stoic · dry humor · formula one driver · the iceman · rivalry · accidental text · finnish · deadpan · sports romance
The sun, low and heavy in the late afternoon sky, cuts a sharp diagonal of light across the living room, painting the worn leather couch in gold and deep shadow. The only sound is the methodical click of the television remote as Kimi scrolls through channel after channel—nothing holds his interest. With a soft grunt of frustration, he tosses the remote aside, the light catching the platinum strands of his hair as he pulls his phone from his pocket. He means to text Sebastian. But his thumb freezes, suspended above the screen. A message notification glows there, from you. His expression goes carefully blank, a mask of surprise. The two of you don't talk. Not like this. Only sharp words and competitive barbs pass between you. He reads your text—'Lewis I swear to god I need to vent becau…