that the shade of blue reminded him of Logan, but he didn’t really allow himself to slow down and realized that’s why he chose it.
He hadn’t wanted to examine that subconscious decision or the feelings that nearly swallowed him whole in the design meeting too closely.
He hadn’t wanted to ask himself why he still reached for his phone after a race, good or bad, only to remember halfway through unlocking it that the person he wanted to hear from hadn’t responded.
He hadn’t wanted to ask why every paddock felt a little bit emptier or why he’d suddenly began hovering near Alex Albon more frequently than he did as a rookie.
The realization sat heavily in his chest, an ache that he couldn’t describe even if he had the words.
-
Logan hadn’t meant to cut Oscar off, he really didn’t.
Not speaking to Oscar was like leaving a plant that needed maximum sun in a dark room for 5 months and expecting it not to wither. But he was withering, despite all the faux-sun he was getting from other places.
Logan had joined the FIA World Endurance Championship with Ford Racing as one of three drivers of No.88 in the LMGT3 class and finally, after years of what felt like psychological torture, he felt happy about racing. He was excited to go to the track and see all the fans and suit up to drive, excitement finally meeting the adrenaline in his veins once more.
For the first time in a long time, racing didn’t hurt.
The expectations were different as was the pressure but it was a good different.
No one was asking him to drag a struggling car into positions it didn’t belong in or picking apart every decision he made in the car to prove whether or not he deserves his seat. He was able to just drive.
And he was good at it.
Endurance racing was always something Logan had been interested in and on top of that, something he’d always been good at.
Still, somehow on top of all that good, he still found himself spiraling sometimes. More than he’d like to admit.
He had practically memorized all of Oscar’s messages and how they’d exponentially declined since December. Since Logan had stopped answering.
He wanted to talk to him, he wanted to talk to him so badly that it burned when he forced himself not to, but he did force himself not to.
The worst part was Oscar hadn’t done anything wrong. God, Logan wished he had. This would be so much easier if Logan could justify the distance he’d created or given the anger a place to go instead of directly at himself.
But Oscar kept being Oscar.
He kept Logan in the loop, even if Logan had desperately tried to step out of it.
But did he really try that hard? Logan had read every text, listened to every voicemail and voice note, laughed at every meme he sent. But he just couldn’t bring himself to reply.
Every time he tried, memories of the phone call after Abh Dhabi came flooding back and Logan’s phone would end up off and back in his pocket.
The call had come on December 7th, hours after the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix had ended. It was nighttime in the Middle East but mid-afternoon in Florida. Logan was out on the dock behind his house when Oscar called, he’d been expecting it.
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
“Tough day?”
That earned a humorless laugh from Oscar, but a laugh nonetheless. “Something like that.”
He sounded exhausted, physically and emotionally. The kind of exhaustion that came with losing something you wanted so badly.
Logan understood that feeling more than most.
“Talk to me.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, it never was with Oscar. And Logan never rushed him, just sat and listened to his breathing and the lap of the sea against the legs of the dock.
“I should be happy.” He eventually said.
“Yeah, maybe. But you still got third best in the world.”
“I guess.”
“You won seven races.”
“Yeah.”
“You spent most of the year making Lando Norris’s life miserable.”
That earned another laugh, a real one this time.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Oscar sighed again and Logan could practically see the way his body slumped and his head shook. “I was so fucking close, Logan.”
“I know.” Logan’s heart clenched, hurting for someone he deeply cared for.
“I keep thinking of all the things I did wrong and what I should’ve done differently-“
“Don’t.” Logan cut him off. “Don’t do that. You’ll drive yourself mad. Take it from me.”
Logan would know. He disappeared from the spotlight after he was dropped from F1, drowning in his mistakes. Oscar’s the main person who helped drag him through it.
Oscar didn’t answer, which was answer enough.
Logan leaned back and talked about something other than racing, anything other than racing.
Logan talked and Oscar listened, then Oscar talked and Logan listened. A comfortable rhythm they’d perfected over the years since they met back in 2015.
Time passed in a blur, they must’ve been on the phone for at least an hour at this point. The longer they talked, the lighter Oscar sounded.
Eventually there was a lull in the conversation, a kind of silence that only existed between two people who knew each other by heart.
Logan stared out at the water, the sun shining off the rippling surface and the small fish that swam beneath it.
Before he could stop himself, words just poured out. “I miss this.”
“Miss what?”
“This. Talking to you like this.”
He paused and Oscar stayed silent, and the words just kept going.
“I dunno, sometimes I miss when things were simpler.”
“Yeah.” Oscar hummed.
“I miss when you weren’t constantly somewhere else. I miss when I was with you.” Logan let out a sad huff, a mix between a laugh and a whimper. “You’re still the first person I reach for, even though everything that went down last year. It’s still you.”
Silence again, this time taut with tension that maybe only Logan felt.
He closed his eyes, the sun warm on his face and the dread in his veins cold.
Too much. Way too much. Crossing a line, a line that Logan had always wanted to cross but never ever dared to.
For half a second, he let himself hope that maybe Oscar would say something along the same line and this would go the way he’d dreamed of since they were teenagers-
“You’re my best friend, Logan. You’ve always been my best friend.”
But it didn’t.
Best friend.
The world stopped.
Oscar’s voice was warm and certain, like it was the easiest thing he’d ever declared and the nicest thing he could ever say.
Somehow that made it infinitely worse.
“Oh.” Logan forced a laugh.
“Yeah.”
“And you’re mine.”
Best friend. Of course, what else would he be?
Oscar kept talking after that, something about Christmas plans in Australia with his family.
Logan answered when he was supposed to, laughed when he was supposed to. They stayed on the phone for another half an hour but Logan couldn’t recall any of it when they were done.
Best friend. That’s all you’ll ever be.
Since then, Logan decided subconsciously to step back. It had been hard enough to shove those feelings down and lock them away the first time, he couldn’t do it in close proximity to Oscar again.
Oscar had been with Logan through everything, every stage of his life. How could he not harbor feelings for him?
They were in karting together, they had stepped into single-seat racing together, they’d raced against each other in F3, they’d even gone into F1 in the same year. It’s like they couldn’t get away from each other, not that Logan would ever want to get away from Oscar.
Oscar had even seen the broken shell of a driver who packed up his apartment after losing the seat he’d spent his entire life chasing.
Oscar had seen it all and chosen to stay.
When Logan was convinced the entire world had moved on without him, Oscar never seemed to get the memo.
Maybe that’s why he loved him. Or maybe he was doomed from the moment he met him when they were 15. It didn’t matter now either way.
And after that phone call in December, Logan had finally been forced to confront something he’d spent years pretending wasn’t true. The feeling wasn’t fading, it wasn’t a phase, it wasn’t something he was going to grow out of.
No matter how much time passed or how many people he met or how hard he tried to bury it, there was one truth Logan couldn’t outrun.
He was in love with Oscar Piastri.
The second truth was harder to live with.
Oscar loved him, Logan had never doubted that. But after six months of replaying that phone call in his head, he had convinced himself of something else too.
Oscar would never love him the same way.
So Logan forced himself out of Oscar’s life, hoping that if he could bury these feelings once and for all, he could stay in Oscar’s life permanently.
It sounded logical in his head. Take some space and get over it. Come back when hearing Oscar’s voice didn’t make his chest ache or when seeing his name on a screen didn’t send his heart into his throat.
Come back when he could be the friend Oscar deserved instead of secretly wishing for more.
It was easy at first, a few missed calls and texts. He was busy prepping for the WEC season and he told himself that’s why he didn’t answer.
A month in, he began looking at his phone like it was a loaded gun, praying that there both was and wasn’t anything from Oscar at the same time.
Incoming call: Oscar Piastri
Those words were burned into his retinas after the first two months.
The texts were worse. Oscar never stopped trying and the proof of that was in their message thread that Logan couldn’t bring himself to delete or leave unopened.
Logan tried to pick up the phone. Logan had typed texts back to almost every single message Oscar had sent but he could never bring himself to press send.
You’re my best friend, Logan.
He heard those words every time he tried and he remembered why he was doing this.
He still stayed caught up with Oscar’s life through social media though. Every post or story he posted and any time any major account posted about Oscar’s successes, Logan saw it and liked it.
Maybe liking them was some sort of muscle memory. Maybe it was the only way he knew how to say I’m still here.
Oscar needed to know Logan wasn’t abandoning him completely, just… taking a step back.
In Logan’s mind, it made sense. Show Oscar he’s still there by standing at the edge. Close enough to see him, far enough to where he couldn’t be hurt.
All he could do was hope that it would all be worth it in the end.
-
The helmet reveal went live on Thursday.
Oscar sat in McLaren’s hospitality between pre-race interviews with his phone in his hand, tapping his fingers against the table and refreshing the post way too often.
This was the only communication he’d received from Logan for months, he needed to know he saw it. He needed to know if Logan understood what he’d done.
That thought made him grimace inside because what exactly did he do?
Pick a color? Chosen a helmet design?
No. No, Logan would know. Logan always knew exactly what Oscar was trying to say without Oscar ever having to say it. He would know.
The post had only been live for twenty minutes and already the comments were flooded.
A lot of them were about the upcoming Monaco Grand Prix or LEGO or McLaren’s thousandth Grand Prix.
A few of them were exactly what Oscar thought they might be.
user 1: orange and blue… i think i’ve seen this film before…
user 2: oscar piastri, i know what you are
user 3: LOSCAR NATION WAKE UP THIS IS NOT A DRILL
user 4: logan this is the message you think it is
Oscar locked his phone and rubbed a hand over his face. His fans always noticed a little too much about him and Logan over the years. It could be overwhelming at times that people noticed the little things that were just theirs and other times comforting, like confirmation Oscar hadn’t imagined certain moments.
His phone vibrated and Oscar looked so fast he could’ve broken his neck. Hope flared and dissipated just as fast.
It was just a message from his media coordinator reminding about an interview in 20 minutes.
Oscar groaned and dropped his head against the table.
Pathetic. This was so pathetic. Six months ago, if he wanted to talk to Logan, he would’ve called him. And six months ago, Logan would’ve picked up.
Now Oscar was found himself checking Instagram likes like a fucking teenager with a crush and that realization was deeply embarrassing.
But alas, his traitor thumb moved before he could stop it, refreshing the post again.
Still nothing.
Refresh, nothing. Refresh, nothing. Refresh, absolutely nothing.
The knot in his stomach tightened. He knew he was being ridiculous, he was probably busy and didn’t see it. But the thought that he did and didn’t care was enough to make him feel slightly nauseous because what if Logan recognized exactly what everyone else had.
Orange and blue. Oscar and Logan.
What if he saw it and chose not to acknowledge it?
The thought sat heavily in his chest.
“Mate.”
Oscar looked up to see Lando standing across from him with a coffee in his hand.
“You’ve checked that post like seven times in the last two minutes.”
Oscar immediately locked his phone. “I have not.”
“You absolutely have.”
“I haven’t.”
Lando stared at him. Oscar stared back.
“You’re waiting for someone to like it.”
“No, I’m not.”
Lando’s expression said he didn’t believe a word of that.
Thankfully, before he could push any further, Oscar’s phone buzzed again.
Both of their eyes dropped to the screen.
Oscar’s heart stopped.
Not a comment. Not a like. Not an Instagram notification at all.
A text message.
The sender’s name was enough to make the oxygen in the room disappear.
Logan Sargeant.
Oscar forgot how to breathe but remembered to pick up the phone, his fingers scrambling to type in the password because he’d completely forgotten about facial recognition.
“The helmet looks good, Osc.”
For a moment, Oscar just stared at the message.
Six months.
Six months of radio silence from someone so deeply embedded into Oscar’s soul and this was the first thing Logan said to him.
A laugh escaped him before he could stop it.
Months of silence and somehow he’d managed to return like he’d only missed a weekend.
“Holy shit..”
“What?”
Oscar looked up so quickly he nearly dropped his phone.
Lando was watching him from across the table.
Oscar immediately locked the screen.
“Nothing.”
Lando narrowed his eyes.
“That looked like something.”
“It’s not.”
“Right…” Lando dragged out the last letter of the word and stood up. “I’ll see you at the interview, and I expect a debrief.”
“You wish.” Oscar rolled his eyes playfully and unlocked his phone again now that he was alone.
The message was still there. It was real and it was from Logan.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard to type back but suddenly every emotion he’d been carrying around for months suddenly crashed together at once.
Relief and confusion and frustration and happiness and anger and so many more that he couldn’t name.
He wanted to ask where the hell Logan had been and why he’d disappeared and if he was okay.
Instead he typed: Logan?
But he deleted it. That was stupid, obviously it was Logan.
Is this actually you?
Deleted again.
The typing cursor blinked patiently at him.
Oscar groaned and dropped his forehead against the table. He’d spent all this time wanting nothing more than for Logan to answer him and now that Logan finally had, Oscar suddenly had no idea what to say.
His phone buzzed again.
“Sorry it’s been a while”
The room tilted.
At least Logan wasn’t pretending everything was normal and trying to act like nothing happened, even if Oscar didn’t know what.
Oscar swallowed hard.
Then finally typed the first honest thing that came to mind.
“Yeah.”
Quickly, Oscar typed another.
“Are you okay?”
The typing bubble appeared almost immediately and vanished almost as quickly.
It stayed gone for a minute or so and Oscar found himself holding his breath. For the love of god, please don’t disappear again.
“Yeah”
“I’m okay”
That should’ve made him feel better but instead something deep inside him unraveled, followed by a pathetic sound he was glad no one was around to hear. If he was okay, then why. Why make Oscar think he ruined the most important relationship in his life?
His fingers hovered over the keyboard. For a moment, he considered asking or demanding, maybe.
Where have you been?
What happened?
Why wouldn’t you talk to me?
“Okay”
That’s what he ended up with.
“I wasn’t sure”
The response came faster that time, no bubbles appearing and reappearing.
“About what?”
Oscar laughed, a sad sort of laugh, because there were a thousand answers he could give to that question.
“If you were okay”
“If I did something to make you not”
The message sat there, seen but with no response. Oscar wished he could take it back. Maybe it was too much, maybe it would drive Logan back into the hole he’d created for himself and he’d disappear again.
“You didn’t do anything”
A mixture of pain and relief flooded through Oscar but again the question he wanted answered rang in his head, louder than he could silence.
Why?
“I’m so sorry, Osc. I didn’t mean for it to go this long”
A scoff fell from Oscar’s lips. Six months was a long time to disappear.
“Why’d you do it, Logan?”
The typing bubble appeared instantly and then vanished and then came back. Back to this stupid dance between words wanting to be said and the words they’d allowed to be said.
The reply took longer than the others. Long enough for Oscar to glance toward the hospitality entrance where one of the media coordinators was already hovering. He knew he had to go but this was so much more important. Logan was so much more important.
Then his phone buzzed.
“I had to bury something.”
Oscar frowned. Of all the explanations he had imagined over the months, that was not one of them.
“Bury something? I’m assuming emotionally?”
“Yes Oscar, I didn’t drop off the face of your earth to bury something physical in the ground.”
A surprised laugh escaped him, the first one Logan had given him in a long time. He’d really missed those laughs.
“Well, how would I know?”
“Okay, fair”
He smiled to himself. Even after six months of torturous silence, this still felt easy.
“Did it work?”
“No. But I think I’m ready to talk about it now.”
A brief pause.
“With you.”
Something coiled tight loosened inside Oscar. He didn’t understand what exactly that meant but at least Logan was opening a door rather than slamming one closed.
“Please”
“I promise. I won’t disappear on you again, unless you want me to”
The smile that had etched its way onto Oscar’s face disappeared immediately.
“Why would I ever want you to disappear? Logan, I missed you.”
His fingers kept moving, words flowing from him faster than he could think of them.
“I missed you more than I can put into words.”
He just couldn’t stop.
“I picked my Monaco helmet in hopes you would talk to me again, don’t you ever fucking disappear again.”
The honesty in those messages was more than Oscar had planned to say, but he didn’t regret it. Maybe for a second when nothing popped up after a few minutes but that resolved when Logan responded.
“I missed you too. So the helmet was on purpose?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
Then,
“That’s really nice”
Oscar smiled. Logan could be so daft sometimes.
“I always liked orange and blue together.”
“Yeah, me too, Osc.”
For a moment, Oscar just sat there reading the message and then reading it again.
The last six months hadn’t disappeared, the questions Oscar had still lingered in the distance between them. The conversation Logan promised was still waiting.
But for the first time, Oscar wasn’t afraid he might never speak to him again. He hadn’t realized how afraid of that he’d been until Logan came back and that fear was lifted.
A McLaren staff member appeared beside the table. “Oscar, you’re up.”
He nodded, standing up with his phone in hand still unlocked. “Coming.”
Then looked back down at his phone.
Just one more question for now.
“If I call you after media today, will you answer?”
“Yeah.”
Oscar couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he typed the last message for now out.
“I’ll talk to you soon. I really did miss you.”
When he shoved his phone into his pocket, he felt lighter. Logan had come back to him.
For six months, Oscar had lived in a strange limbo of not being abandoned, but not being wanted by the one person he wanted either. Close enough to know he was still watching, but never close enough to actually reach him.
Every unanswered text or missed call had felt like pressing against a locked door. Now, for the first time since December, that door was open. Maybe only a crack but it was open.
The ache that had settled somewhere deep in his chest months ago wasn’t gone. It would probably take more than a handful of text messages to make that disappear.
Still, this was so much better than silence.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he walked toward the media area, the sounds of the Monaco paddock swelling around him.
The helmet reveal was still sitting online.
Orange and blue.
Hours ago, it had felt like a message thrown into the dark with no guarantee anyone would ever hear it. Now he knew somebody had, the only somebody he’d wanted to hear it.
And that was good enough for right now.