Archive of Our Own

Logan’s always been the tough one. Tougher than Alex in a way that’s almost impossible to match. When everyone else was breaking down under pressure, Logan would always stand firm, like nothing could touch him. He’d been through things that would have shattered anyone else—heartbreak, failure, the weight of expectations—but somehow, Logan kept going. He wore his strength like armor, no matter what was thrown at him. It was a part of who he was, the thing that made him untouchable in Alex’s eyes.

But now? Now, Alex sees Logan differently. He’s different. There’s a crack in that perfect façade, something Alex can’t ignore. The man who used to stand tall, unflinching, is now… fragile in a way that Alex can’t fully comprehend. He’s seeing Logan in ways he’s never seen before—his eyes duller, his shoulders slumped, his smile not quite reaching his eyes like it used to. For the first time, Logan looks like he’s breaking.

Alex feels a knot tighten in his chest as he watches him.

How can I handle everything that’s happened and Logan can’t? The thought nags at him, a question that seems impossible to answer. He’s been through his own battles, faced his own doubts and fears. But Logan? Logan’s been through worse—he’s survived worse. So why does it feel like the weight of the world is finally catching up to him? Why does Alex feel like Logan, the strongest person he knows, is the one who’s unraveling?

It doesn’t make sense. Alex’s mind races with the question, trying to piece together what’s happening. Logan’s never been one to show weakness, and now, it’s all Alex can see. The doubt and confusion are eating at him as he wonders if there’s something more to Logan’s silence, to the way he seems to withdraw from everyone, even from himself.

Alex has seen the way Logan carries it—how his smile, once effortless and genuine, is now a little more forced, a little more strained. His eyes, once bright with determination, now seem distant, like he’s looking at something far away, even when he’s right in front of you. There’s a subtle, but undeniable shift in him—a weariness that Alex can’t ignore. Logan’s always been the one who could bear the weight of the world and still stand tall. He’s the one who never let the pressure show, who never let anyone see how much he was carrying. So why does he look so defeated now?

Why does it seem like the man who’s faced every challenge head-on, who’s been through so much and never flinched, is now on the edge of something too heavy to bear? Alex can’t reconcile the Logan he knows with the one he’s seeing now. There’s something missing in him, something Alex can’t quite place. It’s as if a part of Logan has been hollowed out, like the person who was once unshakable is now struggling just to keep standing.

The more Alex watches him, the more it doesn’t make sense. Logan’s always been the rock, the one who didn’t need saving, the one who made everyone else feel strong. So why does it feel like he’s breaking? And why does Alex feel like he’s helpless to do anything about it?

Something isn’t right, and the closer Alex gets to the truth, the harder it is to deny. Logan’s not just tired. He’s hurt. But what’s hurting him? What’s weighing on him so much that it’s finally starting to crack through the surface? Alex doesn’t know, but the more he sees it, the more he realizes he might be the only one who can help him pick up the pieces.

And then, like a punch to the gut, Alex figures it out.

Oscar.

Oscar is the only thing Logan has ever truly loved—the one person he’s cared about in a way he’s never shown for anyone else. It wasn’t just about friendship, not just the bond between teammates. There was something deeper there, something unspoken, something that ran beneath the surface of their relationship like an undercurrent. Oscar wasn’t just Logan’s teammate. He was Logan’s person, the one who understood him in ways no one else did, the one who had always been there, through the highs and the lows, sharing the weight of everything they went through together.

Logan had always kept himself guarded, a fortress of strength and silence, but with Oscar, there was no need for walls. They didn’t need to speak to understand each other; their connection was something natural, something that had developed over time. The way they worked together on and off the track, the way they had each other’s backs, no questions asked—it was something special. It was something Logan didn’t even know he could have until he found it with Oscar.

Oscar was the first person Logan ever truly let in, the first to see all of him, the good and the bad, without judgment. The first person he ever really opened up to, in his own way. And for a long time, it was enough for him. Oscar wasn’t just a teammate, or a friend, or someone who shared a locker room. Oscar was the one Logan went to in moments of silence, the one who could make him laugh when the world seemed too heavy, the one who understood the pressure they both carried. In every glance, every subtle touch, there was a bond, a closeness that was undeniable.

Alex’s thoughts drifted back to that night, to the time when he had witnessed something between Logan and Oscar that had stayed with him ever since. The memory came in flashes, vivid and raw, like it had happened just yesterday.

——

It had been after a particularly brutal race, one that had tested everyone’s limits. Alex had been exhausted, physically and mentally drained, and had stepped away from the team debrief to get some space. As he walked past the quiet hallway leading to the team’s lounge, he’d heard the soft murmurs of voices—low and intimate. Curious, he’d edged closer, staying just out of sight, his heart pounding in his chest for reasons he couldn’t quite understand.

There, standing just inside the door, were Logan and Oscar. Logan, as always, trying to hide whatever weight was pressing on him, standing rigid with his arms crossed over his chest. But Alex could see it. The way his shoulders slumped, the way his eyes avoided meeting Oscar’s, a kind of vulnerability he never showed anyone else. Oscar, on the other hand, was calm and steady, the one who knew exactly what to say without saying much at all. His voice was soft, coaxing, as if he’d seen this moment coming long before Logan had.

“You’re not fooling me, you know,” Oscar had said, his voice gentle but filled with that familiar concern that Alex could hear even from a distance. “You can’t keep it bottled forever.”

Logan’s response had been a tight laugh, but Alex could see the way his jaw clenched, the way his chest tightened as if he were holding back more than he was letting on. And then, just like that, Oscar had stepped forward.

Without a word, Oscar’s hands had found Logan’s waist, pulling him close in a way that was both protective and tender. It wasn’t the kind of hug you’d expect from teammates—it was deeper than that, and Alex knew it. He’s been in this position before.

Oscar had wrapped his arms around Logan’s waist, pulling him into a tight embrace, his face resting against the side of Logan’s head. Logan had stiffened for a moment, a flash of surprise passing through his eyes, but then something had shifted. His body had relaxed against Oscar’s, his arms loosely hanging at his sides and head dipping into the crook of Oscar’s neck as if he’d given in to the comfort Oscar offered.

For a long moment, they had stood there like that—Oscar’s arms around Logan, holding him steady, like he was trying to absorb some of the hurt Logan was carrying, like he would never let him go, no matter what. It was the kind of hug that said more than words ever could—a quiet reassurance, a promise that no matter how heavy the world became, Logan wouldn’t have to face it alone.

Then, just as Alex was about to pull away and leave them to their moment, something happened that he would never forget.

Logan, the unshakable Logan, the one who had always been the strong one, the one who never showed weakness, finally broke. His breath hitched, the sound barely audible over the muffled noises in the lounge. And then, to Alex’s shock, he saw Logan’s eyes close tightly, his body trembling as if the weight of everything he had carried had suddenly become too much to bear.

A sob escaped him, loud and raw. Alex’s heart skipped a beat as he stood frozen in the doorway, wide-eyed, unable to move.

Logan cried.

Alex had never seen Logan cry—not once in the amoutn time they had known each other, not in the face of setbacks, not when he’d been under the harshest pressure. Logan had always been stoic, even in the most difficult moments. He had been the one to hold it all together when the rest of the world seemed to fall apart. But now, in the quiet of the room, he was finally letting go. His shoulders shook as Oscar held him tighter, not saying a word, just letting Logan cry, letting him release the pain that had been hidden so deep inside.

Alex felt a pang in his chest, a wave of guilt and helplessness washing over him. He knew that Logan had been struggling, but this—this rawness, this vulnerability—was something he’d never expected to witness. He had always thought of Logan as untouchable, a force of nature who could withstand anything. But in that moment, with Oscar holding him close, Logan was just a person, broken by the weight of everything he had carried for so long.

Oscar’s hands were still on Logan’s waist, but now, he had pulled Logan even closer, his voice soft, murmuring words of comfort, though Alex couldn’t hear them from where he stood. But the way Oscar’s hand rubbed gentle circles on Logan’s back, the way he didn’t pull away or rush him, spoke volumes. It was clear that Oscar had always been there for Logan, had always been the one to catch him when he fell, to hold him up when the world felt too heavy.

——

But now… now it was different.

The second season rolled in, and with it, a deeper sense of separation between Logan and Oscar. It wasn’t immediately obvious, but Alex saw the subtle shift, like the calm before a storm. The bond that had once been unshakeable was now strained, stretched thin. They weren’t inseparable anymore. It was like watching two people who had once shared everything become strangers to each other, their connection fraying at the edges.

Oscar and Logan, once the best of friends, no longer shared the same ease, the same effortless camaraderie that had defined their rookie season. Their interactions had grown more distant, less frequent. Alex saw it in the way they no longer lingered in the same spaces, the way Oscar’s protective gestures toward Logan had faded into the background. There were no more quiet moments between them in the paddock, no more shared laughs or secret conversations before the races. Instead, they became more like colleagues—passing each other with polite nods and forced smiles, never letting their eyes meet for too long.

But even through the growing distance, there were moments. Brief, fleeting moments when their eyes met across the paddock, and Alex couldn’t help but notice the way they still stole glances at each other when the other wasn’t looking. It was subtle, but it was there—like an unspoken conversation, a language only they understood. But there was something else in those looks, something deeper and more painful. Hurt. Sadness. It was like they both wanted to reach out, but something was holding them back. The bond was still there, but it was broken, and they both felt it. And Alex couldn’t ignore it.

Oscar fit in because he was fast, humble, and funny. He was the kind of person who made friends easily, who could walk into any room and light it up with a smile or a clever joke. He didn’t just race with skill—he made people feel comfortable, like they belonged. Oscar was quick to laugh at his own jokes, self-deprecating in a way that endeared him to everyone around him. He was the kind of guy who could be serious when the moment called for it, but could just as easily shift gears and make the whole room laugh. It was a gift, one that made him an instant favorite among the team, the media, and the drivers alike. Oscar had a way of easing the tension, of making everyone feel at ease, like there was no need to prove anything.

But Logan? Logan was still the outcast. Despite his incredible talent, Logan couldn’t shake the feeling of being on the outside. He was polite, respectful—qualities that everyone appreciated—but there was something about him that never quite clicked with the others. He had always been seen as “too American” in a paddock that was dominated by European drivers. His brashness, his intensity—those things set him apart. And his speed, while there, wasn’t enough to fully close the gap. Logan didn’t fit into the social circles the way Oscar did. He didn’t have the same easy charm, the effortless charisma that made Oscar so beloved. Instead, Logan was left standing on the edges, never quite finding his place.

Logan never pushed himself into spaces where he felt unwanted. He didn’t go out of his way to be included in the circles where the others mingled or joked. He stayed in the corners, with his head down, always working, always trying to prove himself. Oscar had always been his tether to the social aspect of life, the one person who helped him navigate the complex web of relationships that formed within the paddock. It was Oscar who had always pulled Logan into conversations, made him laugh when the pressure felt unbearable. Oscar was the one who had always kept him grounded, who made him feel like he wasn’t alone.

But now, it felt like Oscar was pulling away, and Logan didn’t know how to find his place in the paddock without him. The loneliness that had always simmered beneath the surface began to feel like an ache, one that spread with every moment that passed. He was losing the one person who had made everything bearable. And it wasn’t just about the races or the pressure of the track—it was about the way he no longer had a place in the world around him. It was about the way Oscar, the one person who had truly understood him, was slipping through his fingers.

And so, when Alex saw those stolen glances—those moments when Logan’s gaze lingered just a little too long, or when Oscar’s eyes would flicker toward Logan before quickly looking away—he saw the pain in them. The longing. The unspoken words. He saw how much it hurt both of them, how much they still wanted the closeness they once had but couldn’t seem to grasp anymore.

Oscar had always been Logan’s tether, the one person who made him feel like he belonged, like he wasn’t an outsider. But now, Logan was left standing alone, trying to figure out how to fit in without the one person who had always made him feel whole.

Oscar wasn’t just a teammate—he was everything to Logan. Oscar had been the person who anchored him, who understood the complexities of his mind without needing to ask. They were more than just teammates; they were partners in the truest sense of the word. They had shared late-night talks in the quiet corners of the paddock, moments of celebration after victories, and even the raw, vulnerable moments after defeats. Oscar had always been the one Logan could turn to when the weight of the world felt too heavy to bear, the one who could make him laugh when he thought he’d lost his smile. They had a bond that was deeper than anything Logan had ever experienced with anyone else. Oscar was his support, his confidant, his tether to a world that sometimes felt too overwhelming.

But now? Now, with Oscar distant, almost like a stranger, Logan feels like a part of him has been ripped away. The loss isn’t just emotional—it’s physical, as if the ground beneath him has cracked open. Where Oscar’s presence once filled the spaces around him with warmth and laughter, there’s now a void, a chill that Logan can’t escape. Every conversation with Oscar now feels strained, like they’re two people who used to know each other completely, but have now become unfamiliar. The ease they once shared has been replaced with awkward silences, and Logan can’t shake the feeling that something is broken between them, something that can’t be fixed.

Every time Oscar looks at him with those guarded eyes, it feels like a knife to Logan’s chest. He can’t figure out what happened, why the connection that once seemed so unshakable has become so fragile. The playful banter they used to share has been replaced with clipped exchanges, and Logan is left grasping at the edges of a relationship that feels like it’s slipping through his fingers. Oscar is still there, still in the same space, but it’s as though he’s a ghost—a distant memory of the person who used to make Logan feel seen, understood, and less alone.

The weight of that loss presses down on him harder than anything else ever could. It’s not just the absence of Oscar’s physical presence—it’s the emptiness in his chest, the ache in his heart that comes from knowing that the person who had always been by his side is now miles away, emotionally distant. The uncertainty, the confusion, the pain of not knowing why it happened—it’s all consuming. Logan finds himself staring at Oscar, longing for the closeness they once had, but every glance from Oscar feels like a reminder of how far apart they’ve grown.

Logan had always relied on Oscar in ways he had never admitted to anyone, least of all to himself. And now, without Oscar by his side, everything feels harder. The races feel lonelier, the defeats harder to bear. Oscar had been the person who made it all feel manageable, someone who helped him find balance in a world that often felt like it was spinning out of control. And now, without him, Logan feels untethered, like he’s floating in a sea of confusion and loss.

It’s then that Alex feels a sharp, almost physical pang in his chest, because in that moment, he knows exactly what Logan is feeling.

George.

George was the one Alex loved—the one person who made everything else feel right in the chaos of the racing world. The one who made the late nights in the garage, the endless hours of travel, and the pressure of every race seem bearable. George had been his rock, his constant in the madness of the paddock. But then, just when things felt like they were finally falling into place, George left. He left Williams. He left Alex.

He went to Mercedes. To race with Lewis, to be a part of something bigger, something more prestigious. And Alex was left standing there, staring at the empty seat beside him, feeling like the world had just dropped out from under his feet. He’d fought with everything he had not to crumble. He had to—he had to keep it together. But the anger, the bitterness, and the hurt? That was harder to hold in check. For weeks, he’d convinced himself that George didn’t need him anymore, that he had moved on, that there was someone better waiting for him on the other side. That George had stopped loving him the moment he signed with Mercedes, that he was no longer Alex’s George—the one who shared the quiet moments and the late-night talks and everything in between.

——

Alex stood by a small secluded area on the track, staring out at the f2 cars speeding by . The noise of the engines was distant, but in his mind, it was deafening. The world was buzzing, but all Alex could hear was the sound of his own heart pounding in his chest.

Behind him, a heavy shuffle of footsteps on the gravel neared him. Alex didn’t need to look to know who it was. He’d known this moment was coming, even if he hadn’t wanted to admit it. He didn’t turn around.

“Alex,” George’s voice was quiet, hesitant, as though testing the waters. “We need to talk.”

Alex swallowed, trying to force the lump in his throat down. It had been weeks since he’d last seen George. Weeks since everything had changed, and Alex had been left behind. His hands shook at his sides, knuckles white.

“You’re here to talk?” Alex’s voice was sharp, his back still to George. “After everything that happened, you think we need to talk?”

“Alex, please,” George said, his voice pleading now, almost desperate. “I didn’t—”

“You didn’t what?” Alex finally spun around, his face flushed with a mixture of anger and hurt. “You didn’t leave me? You didn’t just walk away without even looking back?”

George winced, the words hitting him harder than he expected. He took a step forward, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “It’s not like that. You have to understand, it wasn’t just about you. It wasn’t just about us.”

“Not just about us?” Alex laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “What else could it possibly be about? You left me, George. You left everything we had for Mercedes, for Lewis. For something bigger. You didn’t even think twice. You didn’t even—”

“I did think twice!” George’s voice cracked slightly, a rare tremor in the usually composed racer. “You think I didn’t feel it? Every single day after I signed that contract? You think it didn’t hurt me too? It wasn’t easy. I didn’t want to leave you.”

“But you did,” Alex said, his eyes flashing with anger. “You did leave. And I’ve been sitting here, day after day, wondering what happened to us. Wondering if I was just a stepping stone for you. If what we had… meant anything at all.”

George opened his mouth, but no words came out. His chest tightened, the guilt eating away at him. The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Alex took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “I loved you, George. I loved you more than anything. And you left. You walked away from me like I was nothing.” His voice cracked on the last word, the raw emotion seeping through.

“Alex…” George’s voice softened, his heart heavy. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. But there’s more at stake than just us. I had to think about my future, my career. And Williams… it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough for me to grow. I couldn’t stay there forever. I needed this, Alex. I needed to do this for me.”

Alex’s hands balled into fists at his sides. “And you thought I wouldn’t get it? That I wouldn’t feel like you were leaving me behind? I wasn’t enough for you, was I?”

“That’s not it!” George stepped forward, his eyes desperate. “You were everything to me, Alex. You still are. I didn’t want to leave you. But I couldn’t stay there. I had to move on, to take the chance. I thought you’d understand.”

Alex shook his head, his voice rising. “How could I understand that? How could I understand when you left me in the dust, with no explanation, no warning? How could I understand when I was watching you go to Mercedes, to race with Lewis, to be part of something bigger—and I was left standing there, wondering if you even cared anymore?”

George’s face crumpled, the guilt washing over him like a tidal wave. He reached out, but Alex stepped back, refusing to let him get any closer.

“You never even told me, George,” Alex’s voice broke as the pain and anger welled up. “I had to hear it from a damn mechanic. Do you know what that felt like? To find out you signed with Mercedes from someone who wasn’t even close to me? Someone who was just… a mechanic?”

George froze, the weight of Alex’s words sinking in. His heart ached as the truth hit him harder than he could have imagined. “I didn’t know how to tell you,” he whispered, voice barely audible.

“I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. I thought maybe… maybe you’d figure it out yourself, or that I’d have time to say something… but I didn’t.”

“You didn’t think I had a right to know?” Alex’s eyes were filled with a mixture of disbelief and pain. “You couldn’t even tell me? You couldn’t even look me in the eye and say the words? That’s how much I meant to you?”

“Alex, it wasn’t like that,” George’s voice cracked, the words spilling out in a rush. “I didn’t want you to hear it like that. I didn’t want it to come from anyone else. I wanted to be the one to tell you. But I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to hurt you more. And then, it just… it got worse. And I kept putting it off, and then it was too late.”

The silence stretched between them, suffocating. Alex’s breath was shallow, his chest tightening as the weight of the betrayal pressed down on him. He could barely keep his voice steady as he spoke.

“I needed you, George. I needed you to tell me the truth. But you just let me hear it from someone else. You let me feel like I wasn’t worth the honesty. And you know what? I can’t forgive that. I can’t just pretend like that didn’t happen.”

George stood frozen, the distance between them now unbearable. He wanted to apologize, to explain, but he knew the words wouldn’t undo the damage. He had already lost Alex, and nothing he said could change that.

“I never wanted to hurt you, Alex,” George said quietly. “But I think… I think I’ve hurt you more than I ever realized.”

Alex finally looked up, his eyes red-rimmed but fierce. “I don’t know what’s worse, George. That you left, or that I didn’t even know if you ever really loved me the way I loved you.”

George felt the words hit him like a punch to the gut. He took a deep breath, stepping forward slowly, his voice almost a whisper. “I do love you, Alex. I always have. And I always will.”

The words hung in the air, but Alex didn’t respond. He just stood there, staring at George, the space between them now miles apart, filled with everything they hadn’t said, everything they couldn’t fix.

And in that silence, both of them knew it was too late to go back.

——

The doubt had burned, twisting itself into Alex’s chest until he couldn’t breathe. But despite everything, despite the silence and the distance, Alex and George had managed to find their way back to each other. They fought through it—the misunderstandings, the unsaid words, the strained phone calls—and when they did come out the other side, they were stronger. More than ever, Alex was sure of it: George was still his person. Nothing could tear them apart, not even the pull of Mercedes. They were in love, real love, the kind that survived everything.

——

A For the first few months after George’s departure, the distance between them felt unbearable. They hardly spoke, and when they did, it was only out of necessity—during media appearances or team functions. The silence between them stretched endlessly, filled with unspoken words, lingering bitterness, and the painful ache of something broken. There was no warmth in their exchanges, no familiarity in the way they interacted. It was as if the space between them had grown too vast to bridge. Alex kept his distance, focusing on his own racing, keeping his head down and his heart locked away.

George, for his part, had kept his distance too, throwing himself into his new role at Mercedes, trying to fill the emptiness with work, with the noise of the paddock, with the sound of the engines. But none of it ever seemed to drown out the quiet ache that gnawed at him. He had told himself time and again that leaving Williams had been the right choice, that everything would be different now—that this was just the price of ambition. But in the stillness of the nights, in the moments when he wasn’t surrounded by the chaos of the racetrack, he felt the emptiness in his chest. And no matter how many trophies he’d collected, no matter how many cheers he’d received, none of it ever filled the hole that Alex’s absence had left behind.

The media caught on quickly, sensing the tension between the two of them. Their interactions were cold, curt, and polite at best. The cameras, ever watchful, captured every fleeting moment of their shared space. No more late-night talks or quiet moments. No more laughter over bad jokes. It was a quiet, painful routine that neither of them knew how to break.

But slowly, after weeks of this sterile routine, things began to shift. There was a shift in the way George looked at Alex when they crossed paths in the garage, a hint of longing in his gaze that spoke volumes more than any words could. And in Alex, a subtle softening began to take place. It was so small at first, just a flicker in the way he responded when George spoke to him, just a touch more warmth than before. It was like they were both standing on the edge, afraid to reach out, but unable to stay apart much longer.

One day, out of nowhere, they found themselves alone for a few moments, just the two of them in the back of the paddock, separated from the noise of the crowd. The weight of everything they hadn’t said pressed down on them, thick and heavy in the air between them. George opened his mouth to say something, but the words got stuck. He’d rehearsed this moment in his head a thousand times, but now that it was here, he found himself unsure of where to begin.

Alex was the first to break the silence, his voice quiet but steady. “I thought I’d never get you back,” he said, his words filled with an emotion that neither of them had been willing to express before. “I thought I lost you forever.”

George’s chest tightened at the rawness in Alex’s voice, and for the first time in months, he felt the distance between them shrink. “You didn’t lose me,” he said softly, his eyes meeting Alex’s with an intensity that took his breath away. “I never meant for it to be like this.”

Alex swallowed hard, blinking away the sting of tears. He had been so angry, so hurt by everything that had happened, but in this moment, standing here with George, he knew that they could rebuild what had been lost. It wouldn’t be easy, but nothing worth having ever was.

“Maybe I was wrong,” Alex admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “Maybe I thought you leaving meant it was over. That everything we had was gone. But now… I think I’m stronger because of it. Because I learned how to live without you, even though it hurt.” He paused, a soft smile playing at the corner of his lips, bittersweet and vulnerable. “And then when you came back… everything just clicked again. Like I could finally breathe.”

George stepped closer, unable to stop himself, and placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder. The touch was gentle, full of quiet understanding. “You were always stronger than you gave yourself credit for,” he murmured, his voice full of affection. “I knew you could do it. I just… I couldn’t stay in that place where we weren’t growing. And I never wanted you to think that it meant I didn’t love you. I never stopped loving you.”

The words hit Alex like a wave, and he blinked rapidly, willing back the tears that threatened to spill over. For so long, he had believed George’s departure had meant the end of everything between them. But now, standing here, hearing George’s voice—steady, reassuring—he understood that they were far from over.

“I know,” Alex whispered, a smile tugging at his lips despite the sadness in his heart. “I think that’s what kept me going, knowing that even when you were far away… you still loved me.”

George’s smile softened, and his thumb brushed gently over Alex’s shoulder, a silent promise in the way he touched him. “I’ve always loved you, Alex. And I always will.”

In that moment, the years of silence, the months of pain, melted away. They were no longer two people fighting to survive their love; they were two people ready to embrace it again. And nothing—nothing—would ever tear them apart again.

When Alex finally spoke again, it was with a hint of the playfulness they had shared before, the kind of teasing humor that had once come so easily between them. “I didn’t miss you as much as I missed you laughing at my terrible jokes,” he said, nudging George with his shoulder.

George laughed, a sound that was as comforting to Alex as it was freeing. “Well, I’ve missed hearing those terrible jokes, so I guess I’ll have to stick around to hear more of them.”

And for the first time in a long time, Alex’s heart felt lighter, like he was finally coming home. “Oh, you’re stuck with me now,” he teased, the words playful, but filled with something deeper. With a truth they both had always known.

George leaned in then, his lips brushing against Alex’s forehead in a soft kiss that felt like a promise—a promise that no matter what had happened, they had found their way back to each other. And this time, nothing would tear them apart.

“I’m not going anywhere,” George whispered, his voice full of quiet certainty.

And in that moment, standing there together, Alex knew with everything in him that they had fought through the hardest parts. They were stronger now. More than ever, he was sure: George was still his person. They had found their way back. Nothing, not even the pull of Mercedes, could ever take that away from them again.

——

But Logan? Logan’s situation seemed different. It wasn’t just the pain of losing someone—it was the slow, suffocating feeling of something slipping away, like the threads of his connection to Oscar were unraveling, piece by piece, and Logan didn’t even know how to stop it. Alex watched him from across the paddock, his gaze fixed on the way Logan stood, always just a little too far from Oscar and Lando, as though the distance between them was more than physical. There was an emotional gulf, too, an invisible barrier Logan couldn’t quite bridge.

Logan’s posture said it all: shoulders slumped, his body tense in a way that made him seem smaller than usual. He wasn’t part of their easy camaraderie, the way Oscar and Lando laughed together, their conversations fluid and effortless. Instead, Logan lingered just outside that circle, an outsider in his own world, watching, waiting, but never quite joining in. It was like he was seeing everything he wanted—Oscar’s smile, the way Lando cracked a joke—but it was just out of reach, too far for him to grasp.

What really struck Alex, though, was the look in Logan’s eyes. The quiet devastation that lingered there was undeniable, and it hit Alex hard because it was so familiar. He had seen that same hollow look in his own reflection when George had left. The same emptiness that came from realizing that something you’d held so close was slipping through your fingers, no matter how hard you tried to hold on. It was the ache of knowing that, no matter what you did, you couldn’t stop the inevitable, couldn’t stop the distance from growing wider and wider until it felt like you were standing on the edge of an abyss, unable to reach the one person you needed most.

But what tore at Alex’s heart the most was how different Logan’s situation was from his own. Alex had had the clarity of time. He had fought through the heartache, the confusion, and the resentment, and in the end, he and George had found their way back to each other. There was reconciliation. There was understanding. George hadn’t stopped loving him, and once they found the courage to face their fears, they rebuilt what had been broken. But Logan? He wasn’t there yet. He hadn’t had the chance to rebuild, to understand. There was no reassurance, no comfort in the knowledge that Oscar still cared. No forgiveness had been asked, and no forgiveness had been given. It was all too raw, too new, too painful for Logan to even begin to process.

Logan didn’t even know if Oscar loved him back.

Alex felt a deep, unspoken sympathy for him, the kind of empathy that only someone who had been through the same kind of heartbreak could truly understand. But unlike Alex, Logan didn’t have the clarity, the sense that the pain would eventually ease. The silence between Logan and Oscar was louder than any words, and it hurt Alex to see how much it was tearing him apart. The helplessness in Alex’s chest tightened, a weight he couldn’t shake, knowing that there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t fix this for Logan.

He could only watch, and silently hope that Logan would eventually find his way out of the dark, just as Alex had. But for now, the ache in Logan’s eyes remained, a painful reminder of the kind of heartache that Alex had lived through—and the kind that was still breaking Logan, piece by piece.

——

The paddock, usually a place of chaos and excitement, felt suffocatingly small to Alex in that moment. The clamor of the crowd and the buzz of the teams preparing for the next race all seemed distant, muffled by the tension that hung heavy between him and Logan. Every step Alex took felt like he was wading through thick fog, the noise of the paddock slowly dulling as his focus zeroed in on the younger driver. Logan’s movements were slow, deliberate, as if each step required more energy than it should. He walked through the bustling paddock with his head down, his body language screaming exhaustion. His shoulders were hunched, his neck tense, and his eyes darted nervously, as though he was trying to avoid drawing attention to himself.

It hit Alex like a punch to the gut. Logan, the usually confident and cocky rookie, was cracking under the weight of something far heavier than he let anyone see. Alex had been giving him space, respecting his need for solitude after everything that had happened. But the space hadn’t helped. If anything, it was only making things worse. Logan was withdrawing, isolating himself further, and Alex couldn’t keep pretending he didn’t notice. Logan wasn’t just hiding from the media; he was hiding from something much darker, and Alex knew it. The silence between them, the invisible wall Logan had built, was becoming impossible to ignore.

The ache in Alex’s chest grew as he watched Logan from afar, the same familiar ache that had haunted him when George had left. But Logan’s pain felt different. Alex had dealt with heartbreak, had been lost in the aftermath of it. But Logan’s pain was deeper—it wasn’t just the loss of someone he loved. It was the crushing pressure of expectations, the relentless need to prove himself in a world where he felt like an outsider. The paddock, which should have been his domain, was becoming a prison to him, and Alex saw it, felt it. The eyes of the world were on Logan, every move dissected, every mistake amplified, and the weight of that scrutiny was becoming unbearable.

Alex couldn’t stand seeing it anymore. He couldn’t let Logan keep slipping further into this spiral, this quiet self-doubt that Alex had seen in his own eyes once. Logan was isolating himself, hiding behind a mask of indifference, but it was so clear to Alex—he was falling apart in front of everyone, and no one was doing anything about it. Alex swallowed hard, feeling the tightness in his throat. He couldn’t ignore it any longer. He had to do something. He had to reach Logan, break through the wall he had built.

He took a deep breath and stepped forward, forcing himself to move through the crowd, his eyes fixed on Logan. “Logan,” Alex called softly, his voice cutting through the noise of the paddock. He tried to make it sound casual, but the weight of his concern seeped through. Logan flinched at the sound of his name, his posture tightening, a subtle flicker of surprise flashing across his face. For a brief moment, he seemed like he might try to walk away, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned to face Alex slowly, his eyes shifting with an unreadable emotion, quickly masking whatever vulnerability had crept in.

“Hey, Alex,” Logan said, his voice flat, almost rehearsed. “What’s up?” The words came too easily, but Alex could hear the emptiness in them. The deflection was obvious, like a reflex he didn’t even have to think about anymore. Logan was shutting him out, trying to push him away without even realizing how transparent it was. But Alex wasn’t going to let him.

Alex stepped closer, his gaze steady, intent. “That’s what I want to ask you,” he said, his voice calm but laced with a deeper concern. He wasn’t going to let Logan hide behind his usual walls. Not now. “How are you really doing, Logan?” He kept his eyes locked on Logan’s, willing him to tell the truth, to stop hiding behind that mask.

Logan’s eyes darted away for just a split second before he looked back at Alex, the mask slipping slightly. His hands fidgeted at his sides, the tension in his body palpable. He opened his mouth to speak, but it was as though the words were stuck in his throat. “I’m fine,” Logan said quickly, but it was rushed, and Alex could hear the lie hanging in the air. “Everything’s good, Alex. No worries.”

Alex didn’t buy it for a second. He stepped in front of Logan, blocking his line of sight to the rest of the paddock, forcing him to face him. Logan’s gaze flickered to the side, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. He was trying to avoid Alex’s eyes, trying to avoid the conversation they both knew needed to happen.

“Don’t lie to me,” Alex said quietly, his voice steady but full of concern. “I’ve been watching you for weeks, Logan. You’re not okay. And I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s really going on.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, and his hands tightened into fists at his sides. Alex saw the brief flash of frustration in his eyes, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. “There’s nothing to talk about. I don’t want to burden anyone with my problems,” Logan said, his voice strained, like he was trying to convince himself as much as Alex.

“I’m not asking you to burden me, Logan,” Alex replied, his voice softening. “I just want to help. I know something’s wrong. I don’t want you to do this alone.” He reached out, but his hand stopped midair, hovering between them. He was giving Logan the space to decide—space to trust him.

Logan inhaled sharply, his breath shallow and uneven as he stared at the ground, avoiding Alex’s gaze. His foot tapped restlessly, the sharp sound of it echoing in the stillness between them, as if trying to chase away the heaviness that filled the air. For a long moment, there was only the sound of distant chatter and the constant hum of cars revving in the background—background noise to the silence they shared, a tension that seemed to stretch across the paddock like an invisible thread. Alex stood still, not wanting to interrupt the moment, but also not able to remain passive any longer. He could feel it—the weight of everything hanging between them, thick and suffocating.

Logan’s shoulders sagged even further as the minutes ticked by, his posture the picture of someone who had given up on standing tall. It was hard to watch, harder still to ignore. Alex had seen this before, but never so clearly. He had seen himself in Logan—the same struggle to fit in, the same fears of never being enough, the same sense of isolation. He had been that outcast once, that rookie who didn’t know where he stood, who doubted whether he could survive in a world that seemed to already have its winners. The difference was that Logan hadn’t had the luxury of time. He was still in the thick of it, fighting against a tidal wave of pressure that was threatening to drown him. Alex couldn’t stand to watch it any longer. He couldn’t let Logan stay alone in this battle.

When Logan finally looked up, there was no trace of the cocky, confident rookie Alex had once known. No fire in his eyes, no sharpness in his posture. Instead, there was a raw vulnerability, a crack in his facade that made Alex’s heart ache with a recognition so deep it nearly hurt. This Logan was a version of himself Alex had feared becoming—the broken, lost soul that everyone overlooked, the one who had tried so hard to fit into a world that made him feel small.

“I can’t do this anymore, Alex,” Logan’s voice was barely a whisper, thick with emotion, his words landing heavy in Alex’s chest. “The racing, the pressure—it’s too much. I’m just… I’m not cut out for this. Every time I get in the car, I feel like I’m just waiting for someone to tell me I don’t belong here. Like I’m a joke. Like I’m just pretending to be someone I’m not.”

Alex’s throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t find his voice. His heart squeezed painfully as he heard the same fears that had once consumed him—fears he thought he had buried long ago. He knew this pain. He had felt it before. The weight of expectations pressing down on him, the suffocating anxiety that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t enough. He’d fought through it, and come out the other side stronger—but seeing Logan in this state, unable to shake the same demons, sent a pang of guilt through him.

Alex stepped forward, his hand instinctively reaching out as if to pull Logan out of his spiral. But he knew Logan wasn’t ready for that yet—not yet. He needed to speak it all out, to get it all out of his system, before Alex could offer him the kind of comfort he wanted to.

“I’ve been feeling like an outsider for so long,” Logan continued, his voice shaking now, a sense of defeat bleeding through every word. “I see all these people, these drivers, and they’ve got their groups, their little families. And I’m just… on the outside looking in.” He exhaled a sharp breath, a bitter laugh escaping him as he shook his head, looking at the ground again. “I’m American. I’m the new guy. The rookie. And no one really cares. No one really sees me.”

The words hit Alex like a punch to the gut, and his chest tightened. The pain was so familiar it almost felt like it belonged to him. He had been the outsider once, too—the one who had to fight for his place, the one who felt like he was just a shadow in a world full of stars. When he had first joined the paddock, it had felt like everyone already had their circles, their friends, their teams. He was the new kid, the interloper. It had taken time for him to find his own place, to prove he wasn’t just a fleeting presence. That battle had been his, and now, it was Logan’s.

But Alex wasn’t going to let him lose to it. Not like this.

“Logan…” Alex began softly, but Logan wasn’t finished.

“And then there’s Oscar,” Logan muttered, his voice dropping, even more fragile than before. His hands twisted nervously, wringing together as if trying to hold on to whatever was left inside him. “I screwed everything up with him. I don’t even know where we stand anymore.”

Alex’s heart stuttered in surprise. Oscar? He hadn’t expected this to come up, not now, not like this. He had known there was something between the two of them, a connection that had always seemed just beneath the surface. But hearing Logan speak of it like this, with so much pain in his voice—it stopped Alex in his tracks.

“Oscar?” Alex repeated, his voice a mix of curiosity and concern.

Logan nodded slowly, his eyes downcast. “In Abu Dhabi… he told me he loved me. And I just froze, Alex. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if I deserved him. I was scared that I wasn’t good enough, that he could do better, that he would eventually figure out that I’m just… I’m not enough for him.” His voice cracked, and Alex could hear the tremor in his words as Logan pushed through the confession. “And I didn’t say anything. I ran. I ran away from him when he needed me to stay. Now, he probably thinks I don’t feel the same. But I do. I love him. I just… I couldn’t be what he wanted.”

——

In Abu Dhabi, the tension was palpable. The race was over, but there was something else—something unspoken—hanging in the air between Oscar and Logan. After the event, the paddock was quieter than usual, and the team motorhome, usually bustling with activity, was now an isolated space. It felt like it was just the two of them in the world, the noise of the race weekend slowly fading into the background.

Oscar stood there, trying to find the right words. He had been carrying this secret for far too long, and tonight, in the quiet aftermath of everything, he couldn’t keep it in any longer. The weight of it had been suffocating, and now, with Logan just a few feet away, Oscar finally let it spill.

“Lo ” Oscar began, his voice barely above a whisper, but full of raw emotion. He swallowed hard before continuing, his heart hammering in his chest. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. I… I can’t keep pretending I don’t. I need you to know that.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Logan froze. His eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat as the words hung in the air, heavy and real. Oscar’s chest tightened with hope and fear, but Logan… Logan didn’t say anything.

Logan didn’t move. His hands trembled slightly at his sides, and his gaze dropped to the floor. Oscar could feel the heaviness of the moment, the way Logan was retreating into himself. He could see Logan’s lips move slightly, but no sound came out. The seconds stretched into eternity, and Oscar’s stomach churned with a growing anxiety.

“Lo, please,” Oscar’s voice cracked as he stepped forward, his hands reaching out, almost desperate. “Please, just say something. Anything. Don’t leave me in the dark like this.” His voice broke, and his eyes were filled with a pleading sincerity that Logan couldn’t ignore.

Logan flinched, his body tensing as Oscar moved closer, his words wrapping around him like a suffocating grip. His throat felt tight, like he couldn’t get any air into his lungs. And then, the words came out in a strained whisper, barely audible.

“I… I can’t, Oscar.” Logan’s voice cracked, and he stepped back instinctively, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. He could feel the weight of Oscar’s eyes on him, and it was all too much. “I… I can’t.” His words were soft, trembling, as if speaking them hurt more than anything else.

Oscar’s breath hitched, the silence between them growing unbearable. His chest tightened with confusion and hurt. “Why? Why can’t you say anything?” Oscar’s voice was shaking now, his own emotions threatening to spill over. “I’m here, Logie. I’m right here. I’ve always been here for you. Please, don’t do this. I need to know why.”

Logan took a shaky breath, his eyes filling with unshed tears. “You can’t do this to yourself, Oscar. You deserve someone better. Someone who can give you the world, who can be what you need.” Logan shook his head, his voice strained and full of pain. “I’m not that person. I don’t deserve you. I can’t be what you want. I’m not enough for you.”

Oscar’s heart dropped. “What are you talking about?” His voice wavered, stepping forward again, his hand reaching out instinctively, wanting to bridge the gap between them. He wanted to hold Logan, to make him see how much he meant, how much they meant. “Lo, we’ve been through so much together. After everything… how can you say that?”

But the moment Oscar stepped closer, Logan flinched, his body recoiling as if he couldn’t bear the contact. His eyes were wide, and he stepped back, trembling. His heart ached with the desire to reach out and pull Oscar close, to tell him everything would be okay, but he couldn’t. Not like this.

Logan’s voice was barely a whisper, shaking with emotion. “If you touch me… if you stay here… I might fold. I might give in. And I can’t do that to you. I can’t trap you in something you don’t deserve.” He shook his head, tears welling in his eyes, his chest heaving with each breath he took. “You deserve the world, Oscar. And I’ll never be enough for you.”

Oscar felt like the ground was slipping out from under him, like the air in the room had been sucked away. His voice was hoarse, trembling with a mix of anger and heartbreak as he took a small, hesitant step closer to Logan. “But why, Logan?” he asked, his tone rising, desperate for answers. “After everything we’ve been through together, why are you pushing me away? Why can’t you just see that I’m here for you? I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

Logan flinched at Oscar’s words, the raw emotion in them cutting deeper than he thought possible. His face crumpled, the mask he had been wearing finally cracking beyond repair. Oscar’s use of his full name made his chest ache—he hadn’t used it in years. It sounded so foreign now, so distant, like a memory of a life he’d tried to leave behind.

Logan’s tears spilled over, falling silently down his cheeks as he stood frozen in place, the weight of his own guilt pressing down on him. His throat tightened as he tried to speak, his voice coming out as a broken whisper. “I’m sorry, Oscar,” he choked out, his shoulders trembling as he struggled to hold himself together. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t deserve you.”.

Oscar stepped forward again, his voice pleading, desperate. “Please, Logan, please understand. I’ve been with you through it all. We’ve shared everything—our hopes, our fears, our victories, our losses. You can’t just shut me out now. After everything… after us.” Oscar’s voice cracked as he reached for Logan’s hand, his fingers brushing against Logan’s wrist.

But Logan stepped back, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. “Oscar…” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He wiped his tears, trying to steady himself, but the emotional weight was overwhelming. “I’m sorry, but I’m not the person you think I am. You don’t deserve this. You deserve so much better.”

Oscar’s hand hung in the air between them, and he couldn’t understand why Logan was doing this. Why? Everything that had been left unsaid—everything that had built up between them—was now crashing down, and Oscar didn’t know how to stop it.

“Logan,” Oscar pleaded, his voice strained with emotion, “please… you have to know I love you. I’ve loved you from the beginning. But you can’t just walk away from this… from us.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating, and in that moment, Logan’s tears were the only sound that filled the empty space between them.

Logan’s body trembled with each sob, his chest heaving as the weight of everything finally broke through the dam he’d been holding up for so long. His face was streaked with tears, his hands shaking as he wiped at his eyes in a futile attempt to stop the flow. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. All he could manage was a broken, whispered, “I’m sorry,” his voice barely audible through his sobs.

Every inch of him was screaming to stay, to fix this, but the fear, the self-doubt, and the guilt weighed too heavily on his shoulders. He couldn’t—he wasn’t enough. And Oscar deserved more than the broken mess that Logan had become.

Without another word, Logan turned on his heel, his steps quick and erratic as he hurried toward the exit, his breath ragged. He couldn’t bear to stay, couldn’t face the hurt in Oscar’s eyes any longer. His heart shattered with every step he took away, the finality of it settling into his bones like a weight that would never lift.

But then, just as he reached the door, he felt something. A hand, tentative and warm, brushed against his arm. The contact, the way Oscar’s fingers grazed his skin, sent a shock of panic through him. His breath hitched, and instinctively, he flinched away from the touch. The proximity, the tenderness, it was too much—it was everything he wanted, everything he feared.

Logan’s legs carried him faster, his pace quickening as he rushed toward the door, desperate to escape the overwhelming emotions threatening to consume him. The door handle was right there, but just as he reached for it, he heard it.

“Logan, please!”

Oscar’s voice, raw and filled with pain, echoed across the quiet space. It pierced through the silence, pulling at the very core of Logan’s being, and for the briefest moment, he hesitated. His hand hovered by the door, his heart twisting in his chest, but then the reality of what he had said and done came crashing back. He couldn’t stay, not when everything was already broken beyond repair.

Logan’s breath hitched as he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, but the sound of Oscar’s voice, the desperation and heartbreak in it, followed him.

“Logan, don’t go!” Oscar called, his voice cracking with emotion. “Please… please don’t leave me.”

But Logan kept walking, faster now, unable to stop the tears streaming down his face. He didn’t look back, couldn’t look back. Every step away from Oscar felt like he was leaving a piece of himself behind. And the pain of it—of everything he had just lost—was unbearable.

“Logan!” Oscar’s voice echoed once more, but the sound grew fainter and fainter as Logan moved further down the hall, his footsteps growing louder in the silence. The desperation in Oscar’s cry clung to him, gnawing at his insides, but Logan couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stay and be the one to break them both even further.

As he reached the end of the hallway, Logan’s breath was coming in shaky gasps. He pressed his hand against the wall, his body shaking, and let out a ragged sob. His heart was torn in two—one half wanted to run back, to apologize, to beg for forgiveness, but the other half, the part of him that believed he wasn’t worthy of Oscar’s love, couldn’t bring himself to do it.

He couldn’t face him again. Not like this. Not when he was so broken. And as the last remnants of Oscar’s plea echoed in his ears, Logan let the darkness of his own mind swallow him whole, the door to his future slamming shut behind him.

——

Alex’s chest clenched tightly, his breath catching as he tried to process Logan’s words. The heartache, the self-doubt, the feeling of being unworthy—Alex had been there, too. He had run from George once, out of fear that he wasn’t enough, that he couldn’t give him what he needed. And now, here was Logan, carrying the same burden, the same crushing weight of believing he wasn’t enough for the person he loved.

Without thinking, Alex stepped closer, his hand landing gently on Logan’s shoulder, the touch a reassurance, an anchor. “Logan, that’s—”

Logan’s eyes snapped up at the interruption, but the bitterness in his voice cut through the air. “But I think it’s too late. He’s probably moved on. It’s probably Lando now.” His voice wavered again, a sadness creeping in, and Alex could see the hope draining out of him with every word.

“No,” Alex shook his head firmly, stepping closer to close the gap between them. “I don’t believe that. I’ve seen the way Oscar looks at you. He’s not over you. You’re still the one he wants.”

Logan snorted, his eyes clouded with bitterness. “You don’t get it, Alex. He’s happy with Lando. He’s moved on. I’m just stuck here, alone, in my own head.”

The words were a gut punch, and Alex felt the familiar pang of fear—fear of losing something, someone, before he was ready to let go. He had been there, caught in the same web of self-doubt, too afraid to hope, too afraid to reach out. He had been the one to walk away from George, the one who had tried to convince himself that he wasn’t worthy of the love they shared. And now, here was Logan, at the same crossroads. But Alex wasn’t going to let him make the same mistake.

“You’re wrong,” Alex said, his voice stronger now, the weight of his own experience pushing him forward. “Oscar might look like he’s happy with Lando, but I see it, Logan. It’s not the same. I’ve been watching him, and I can tell. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. His laughter—it’s hollow. He’s not happy, not like he used to be. And when he looks at you…” Alex paused, locking eyes with Logan, “there’s so much more there than just pain. There’s longing. He still wants you. I can see it. I know what that looks like.”

Logan’s breath hitched, and Alex could see the flicker of hope, the smallest spark of something inside Logan. But it was buried under years of self-doubt, buried under layers of fear that Logan had built up to protect himself.

“What if I’ve waited too long?” Logan whispered, his voice cracked with uncertainty. “What if he doesn’t want me anymore?”

Alex squeezed his shoulders gently, his voice steady and full of conviction. “It’s not too late. I know what it feels like to think it’s over. I thought George and I were done for good, that everything we had was lost. But I fought for him. And it was worth it. You can fight for Oscar, too. Don’t let fear take him away from you.”

Logan looked down, his eyes brimming with unshed tears, his breath shaking. “I don’t know if I can,” he whispered.

“You can,” Alex said firmly, his voice filled with quiet assurance. “Because if you don’t try, you’ll regret it. And you’re stronger than you think. You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here. And so is Oscar. He’s just waiting for you to take that first step.”

Logan wiped his eyes, nodding slowly, the weight of Alex’s words settling in. “Okay. I’ll try. But… I don’t know if I can fix this.”

“You don’t have to fix everything all at once,” Alex said, his voice calm but unyielding. “Just take that first step

——

Logan stood outside the garage, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum. The air felt heavy, almost suffocating, as if the weight of his decision to confront Oscar had settled firmly on his shoulders. He had been pacing for the past few minutes, trying to summon the courage to approach Lando. His hands twitched nervously at his sides, and he wiped his palms on his racing suit, his thoughts racing even faster than the cars on the track.

Every voice in his head screamed that he was making a mistake, that he had waited too long, and that Oscar wouldn’t even want to hear him out. But another voice, quieter but far more persistent, told him he couldn’t back down now. He had to do this—for Oscar, for himself, for everything they’d left unspoken.

Logan spotted Lando talking to a couple of engineers nearby, his laugh cutting through the noise of the paddock. Lando looked carefree, so at ease, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside Logan. But that ease, that unwavering steadiness, was exactly why Logan needed him now.

Taking a deep breath, Logan approached him. His legs felt like lead, but he forced himself forward, his voice shaky as he called out, “Lando.”

Lando turned, his eyebrows raising slightly at the sight of Logan. “Hey, mate,” he greeted, a grin forming as he stepped away from the group. “What’s up?”

Logan hesitated, his throat tightening. He wasn’t used to asking for help, especially not like this. “I need a favor,” he managed to say, his voice tight.

Lando tilted his head, clearly intrigued. “A favor? For who?” His grin widened. “You know I’m always down for a favor. Spill.”

Logan shifted on his feet, his gaze darting away for a moment before he forced himself to meet Lando’s eyes. “I… I need to talk to Oscar. Just the two of us. Alone.”

Lando’s expression shifted, the amusement giving way to mild confusion. “Oscar?” he repeated, crossing his arms. “Why? I mean, you know he’s not exactly been... the easiest guy to approach lately.”

Logan flinched at that, the words hitting him harder than he expected. He wondered what Lando meant, what might have changed with Oscar since the last time they’d spoken—or rather, hadn’t spoken. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. “I know,” Logan muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please, just… bring him to me. I need to do this.”

Lando studied him for a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. Then, with a sigh, he nodded. “Alright. If you’re sure about this.” His tone was cautious, but there was a flicker of understanding in his gaze.

Logan managed a tight, grateful smile, his chest tight with nerves as Lando walked off toward the drivers’ area. Each second that passed felt like an eternity, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. His hands fidgeted at his sides, his breathing shallow as he tried to prepare himself for what was about to happen. He knew there was no going back now.

Minutes later, Lando returned with Oscar. Logan’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of Oscar—so close yet so far away. He hadn’t seen him like this in so long, not since their rookie season. The pain in his chest only deepened. Oscar looked different now—tired, guarded. His eyes flicked toward Logan, narrowing in surprise, before he met his gaze with a slow, uncertain frown.

“Logan?” Oscar’s voice was quieter than usual, yet it carried a weight that made Logan’s chest tighten. It wasn’t just a question—it was a warning.

Logan’s throat tightened at his full name coming out of Oscar’s mouth. Hearing it now felt like a blade slicing through the fragile threads of composure he was holding onto. “Oscar,” Logan started, his voice barely above a whisper. He took a shaky breath and forced himself to meet Oscar’s guarded gaze. “Can we… can we talk somewhere private?” His voice cracked slightly at the end, betraying the anxiety simmering just beneath the surface.

Oscar’s jaw clenched as he studied Logan, the tension between them almost palpable. His gaze flicked briefly to Lando, who had suddenly found great interest in his phone, then back to Logan. For a moment, Logan thought he might refuse.

But then Oscar gave a curt nod, the movement slow and deliberate. Without a word, he stepped aside and motioned for Logan to lead the way. The silence between them felt deafening as Logan started walking, his legs shaky as if the weight of what he was about to say threatened to pull him under.

They walked in silence, the tension between them palpable. It was so different now, so much heavier than it had ever been. It felt like they were walking in circles around something neither of them could name. Oscar’s eyes stayed on Logan, the kind of look that made Logan feel like he was being examined under a microscope, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet it. His eyes stayed fixed on the ground, his hands fidgeting nervously with his watch as the weight of their unspoken history pressed down on him.

They reached a quiet, secluded area away from the paddock, the sound of the crowd and the distant hum of the cars a mere buzz in the background. The silence that fell between them was deafening, thick with unsaid words, old wounds, and everything that had been left unresolved. It was suffocating.

Oscar’s eyes never left Logan, his gaze sharp, as if trying to make sense of what was happening, of why Logan had asked to speak with him after all this time. Logan could feel the weight of Oscar’s stare, could feel the way it burned into him, but he still couldn’t bring himself to look up.

Finally, Oscar broke the silence, his voice softer than Logan expected. “Why, Logan? Why now?”

The question hit Logan like a slap. His heart jolted, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he snapped his head up to meet Oscar’s eyes. It was like a shock to his system. Oscar’s gaze was raw—hurt, confused, and something else that Logan couldn’t quite name. And in that moment, everything stopped. The world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them, standing there, words hanging between them like a cloud of smoke.

Logan’s mouth opened, but no words came out. His mind was blank, and his chest felt like it was about to burst. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t say what he needed to say. He had been so sure of this moment, but now that it was here, it felt like everything was slipping through his fingers.

Oscar, his heart racing, could feel the crackle of electricity between them. His chest tightened with frustration, a storm of emotions swirling in him—hurt, betrayal, confusion. He couldn’t understand why Logan was suddenly here, acting like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t left him behind in Abu Dhabi, like that confession had never happened.

Oscar stood in front of Logan, the tension between them thick and almost unbearable. Logan’s gaze flicked away, unable to meet Oscar’s piercing eyes.

“What is it, Logan?” Oscar asked again, his voice low but edged with frustration. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, a shield against the vulnerability threatening to crack through. The familiar ache from all those unspoken words and unresolved emotions had settled in the pit of his stomach, making him feel both distant and raw at the same time. “Why did you want to talk to me? After everything—after Abu Dhabi—you just show up now, asking to talk like nothing happened?”

Logan opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His hands fidgeted anxiously by his sides, fingers twisting nervously as he struggled to find the right words, the words that had been buried beneath guilt and fear for so long. He looked at Oscar, his eyes searching, pleading for understanding, but the weight of the silence between them felt suffocating. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of hesitation, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Oscar’s eyes widened in confusion, the word hitting him like a cold gust of wind. “Sorry?” His brows furrowed, his heart beginning to race as something deep inside him twisted. He felt an unsettling mix of disbelief and anger coil in his chest. “Sorry for what, Logan?”

The ache that had never truly gone away—the one that started the moment Logan ran from him in Abu Dhabi, leaving him stranded in a whirlwind of confusion and hurt—tightened its grip on his chest. It was that same ache that had followed him through every sleepless night since, that had burned him from the inside out as he replayed their last moments over and over. But now, seeing Logan here, so visibly broken, so hesitant, something inside Oscar snapped.

“You’re sorry?” Oscar repeated, his voice rising, trembling with the force of unspoken pain. His jaw clenched, and the words felt too heavy in his mouth, but they spilled out anyway, raw and unfiltered. “You’re sorry? After everything?”

The anger, the hurt, the confusion—it all began to pour out of him, a flood that he had kept locked up for far too long. “You didn’t say a damn word to me in Abu Dhabi!” Oscar’s voice cracked as he shouted, the sound ripping through the tense air between them. “I told you I loved you, Logan. I told you, and you just ran.” His heart hammered in his chest, and the weight of that moment—of those words he had said so desperately, hoping for some kind of answer—hit him again. It felt like a punch to the gut, the rawness of it all seeping into his voice.

Logan’s eyes widened in shock at the outburst, his breath catching as he instinctively stepped back. The sting of Oscar’s raised voice hit him like a physical blow, knocking the wind out of him. He wasn’t used to this—wasn’t used to seeing Oscar like this, so unrestrained, so vulnerable, so angry. The sight of Oscar’s pain—unmasked, exposed—sent a sharp jolt of guilt through Logan’s chest, but the words to explain it, to make it right, still wouldn’t come.

Logan stumbled slightly, his feet unsteady as the intensity of Oscar’s emotions collided with his own. His chest tightened, his throat closing up, and he could feel the sting of tears just behind his eyes. The regret, the shame—it was all there, crashing over him in a tidal wave. But the words that had once come so easily in moments like these now felt like they were trapped somewhere deep inside him, unwilling to be voiced.

Oscar saw the flinch, saw how Logan’s face paled at the sound of his raised voice, and something in him twisted painfully. The anger in his chest burned even hotter, stoking the fire of all the unanswered questions and the years of hurt. But as he watched Logan stand there—broken, trembling, not fighting back—something softer, more vulnerable, began to creep in.

“Logan,” Oscar said, his voice quieter but no less pained. “Why did you run? I gave you everything. And you—” He paused, swallowing hard, as if the words themselves were too much to bear. “You couldn’t even tell me why. Why?”

Logan’s breath hitched, a tremor running through his body as he looked at Oscar, unable to speak. His lips parted, but no words came out. The guilt etched deep into his features spoke louder than anything he could have said. His shoulders slumped under the weight of Oscar’s pain, the heavy silence between them growing like a chasm that neither knew how to bridge.

The stillness stretched on, suffocating, as Oscar stood there, his chest tight and his mind racing. He wanted answers—he needed them—but the longer Logan remained silent, the more the emptiness inside him seemed to grow. He couldn’t fathom why Logan had left, why he’d chosen to walk away without a single explanation. The hurt and confusion that had been simmering inside him for so long began to boil over.

Oscar took a step closer, the distance between them shrinking ever so slightly. His hands clenched at his sides, his breath coming in shallow bursts as his eyes searched Logan’s face, desperate for something—anything—that could explain what had happened.

Logan’s chest tightened as the dam of fear, shame, and regret that he had built around himself began to crack. He could feel it, that suffocating pressure in his chest, the ache in his throat. The words had always been there, lingering on the edge of his consciousness, but he had never been brave enough to speak them. Until now. Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “I was scared.”

Oscar stopped, the shock evident on his face. His breath caught in his throat as he tried to process the words that hung in the air. “Scared?” His voice was hoarse, quiet with disbelief. “Scared of what?”

Logan’s eyes fluttered shut as the weight of his own confession threatened to crush him. The fear that had paralyzed him for so long rushed back, and his body trembled with the force of it. He opened his eyes, but couldn’t meet Oscar’s gaze. His voice quivered as he spoke, the vulnerability in his words raw and unprotected. “I was scared I wasn’t enough for you,” Logan admitted, the words spilling out in a rush, as if once they started, they couldn’t be stopped. “You deserve someone better. Someone who can give you everything. I didn’t think I could be that for you.”

Oscar’s expression shifted—anger giving way to something more complex, something softer, yet still edged with hurt. The words that Logan had spoken lingered in the air between them, and Oscar felt them sink into him like a heavy weight. He couldn’t understand how Logan had been so convinced of his inadequacy, how he could believe that Oscar—who had never asked for anything except for Logan to be real with him—wouldn’t accept him, flaws and all.

His voice cracked as he spoke, and the vulnerability in his tone was undeniable. “And you didn’t think I deserved the chance to decide that for myself?” Oscar’s eyes softened with pain as the question left his lips. “You didn’t think I deserved to choose if you were enough for me?”

Logan’s silence was deafening. His head dropped, and his hands trembled at his sides, unable to find the strength to do anything but stand there, lost in the weight of Oscar’s words.

“I’ve been so angry,” Oscar continued, his voice breaking under the weight of his own emotions. “So hurt. So… sad. Every single day since Abu Dhabi.” A tear slipped free, tracing a line down his cheek. He didn’t try to wipe it away, letting it fall as a silent testament to the pain he had carried alone. “But even after all of that… even after everything, I still love you, Logan.”

Logan froze at the words, his entire body locking in place as if they had physically struck him. The vulnerability in Oscar’s voice shattered the walls Logan had built around himself, leaving him raw and exposed. His breath hitched, and his chest felt tight, constricting with emotion that he couldn’t even begin to understand.

“You…” Logan stammered, the words barely leaving his mouth. His voice faltered, and he was unable to finish the thought. “You still love me?”

Oscar nodded slowly, his eyes not leaving Logan’s face, unwavering and full of an honesty that was too much to bear. “I never stopped.”

The weight of those words settled over Logan like a heavy blanket, suffocating yet strangely comforting. His breath quickened, but his body was frozen, caught between disbelief and a longing he had buried so deep. His mind raced to understand how it was possible—how after everything that had happened, Oscar could still love him, still want him.

But then, a shadow passed over Logan’s thoughts, a lingering fear that had been gnawing at him. Something Lando had said, a careless remark that had felt like a dagger. Logan opened his mouth, his voice quieter this time, tinged with hesitation. “Lando said you’ve been hard to approach lately,” he murmured, almost as if he was testing the waters, afraid of the answer.

Oscar’s face darkened, a flash of betrayal crossing his features before he let out a hollow, bitter laugh. The sound was sharp, as though he was trying to cut through the pain that still clung to him. “Of course, he did,” Oscar muttered, shaking his head as if the thought itself was absurd. “I wonder why, Logan. Could it be because I spent the past year trying to pretend like I wasn’t completely shattered?” His laugh broke, his voice thick with unshed tears, the weight of his isolation apparent in every syllable.

“Yeah,” Oscar continued, his voice trembling, strained by the raw emotion he could no longer hold back. “I’ve been hard to approach. I’ve been quieter... It doesn’t matter who’s talking to me because I could care less.” He looked at Logan now, his eyes burning with a sadness that threatened to consume him. “Because every single time I see you…” His hands clenched into fists, trembling with the effort to keep control, but his voice cracked as fresh tears welled in his eyes. “Every time I see you, Logan, I want to reach out. I want to grab your hand, pull you in, and just hold you.”

The words hit Logan like a punch to the gut. Oscar’s confession wasn’t just about what had been lost—it was about what still remained, what both of them had been too afraid to acknowledge. Logan’s heart pounded in his chest as he saw the truth in Oscar’s eyes—the longing, the vulnerability, the love that Oscar was too afraid to give voice to. But it was there, undeniable.

Oscar’s voice grew quieter, softer now, laced with pain as he continued. “I want to feel like it’s okay to want that again. But I didn’t think you wanted that. I didn’t think you wanted me.”

Logan’s heart shattered at the sight of Oscar’s raw vulnerability, his confession echoing in Logan’s chest like a hollow drum. Every word Oscar spoke seemed to chip away at the walls Logan had spent so long building around himself, each one leaving him feeling more exposed, more afraid. He wanted to speak, to say something—anything—that would fix this. But the words were stuck, lodged somewhere deep inside him, and all he could do was stand there, trembling.

Oscar scoffed, the sound bitter and sharp, cutting through the silence like a knife. “Of course, you have nothing to say,” he muttered, his voice quivering with restrained emotion. He turned away from Logan, his steps heavy and slow, each one carrying the weight of unspoken hurt. “Why did I even think this would be different?”

Logan’s heart shattered as he watched Oscar’s retreating figure, the raw pain in his chest making it hard to breathe. The vulnerability in Oscar’s voice—the sharpness, the weight of everything he had been holding back—hit him harder than he had ever expected. It felt like everything was slipping away, just like it had in Abu Dhabi.

His words felt like a punch to Logan’s gut, but he couldn’t let him go. Not again.

Oscar started walking away, his steps slow, deliberate, each one heavier than the last. The space between them felt like an ocean, and Logan couldn’t bear the thought of losing him again. His feet moved before his mind could catch up, and before he knew it, he had grabbed Oscar’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.

Oscar froze, his body tense, and for the first time in months, they were touching again. The sensation made Logan’s heart race. It felt like everything had stopped, and all he could focus on was the way Oscar’s body reacted to the contact—like he hadn’t expected it, but part of him needed it, just as much as Logan did.

“Wait, please,” Logan whispered, his voice barely audible, choked with emotion.

Oscar’s shoulders rose and fell with uneven breaths, his back still turned, but the tension in his body was palpable. “What?” he asked sharply, his voice breaking as if the effort to hold it all together was becoming too much.

Logan swallowed hard, his throat thick with unshed tears. He felt the warmth of Oscar’s skin beneath his fingertips, the simple connection almost too much to bear. He let his hand drop slowly to his side, but the ache inside him only grew stronger. The tears fell freely now, each one a silent confession, a release for everything he had been carrying.

“I love you,” Logan whispered, the words barely escaping his lips, fragile as the breath he took between each one.

Oscar stilled in front of him, his body rigid, his breath catching sharply in his chest. It felt like time had stopped, the moment suspended between them as Oscar slowly turned his head. His expression was unreadable, and for a moment, Logan thought he might retreat again, might pull away as he had so many times before. But Oscar didn’t. He stayed still, listening, waiting.

“What?” Oscar’s voice was soft, like he couldn’t quite believe what he had heard.

“I love you,” Logan repeated, louder this time, though his voice wavered with emotion. His chest tightened as he forced the words out, each one a piece of the weight he had carried for so long. “I’ve loved you since our karting days. And I’ve been an idiot—I’ve been scared, stupid, selfish. But I’ve always loved you, Oscar. Always.”

Oscar’s chest tightened as he processed the words, his eyes wide with disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite grasp the truth of what Logan was saying. His pulse raced in his ears, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to react. He didn’t know whether to hold on or to pull away, whether he was ready to trust again.

But then, the rawness of Logan’s confession broke through everything—through the anger, through the hurt, through the long months of silence. It shattered the walls Oscar had been desperately trying to maintain, and in that moment, he let go of his fear, his pain. He let the truth sink in.

Oscar turned fully to face Logan now, his heart pounding so hard in his chest he could barely breathe. His eyes flickered over Logan’s tear-streaked face, taking in the sincerity, the rawness of everything he had said, everything he had kept hidden for so long. For a moment, neither of them moved. The unspoken words hung heavily in the space between them, too much to say and yet somehow everything was said. The world outside of them ceased to exist. There was only the two of them, standing at the crossroads of something that could either heal them or destroy them.

Oscar stepped forward slowly, almost cautiously, unsure of what to do or say. His mind raced with a million thoughts, but the rawness of the moment froze him in place. Logan had just grabbed him, but Oscar couldn’t help but wonder if it was driven by adrenaline, a reflex born from the deep well of emotion between them. He remembered the last time he reached for Logan—when he had tried to pull him close, only for Logan to pull away, flinching as though his touch might break him completely. The memory of that rejection stung, yet the thought of walking away from Logan again was unbearable.

Oscar hesitated for only a moment, standing there in the quiet weight of their shared pain. Then, without overthinking, without second-guessing himself, he reached out. His hand, steady but gentle, found Logan’s trembling one.

Logan didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away. For the first time in what felt like forever, Logan allowed Oscar’s touch. He simply stood there, body quaking with emotions that had been buried for far too long, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs that wracked his frame.

Oscar felt his heart break at the sight. Every sob, every tremor that passed through Logan’s body, tore at him. It was as though the weight of the pain they had both carried finally settled between them, too heavy for either of them to bear alone. Without thinking, without a second’s hesitation, Oscar pulled Logan closer, his arms wrapping around him in a desperate, comforting embrace.

Logan’s breath hitched as he buried his face in Oscar’s chest. His body was like a fragile shell, trembling under the weight of everything he had held in for so long. His tears came freely now, the dam finally breaking, his sobs growing louder, more uncontrollable as he clung to Oscar like a lifeline.

Oscar held him tighter, feeling the warmth of Logan’s body against his, the rawness of the moment consuming him. He didn’t say anything at first, just let Logan cry, let the silence between them speak louder than words ever could. His hands, steady and soothing, rubbed up and down Logan’s back, tracing the familiar path like he had done so many times before.

“It’s okay,” Oscar whispered, his voice low and thick with emotion. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He kept repeating it, like a mantra, each word a promise—a vow that no matter how much pain they had suffered, no matter how many mistakes had been made, he would stay. He would stay for Logan, always.

Logan’s sobs began to slow, but his body remained stiff, like he didn’t know how to release the tension, how to let himself feel safe again. Oscar didn’t pull away, didn’t try to fix him—he just held him, his heart aching for the broken man in his arms. And as Logan’s sobs gradually quieted, Oscar’s words became softer, more intimate, like a secret shared only between the two of them.

“I’m here,” Oscar repeated, his voice barely a whisper against Logan’s ear. “And I always will be. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

”I’m so sorry,” Logan choked out, his voice breaking with every word, the apology feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds. His body trembled violently, as though the words themselves were suffocating him. “I didn’t know how to fix it. I thought I was protecting you. I thought I was doing what was best for you.”

Oscar’s chest tightened at the sight of Logan so vulnerable, so broken. His heart ached for him— for the fear and guilt that had held him captive for so long. Without thinking, Oscar’s grip on Logan tightened, pulling him even closer, unwilling to let go. His own emotions bubbled up, but he refused to break, not now. “You don’t have to fix anything,” Oscar whispered, his voice raw and thick, cracking under the weight of everything he had been holding in for so long. “You just have to be here. Don’t run from me anymore.”

The words were a plea, a desperate cry for Logan to stop pushing him away, to stop pretending like they hadn’t both lost something precious. Oscar’s voice was softer now, the anger from before replaced with the tenderness that had always been there, buried under layers of hurt. He wanted so badly to believe that they could rebuild what had been broken, that they could finally stop the endless cycle of hurt between them.

Logan’s sobs slowed, but he didn’t pull away. He remained in Oscar’s arms, his body still trembling, still filled with the weight of everything he had carried for too long. For the first time in a long time, Logan allowed himself to feel comfort, to feel safe. He hadn’t let anyone hold him like this in so long, not since everything had fallen apart. But Oscar was here, holding him steady, and Logan clung to him as though his very survival depended on it.

Oscar’s heart swelled with a mix of sadness and something more—something he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time. He rested his chin on top of Logan’s head, his breath shaky, eyes closing as the silence between them stretched, filled only with the sound of Logan’s shallow breaths. For a moment, the world around them faded away. The anger, the frustration, the pain—those things would come later. They would need to be addressed, worked through, eventually. But for now, all Oscar needed was for Logan to understand one thing: that he wasn’t alone.

Oscar’s hands moved gently, soothingly, up and down Logan’s back. Each touch was a silent promise, an assurance that despite everything that had happened, despite the heartache they had both suffered, Oscar was still here. He hadn’t walked away. He never would.

When Logan finally pulled back slightly, his tear-streaked face meeting Oscar’s, the vulnerability in his eyes was almost too much for Oscar to bear. Logan’s voice cracked as he whispered, “I never wanted to hurt you.” The words hung heavy between them, raw and painful, the weight of them sinking into Oscar’s chest.

Oscar’s heart clenched, and he instinctively reached up, his thumb gently wiping away the last of Logan’s tears. His touch was tender, almost reverent, as if he were afraid that even the smallest movement might break the fragile moment between them. “I know,” Oscar said softly, his voice quiet but filled with understanding. “But you can’t keep running. Not from me. Not from us.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and as he spoke, something deep inside him loosened, a crack in the dam of emotions he had been holding back. The word us felt like a lifeline, one he had been desperately clinging to, even when he had tried to let go. For so long, he had been silently holding on to the hope of something—of them—and in that moment, he realized how badly he needed this connection. His hand moved slowly to cup Logan’s cheek, his thumb tracing the wetness of Logan’s skin as if trying to erase the sorrow there. “I never stopped loving you, Logan. Not once.”

Logan’s breath hitched in his chest, his eyes widening in shock. Oscar’s words felt like a balm to the raw wound in his heart, a promise that things could still be mended. For a moment, everything felt like it could fall into place again. But it was different this time—deeper, more fragile. Logan felt a familiar warmth flood through him, the kind he hadn’t felt in so long. But this time, it wasn’t just love. It was pain, regret, and a hope that he wasn’t sure how to hold on to.

Oscar leaned in slowly, his lips hovering near Logan’s ear as he whispered, his voice trembling, “I’ve been so angry, hurt, and sad ever since you left. But I still love you.” The words were thick with everything unsaid. “I still do.”

Logan’s hand found Oscar’s, trembling as he held it gently, the silence between them heavy with unspoken emotion. His own tears continued to fall, but now they were more than just sorrow—they were the release of everything he had kept locked away. His chest ached, and his mind raced with all the things he had never had the courage to say. But when he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “What about Lando?”

Oscar’s breath hitched, the mention of Lando catching him completely off guard. His heart clenched, a strange ache building in his chest, and for a fleeting moment, he felt a pang of betrayal—though it was more complicated than he could articulate. He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching Logan’s face, trying to understand. Then, before he could respond, Logan’s voice broke through again, soft but laden with uncertainty. “Lando… I thought you were in love with Lando after everything.”

Oscar’s chest tightened at the thought. His voice strained, trying to hold back the hurt that threatened to rise. He let out a bitter laugh, the sound almost hollow. “What? No.” His words were sharp, but there was an underlying sadness. “I’ve been trying not to punch him for months, honestly.”

Logan winced, the reality of his actions hitting him harder than he expected. “I didn’t mean for things to get this complicated,” he said, his voice full of regret. “I was just so scared of what we could’ve been… and what I could never be for you.”

Oscar’s expression softened despite the bitterness that lingered in his chest. He looked at Logan, his heart aching for him, for both of them. He let out a soft, incredulous laugh, trying to shake off the last remnants of the anger that still simmered beneath the surface. “You think you’re not enough for me?” His voice was laced with disbelief. “Logan, every time I saw you, I wanted to reach out, grab your hand, and pull you close.” His voice faltered for a moment. “But I was afraid too—afraid you’d run again, or that I wouldn’t be enough for you either.”

Logan stood still, his mind reeling with Oscar’s words, each one cutting through the walls he had built around himself. He had thought for so long that he was the one unworthy, the one who couldn’t be enough for Oscar. But hearing those words, feeling Oscar’s hand still cupping his cheek, he realized how wrong he had been.

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, the weight of everything they had both endured settling in. When he opened them again, his gaze locked with Oscar’s, and in that quiet moment, everything seemed to fall into place. The anger, the hurt, the confusion—they were still there, but they no longer felt like the driving force between them. What mattered now was that they were together, standing face to face, with no more barriers left between them.

“I’m sorry,” Logan whispered again, this time the words coming from a place of deep understanding, not just guilt. “I’ve been so afraid of losing you, I forgot what it felt like to hold on.”

Oscar’s expression softened, his thumb gently brushing over Logan’s cheekbone once more. “You don’t need to apologize,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a tenderness that made Logan’s heart ache. “We’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

A silence fell between them, but it was no longer uncomfortable. It was a quiet understanding, a silent promise that they were willing to face everything together, no more running, no more hiding. Oscar reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from Logan’s forehead, his hand lingering there as their eyes met once more.

“I love you, Logan,” Oscar said, his voice unwavering now. “I’ve always loved you.”

Logan’s heart swelled, his breath catching in his throat as the weight of Oscar’s words settled in. “I love you too,” he murmured, the confession as simple as it was profound.

And then, without a word, Oscar leaned in, his lips meeting Logan’s in a soft, lingering kiss. It was gentle at first, both of them testing the waters, hesitant but hopeful. But as the kiss deepened, all the pain, the longing, and the years of silence melted away. It was just them, finally finding each other again, not just with their words but with every part of themselves. When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads resting together, they stayed there, savoring the quiet peace of the moment.

“No more running,” Oscar whispered, his hands gently pulling Logan closer.

“No more running,” Logan agreed, his voice full of relief and love. And in that moment, they both knew it was true. Whatever came next, they would face it together.

——

The next race weekend was buzzing with excitement, but for Alex, it was a quieter kind of excitement as he spotted Logan and Oscar together. They were standing off to the side, just outside the paddock, hand in hand, laughing like they didn’t have a care in the world. Logan was animatedly talking about something, his hands moving as he spoke, his face lit up with a smile that Alex hadn’t seen in a long time. Oscar, on the other hand, was looking at him with such soft affection in his eyes that Alex almost felt like he was intruding on something deeply personal. It was clear that, whatever had happened between them, they had worked it out—and there was no mistaking the joy radiating off both of them.

A grin tugged at the corner of Alex’s lips, and he found himself smiling without even thinking. It was impossible not to. The way Logan was talking, so carefree and happy, and the way Oscar looked at him—it was almost too sweet to watch. He couldn’t help but feel happy for them, for the way they had found each other again.

Alex turned his head, still smiling, when he felt a hand slip onto his waist. He didn’t need to look to know it was George, who had just walked up beside him.

“They sorted it out, huh?” George said, his voice warm and knowing, as his hand gave a gentle squeeze to Alex’s side.

Alex chuckled, nodding. “Yeah. It’s good to see them like that.” He glanced back over at Logan and Oscar, the pair still wrapped up in their own world. He watched as Oscar’s gaze softened even further while Logan was speaking, completely absorbed in the conversation. The way Oscar looked at him—it was like he couldn’t take his eyes off Logan, like he was in love with every little thing he did. Alex smiled even more at the sight.

“It’s so cute,” Alex said, his voice softening. He didn’t even realize how much warmth he was putting into his words. He’d never seen Oscar this way before, and it was clear how much he adored Logan.

George laughed quietly beside him. “Yeah, it’s a bit ridiculous how much he looks like a lovesick puppy.” He leaned in a little closer, his voice teasing now. “I don’t know how Logan puts up with him.”

Alex just shook his head, still grinning. “Lucky guy,” he murmured.

Just then, Lando appeared, walking up behind them with a grin plastered across his face. He paused, eyeing Oscar and Logan for a moment before raising an eyebrow and looking back at George. “You see that?” Lando asked with a smirk, jerking his chin toward the two. “It kind of looks like when you and Alex sorted it out, doesn’t it?”

George turned to Lando, his expression deadpan. “Shut up, Lando,” he muttered, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Alex could feel his cheeks flush slightly but didn’t let it show too much. “We’re not that bad,” he said, though the warmth in his smile betrayed the slight embarrassment he was trying to hide.

Lando only grinned wider. “Sure, sure,” he said, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “Just saying.”

Alex smiled again, his hand resting lightly on George’s. For a moment, they both stood there, watching Logan and Oscar as they shared another laugh, oblivious to the world around them. Logan’s head tipped back slightly as he laughed at something Oscar said, and Oscar just stared at him, completely smitten, his smile soft and adoring.

For the first time in a long time, Alex felt like everything was falling into place—like the world was exactly as it should be. The warmth of George’s hand at his waist grounded him, and he let out a soft sigh, content.

“They deserve this,” Alex said softly, his gaze not leaving Logan and Oscar.

“They do,” George agreed, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to Alex’s temple. “They really do.”

“Ew, lovebirds,” Lando fake-gagged behind them, but his smile gave him away. “Thank God they got their shit together. Oscar was like a ticking time bomb. I was genuinely worried he was going to punch me. He almost has before.”

Alex and George laughed at that, their chuckles blending with the sounds of the bustling paddock. Lando looked particularly pleased with himself for lightening the mood, even as he pretended to look offended by their laughter.

And for a brief moment, the chaos of the race weekend faded. All the noise and pressure seemed to melt away, leaving only the quiet certainty that sometimes, the hardest things—whether it was mending a broken relationship or finding your place in the world—were worth fighting for.