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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 7 months

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i can’t close my eyes alone ; satoru gojo

synopsis; arguing with satoru is always exhausting. bitter and spiteful, you leave him in the bedroom and go find another place to sleep; your couch would be the obvious choice, but where’s the fun in that?

word count; 4.2k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, f!reader (he calls you ’stubborn girl’ n ’pretty girl’ but other than that it’s gn!!), toru and reader have a fight, reader sleeps in the bathtub (don’t ask it came to me in a vision), hurt/comfort, he's doing his best :<, fluff!!

a/n; smth abt …. arguing w satoru gojo ……. idk why the concept has possessed me in the way that it has i just think hurt/comfort w toru is <33

okay, so maybe this wasn’t the best idea you’ve ever had.

in your defense, you weren’t exactly thinking straight; fueled by spite, eager to get far away, and admittedly a little curious as to how it would feel, the decision was made almost purely on impulse. and stupidity, probably.

it’s not comfortable at all.

maybe it could be. maybe if you had just a couple more pillows, a fluffier blanket with a cozier texture. maybe if you had something soft to put beneath you, another blanket or a comforter or — whatever. maybe if you had a warm cup of tea to drink. maybe if you had something warm to hug to sleep.

or someone.

(aw, what’s wrong? can’t sleep without me after all, huh?)

— nope. you are not going back there.

just the thought of how smug he’d get makes you bite the inside of your cheek, increasing your already growing frustrations. in desperate search of a more comfortable position, you nuzzle further into the pillow, but nothing works.

your limbs feel stiff, and your bones can’t seem to relax, a discomforting numbness seeping into your spine. and it’s cold. the feeling of porcelain against your skin keeps you tossing and turning, akin to an icy winter breeze, caressing the apple of your cheek.

still, there’s simply no other option. under absolutely no circumstances can you turn back now. not when you’ve come this far, when you can almost begin to sense an inkling of sleep’s familiar call, the drowsy flutter of your eyelashes.

it takes time, and perseverance — but eventually, the road to sleep does seem to brighten on the horizon. crawling closer and closer, lulling you into its embrace, while all you can do is lie there. completely at its mercy, exhaustion ghosting your subconscious, eyelids ripe with fatigue.

slowly but surely, your consciousness begins to fade. tenderly, soothingly, like a curtain over your eyes being slowly unveiled. you can almost taste it, on the tip of your tongue; sleep is only a moment away.

soon, you’ll fall into that cozy abyss. and then you’ll open your eyes, and the morning sun will greet you. it’ll be a new day, a better day.

so you keep your eyes closed, and sink a little further into the plush of your pillow, and —

the light flickers on.

in the state you’re in, tiptoeing on the edge between dreams and reality, so tantalizingly close to falling asleep, the brightness is positively grating. even through your shut eyes, it invades your senses — a glow so irritating it’s startling. the bathroom lights mock you with their shine, illuminating your figure, curled up in the tiny bathtub.

the whine you let out is involuntary, coaxed out from deep within your throat, as the uncomfortable sensation rouses you from your would-be slumber.

satoru raises an unimpressed eyebrow, where he stands by the door.

chest bare, wearing only a flimsy pair of sleeping shorts, he looks at you with tired eyes. exasperation painted onto his dishevelled features. then he clicks his tongue, voice raspy and rich with fatigue.

”you’re ridiculous.”

the judgemental tilt of his voice only makes the annoyance in your veins bubble up once more, just when it was finally about to dwindle. eyes squeezed shut to escape the burn of the artificial light, you let out a sharp wince, burrowing your face deeper into the pillow.

”turn it off!”

ignoring your angry plea, satoru makes his way over to you. with long, slow strides, vaguely uncoordinated steps. just a little clumsy. he plops down on the edge of the bathtub, and gazes down at you.

you’re lying on your side, arms wrapped around a fluffy cushion, knees against your chest. under the illumination of the bathroom lights, he can see you clearly; messy hair that he yearns to ruffle, a crease between your brows that he yearns to smooth away.

you look awfully uncomfortable, to no one’s surprise. he isn’t sure what else you were expecting.

despite the sting of the bright lights, you force your eyes open — only to give satoru a halfhearted glare, an attempt at appearing intimidating. though you somehow doubt it’ll work.

resting his jaw on the heel of his palm, satoru tilts his head. soft locks of white hair follow the movement, falling over his eyes, a little more tousled than usual. like he’s been tossing and turning, sprawled out on the bedroom mattress.

and, just like you suspected, the dirty look you send his way doesn’t seem to scare him off. not even in the slightest. if anything, you think you catch a flicker of lazy amusement dancing through his eyes. and it irks you, it does — an itch beneath your skin, a taste of irritation on your tongue.

because satoru is looking at you like you’re somehow in the wrong, here, like you’re the one acting out. as if he isn’t the reason you’re here in the first place.

at this point, you barely even remember what the fight was about. too sleep-deprived to recall it properly, too stressed to make a genuine attempt. all you remember is getting ready for bed, and the familiar sensation of frustration prickling your skin. you remember his pretty little grin, his teasing remarks and refusal to take you seriously.

remember the way he laughed, when you told him what was bothering you; the crinkle of his eyes, the warmth of his hands reaching over to squish your cheeks. a little patronizing.

(there was no malicious intent behind it, that much you know. he probably just wanted to lighten the mood. but it irked you, all the same. hurt you, maybe. just a little bit.)

then you remember storming out. grabbing a blanket and pillow and telling him to sleep on his own, if that’s how he was going to be. the words felt cold as they left your mouth, little breathy icicles. and then you left.

which is why you’re here, right now. curled up in your goddamn bathtub, for some reason that still escapes you, trying desperately to get even a wink of sleep without your boyfriend there to help.

and that’s also why satoru is here, back a tad slouched as he sits on the edge of the bathtub, looking at you like you’re some misbehaving cat. blinking slowly, drowsily, dragged down by the fatigue clinging to his eyelashes.

(he can’t sleep, either.)

”you’re really gonna sleep in there?” he sighs, after a moment’s pause. any honest concern in his voice is almost entirely overshadowed by the sense of admonition that follows it.

a scoff falls from your lips, sharp like a razorblade. ”yes,” you deadpan, shifting to lie on your stomach, hiding away from his insistent view. ”i was sleeping just fine before you barged in here.”

satoru shoots you a look, thoroughly unimpressed, entirely unconvinced of your blatant lie. ”you’re being dumb,” he huffs. ”at least sleep on the couch.”

”i don’t wanna hear that from you,” comes a hiss, low and disgruntled. a growing irritation. ”and i’m comfortable where i am.”

another dissatisfied huff. why are you being so irrational? he just doesn’t get it. scrambling for excuses, satoru tries his hand at another tactic.

”you’ll hurt your back.”

another little scoff. oh, so now he suddenly cares? you can’t believe him.

”so what?”

a moment passes. satoru bites his lip, teeth sinking softly into the flesh; a little pang of ache, but it’s nothing compared to the twist of discomfort in his chest. you’re making this more difficult than it has to be, he thinks. always so stubborn.

what is he supposed to say? how is he supposed to convince you to come back to bed, when you’re already so set on denying him?

god, he’s tired. he just wants to sleep, close his jaded eyes. just wants to not have to think, for a couple hours, curled up with the only person who makes him feel safe. just wants to dream in soft shapes.

but if you aren’t there, then…

a deep sigh. weary, annoyed. ”c’mon,” he coaxes, blinking sluggishly. ”you know you won’t be able to fall asleep without me. can’t we just make up already?”

your nails dig into the fabric of your blanket. every word he says only seems to deepen the sense of irritation plaguing your sleep-deprived mind.

it makes you want to shut him out, bury your head in the soft sheets and forget about everything else. he keeps acting like you’re just overreacting, like you wanted to have an argument. like he wasn’t the one who made you upset and then laughed at you about it.

”i don’t need you to fall asleep,” you grumble, muffled by the pillow in your grasp, arms tightening around it. nuzzling deeper into the soft velvet comfort.

satoru’s fingers twitch, as if urging him to pull you close. he almost glares at the cushion in your arms, that you’re hugging so fondly, putting all your body weight on — snuggling into it in search of comfort and warmth.

(that should be his chest.)

the gears in his head turn, slowly and mechanically, as he brings a hand up to card through his hair.

satoru hates seeing you so upset, so far away from him. having to watch you close yourself off, not allowing him to be near, soothe you and take care of you. kiss all your worries away. that’s all he wants to do, everything he needs to keep himself whole, to keep himself from being devoured by an exhaustion he’s lived with for as long as he can remember.

a strong frustration gnaws at his conscience. a certain desperation.

a big, heavy sigh leaves his lips. it bounces off the walls of the bathroom, the white tiles and shiny mirror, as he drags it out. almost childishly. then he’s angling his body to face you properly, big hands resting on his knees, a determined gaze set on your figure.

”look, i’m sorry,” he starts, rigid and earnest. blinking once, twice, chasing away the drowsy weight of his eyelids. ”i shouldn’t have laughed.”

your ears perk up.

shifting to your side as if hoping to hear him better, you peek up at him through half-lidded eyes. almost in disbelief, a kind of hope sprouting in the corners of your dilated pupils.

is he genuinely going to apologize, you wonder? admit that he was in the wrong? does he actually feel bad?

a moment passes. slow, drawn out, until satoru’s voice spills into the air again.

”there. i apologized,” he exhales, a little gruff. annoyed. ”now will you please just come to bed?”

…

wow.

okay, nevermind. you hope the ceiling fan falls on him.

beneath your skin, a mellow kind of anger bubbles up, blood slowly coming to a boiling point. he’s not sorry at all. of course he isn’t. you were stupid to think he’d actually give you a sincere apology, stupid to think he’d do the one thing that would actually make you want to fall back into his comforting embrace. stupid, stupid.

clenching your teeth, nails digging into the velvet fabric of the pillow, your eyelids flutter shut once more. only this time, you don’t plan on opening them again — at least not until morning comes. not until you see the sunkissed tiles of the bathroom, until the ache inside your chest has passed.

”satoru,” you enunciate, frigid and final. ”just let me sleep. we can talk tomorrow.” a beat. the tiniest grumble resounds from your lips, tinged with exhaustion. ”i’m too tired for this.”

under his breath, satoru winces. that palpable fatigue in your words sends a tremor running through his chest, discomforting, a shiver of his heart. you won’t look at him anymore, and the hint of finality in your tone makes him feel slightly dejected.

god, he’s awful at this. sincerity has never been his strong suit. he’s gotten better, lately, but it’s still so very foreign.

he didn’t mean to make you angry, didn’t mean to upset you. didn’t mean for the lilt of his voice to make his apology sound insincere. but that’s still what happened.

and satoru isn’t quite sure what to do.

he’s tired. eyes heavy with lost sleep, glimpses of would-be nightmares he knows he’d have were he to fall asleep right now. an anxious lump has long since formed in the back of his throat, and he misses you. misses your presence, your warmth. misses the feeling of having you close, the knowledge that you haven’t left yet.

(without you, he can’t —)

a sigh. soft, and resigned, flowing from his lips.

the inner turmoil in satoru’s mind begins to fade, slowly but surely, smoothed away by the sight of you. bundled up in a blanket too small to cover you properly, lying in that cold and cramped bathtub, discomfort evident in your features. sadness dripping from the bitter words you grace him with.

so out of reach, too far for him to follow, a boundary he wants to cross more than anything. but something about that meek expression makes him falter, makes his heart twist and turn inside his ribcage.

(he knows that you’re tired, too.)

so satoru swallows his pride.

the words are spoken in a whisper, hushed, through a voice so low you wouldn’t hear it if the silence of the bathroom wasn’t so suffocating. a soft lilt of his voice, bare and raw. meek, in a way that makes him want to crawl under a rock and die. but it’s there, and he lets you hear it; that soft little truth.

”… i can’t sleep without you.”

satoru doesn’t look at you. his confession rings in your ears, laced together with a softness you’ve come to associate with warm spring mornings and rooms so dark you can’t see his face. moments in which satoru feels safe. safe enough to be sincere.

— inevitably, your heart begins to soften.

(he’s trying. it’s difficult for him, but he’s really trying. sincerity and honesty are things that have been used against him all his life, so it’s no wonder he’d be scared.)

it’s very hard to stay mad at him, when he sounds like that. when his words come out sounding a little too much like a plea, a silent call for help.

with hesitance, you allow your eyes to flutter open, shifting a little to get a better look at him. he’s there, staring into space — the man you’ve grown to love so dearly. his tousled white hair, those slightly forlorn eyes. the vague darkness beneath them, slightly puffy skin. that tired, tired expression.

satoru taps the edge of the tub with the pads of his fingers, absentmindedly. index finger, middle finger, ring finger, over and over.

then, at last, he meets your gaze. and you think he swallows down a gulp, before smiling — it’s a pretty smile, somewhat tiny. a little sheepish, but awfully sincere. awfully satoru.

he tilts his head, gazing into your eyes with a tenderness that melts your heart to the marrow.

”… please?”

a second passes. then two.

soft and melodic, your heartbeat resounds in your ears, akin to a lullaby. like the call of a siren, coaxing you into giving in. and you’re weak, you realize, so very weak. just a smile and a tilt of his head, and you’re rendered utterly helpless.

(he’s just too pretty.)

without fully realizing it yourself, you’ve begun to move, dragging yourself up with sluggish motions. blanket still draped over your shoulders, and pillow snug against your chest, you blink. drowsily, slowly. a little meekly.

and satoru brightens.

it’s visible, in the way he physically perks up, back straightening, smile finally reaching his aquamarine eyes. a blend between hope and affection sprouts in them, slathered over with something honeyed.

a soft grin blooms on his lips, and he opens his arms wide — silently beckoning you to fall into his embrace. a raspy coo tiptoes on his tongue.

”c’mere.”

before you can make a move to do so, satoru leans over. scooping you up with ease, as if you weigh absolutely nothing, tucking you into his warm embrace. smothering you in his cushiony chest.

almost instinctively, your arms go to wrap around his neck, cheek smushed against the warm skin of his shoulder. if you strain your ears, you think you can hear the soft patter of his heartbeat. he smells of the tiramisu you ate before going to bed, and just a hint of expensive cologne. he smells of comfort.

satoru is soft, and warm, and everything you need right now. lulling you back into that cozy, sleepy state. your very own personal dose of melanin.

with a big palm on the small of your back, satoru keeps you pressed up against his chest, as if you could change your mind and try to escape at any moment. he stands up, still holding you, and hikes your legs around his waist. breathing out a satisfied hum, before turning on his heel.

satoru smiles, and presses a kiss to the crown of your head. ”let’s get you back to bed, baby.”

after turning the bathroom lights off, he begins to walk to your shared bedroom, still carrying you with one arm. always so strong and reliable. you know for a fact that he’s not going to drop you, so you opt to close your tired eyes; stretching out your limbs, lazily, releasing a quiet yawn that makes his lips curl up.

despite your lingering frustration, you find yourself nuzzling into the crook of his neck — and satoru coos, so painfully soft that you barely even hear it. the restlessness inside his own chest washed away, by the familairity of your body against his.

and before you know it, he’s dropped you down on the mattress. gently, but still enough to make you feel a little jostled, so close to falling asleep in his arms. he drags the blanket up to cover you, tucking you in; this one is bigger, with a fluffier texture, enough to cover you both with ease.

smiling softly at the sight of you all cozy, content in the knowledge that you’re finally comfortable, satoru crawls beneath the blanket and takes his rightful place beside you. eyes crinkled at the corners, rich with affection.

two strong arms reach around your waist, to pull you flush against him, until your head meets his chest and you can hear the soft thrumming of his heartstrings. then he sighs, in pure bliss, thoroughly content. melting into your embrace, rubbing his cheek against the side of your head, nuzzling into the warmth that seeps from your body to his.

he runs his big hands down your back, affectionately, rubbing circles into your skin. coaxing you into melting a little, too.

”see, isn’t this much better?” he smiles, a little cheeky. such a tease.

”… the bathtub was fine.”

a chuckle rumbles through his chest, rich with fondness. his hand goes to card through your hair, nimble fingers smoothing down your scalp and running through the soft strands. every touch gentle, full of care. every word soaked in a syrupy sweetness.

”stubborn girl.”

despite your best wishes, you’re too tired to bite back the blissful sigh that leaves your lips. a part of you still wants to protest, to push him away —

but then you start leaning into his touch. helpless to his warm hands, his soothing voice. satoru is just a little too good at making you melt. so good that you finally begin to let your guard down, nuzzling into his bare skin, sinking a little further into the mattress.

and satoru stifles a coo.

”honestly,” he sighs, equal parts exasperated and amused. ”sleeping in the bathtub… you’re so silly.”

before you have a chance to respond, he’s pulling back — ever so slightly, just to get a better look at your face. arms looped around his neck, you blink up at him with droopy eyes, and he can’t resist the dopey grin that sneaks its way onto his lips. doesn’t even begin to try, when you look so unbearably sweet.

unable to stop himself, he broaches the distance between you, leaning close to kiss the top of your nose. and you squeeze your eyes shut at the gesture, face scrunching up, but it only makes him chuckle. smiling, honey-sweet, he admires your sleepy pout. soaks up every soft little grumble that slips from your lips.

his hand comes to cradle your cheek, thumb smoothing down your cheekbone. just gazing at you, taking you in, every single contour of your face. there is only adoration in his eyes. something silently delighted, that seeps into his words, his raspy voice.

”my pretty, pretty girl.”

a heat rushes to your cheeks. looking up at him, into those lovesick eyes, you can’t help but grow flustered.

he looks so content.

all you manage is a weak furrow of your brows, pressing a palm against his bare skin. softly, as if pushing him away, forehead meeting his chest with a soft bonk. hiding away, so he won’t see how much his words affect you.

”lemme sleep, toru…” you mumble, stifling a yawn.

unfortunately, your boyfriend is not one to give in so easily. before long, his fingertips are trailing across the skin of your jaw, coaxing you into lifting your chin. and you’re too sleepy to resist — practically melting, as he begins to smear openmouthed kisses all over your face. all you can do is close your eyes, attempting to ignore the sound of his exaggerated mwahs, frowning in a silent disapproval that you know you don’t actually mean.

satoru notices it, though. he always does.

”you still mad at me, baby?” he asks, in a way that sounds a little like he’s cooing at you. there’s a teasing tilt to his voice, but it’s also a genuine question. your frown deepens.

averting your gaze with a soft huff, even as he cradles your jaw with his slender fingers, a pout plays at your lips. under his kind eyes, you feel just a bit meek — recalling your argument from before. absentmindedly, you fidget with the waistband of his shorts, hoping to ease your nerves.

despite your valiant efforts to direct your vocal cords in a different direction, the voice that spills from your lips comes out sounding just a tad hurt.

”… you never take me seriously.”

satoru’s eyes soften.

his smile falters, by a hair, a brief stilling of movement. subtle, but hard not to pick up on. there’s a certain sense of shame in his irises, a genuine guilt stirring his heartstrings; several discomforting sensations, gnawing at the bones of his ribcage.

(you look so small.)

two hands reach out to cup your cheeks, big and warm. swallowing up your whole face. and before you can react, satoru leans in to press a sweet, chaste kiss against your lips. he tastes like tiramisu.

”’m sorry. we can talk about it tomorrow, okay?” he hums, and you can tell that he means it. ”i promise that i’ll take you seriously. for real, this time.”

as you look into those eyes of his, blue and soft around the edges, the last of your frustration is finally washed away. with a meek downward glance, and a faint nod, satoru relaxes — releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. relieved at your silent forgiveness.

tomorrow, he’ll definitely make it up to you. he’ll hear you out, without opening his big mouth, or trying to skirt around any emotions that make him feel even slightly uncomfortable. smoothing a big palm down your back, he hopes you feel it as a silent apology.

for now, he’ll just hold you. he’ll hold you, and kiss all your worries away, and keep you comfy and warm. that’s his duty. the only one he’d willingly choose, the only weight on his shoulders that never feels even a little bit suffocating. the only one he wouldn’t cast away, if given the chance.

nuzzling back into the safety of his collarbone, your heartbeat settles into a drowsy rhythm, slow and serene. satoru squeezes you in a tight hug, reassuring. comforting.

he can be a handful, and a little insensitive, but you love him a lot. you can’t imagine not loving him.

”… goodnight, toru,” you whisper. ready to give into sleep’s call, at last.

satoru smiles. you can hear it in his voice, sweet and silky, a soft curl of his lips. ”goodnight, honey,” he presses a kiss against your shoulder. warm, his breath on your skin. ”i love you.”

a yawn escapes your throat. ”love you too…” you mumble, sleepily. that one soft truth, before your consciousness fades.

and satoru’s smile only grows. hopelessly, inevitably, in the same way his hands can’t help but to bring you closer. until your heart is flush against his own, and he swears he can feel your heartbeats synchronize.

finally, with those three little words, satoru should be able to go to sleep. drifting off, he can only hope you’ll still be in his arms by the time he awakens.

(then again; you always are, aren’t you?)

#im not arguing w satoru gojo lol . whatever u say princess ! <3 #this is an old piece that i polished a lil (lot) phshdh so the writing might not b anything special but !! i kinda like this toru .#just sleep-deprived n grumpy <33 #gojo has this duality where he can be silly n goofy but then also serious when he needs to be… n kinda gruff….#but then he also has this. Sincere Tenderness to him. that i think would bleed through w someone he loves #hhhhh i love this man w all my heart T_T #usually i make all my fics gn but. smth abt satoru gojo …. callling u his pretty girl………… yeah. sorry. for being this way #me personally i would fold immediately but i respect reader for trying #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x you

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somethingsomethingwords · 2 months

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Hello everybody. Long time no see, but it's been one of those months, you know. This was something I've been thinking about for a while, but I only finished it because of @nico-di-genova. So this is for you honey.

As always thanks to everyone for reading. Enjoy 💜

Everything was going great. Fernando was at a party, where people were drinking and having fun. All around him, the younger drivers were finally decompressing, enjoying the alcohol, the food and the company.

At the center of the sea of people, there was the brightest star of the night.

Lance had finally won a race, and he was celebrating as loudly as he could, sandwiched between Esteban and Mick.

He envied the joy written all over their faces, and how close they were.

He loved the sport, even after his fake retirement, even after all those years, but there was something about maiden wins that still no other win could recreate.

Jóder, soy tan viejo was thinking Nando, when someone tapped his shoulder.

"I think it's late enough, no?" asked Pierre, and it really was getting late, and the trio seemed to be losing energy.

"Yeah, sounds about right. How about we split them? I'm taking Mick, and you take your teammates?" said Lewis, already stepping towards the boys.

Pierre started following him, muttering some curses that would have made blush a sailor. Nando snorted at the scene, and looked as the Brit took the German, while the French men started bickering.

The Canadian was looking around, confused after losing his partners in crime, but then he turned towards Fernando and smiled, slowly making his way towards the Spanish.

"Hola Lancito. Want to go?" asked Nando, seeing the younger man swinging slightly on his feet.

"I lost Estie and Mickie. Où sont-ils?"

Half drunk out of his mind, and he was still worried about his friends. Lance's loyalty really knew no bounds.

"They're ok, with Lewis and Pierre. I will take you home." and with that, he placed his hand on the younger's lower back.

The reaction was immediate. Lance's whole body shivered and pressed against his side, lowering his head on the shorter man's shoulder.

"Too loud. Je veux du silence"

"Oui mon amour. Let's go somewhere quiet" his French was heavily accented, but Lance seemed satisfied enough.

Nando guided the other man to his car, and drove them to their shared hotel, while Lance napped with his face against the window and his neck in a weird position.

When they arrived, Fernando struggled a little to wake the other enough to put him vertically in the elevator and walk to his room. At the door, Lance refused to lean against the doorframe, and settled only when he was hugging Fernando. "Warm" was the only word he said.

"Lance, I need the key" Fernando spoke softly.

"Poche" just answered the taller man, with no visible intention to loosen the embrace.

Fernando tried to be respectful, and to not feel the solid curve pressed against his hand. He soon found the key in his back pocket, and opened the door.

Once they were both in, he quickly realised that Lance would not move further, so he just put him on the bed, and went to take a glass and fill it with water.

Returning to the bedroom, he found Lance half naked.

"Where are your pants?" he asked, voice an octave too high, almost dropping the glass, before setting it on a nightstand.

"Lost them. Too hot" he shrugged.

Then, even more bafflingly, he started giggling.

"What is now?" he asked, fondly looking as Lance tried to take off his shirt without opening a single button. He succeeded, but his hair was now a fluffy mess.

"You remind me of Nano"

The use of his nickname surprised Fernando. The younger man refused using it, always sticking with his full name. Then the absurdity of it all hit him, and he started giggling as well.

"Ah, sì? How so?"

He was getting curious, sue him.

"It's your voice. It's soft and warm. Would listen for hours"

Fernando wasn't expecting this answer, but it melted his heart anyway.

"Mhhh. Then want a bedtime story?"

Any more time spent with Lance was a gift and a surprise wrapped in wonder. He was not going to deny himself this experience, even only for blackmail reasons. Jokingly, he was done with mind games and tricks. He would never do them again, especially not against Lance.

"Nah. A secret"

"A secret, mh? Let's trade. You tell me, I tell you" if Fernando was going to indulge him, at least it was going to be funny.

"Ça va...Ah, oui, daccord, j'en ai un. I like him so much" and then started giggling again.

Fernando felt like all of his body had gone stone cold, and couldn't move a muscle. He couldn't believe what the other told him. But before he could say anything, Lance nestled in the sheets, and softly said while closing his eyes:

"I like him soooooo much, even if he doesn't feel the same. It's ok, don't think I'd deserve him. What we have, it's special. It is enough"

And with this, he was done for the day.

And he wasn't the only one. Fernando felt like he was going to explode, too many thoughts in his head and words on his tongue, with no one to talk to. He could feel his hair turning gray.

But a single look to that peaceful face, and his heart stopped beating erratically. Everything was going to be alright. They could face this together.

This and more, hopefully.

They were going to solve this tangled mess, but first they both needed to rest.

So he left a note for Lance, simply writing "Call me in the morning. -FA" on a piece of paper and leaving it on top of Lance's phone, where he was sure the other man would see it, and then he left the room, dreaming of his own bed and a restful night of sleep.

---

He was never going to win another GP ever again, if the results were the pounding headache and the rancid taste in his mouth.

He slowly opened his eyes, careful of the half opened blinds, and looked around.

Thanks to some sort of divine intervention, he had made it to the hotel safe and sound.

He got up and went to the bathroom, peeing, washing his face and brushing his teeth.

When he came back to the bedroom, he started looking for his phone. He almost missed it, but then noticed it was just half covered by a yellow post-it. It simply said "Call me in the morning. -FA".

Ok, so he probably would have to thank Fernando for making it to his bed unscathed. He tried to think about the night before, especially trying to remember his interaction with the Spanish driver.

At first, he couldn't remember anything out of the ordinary, then it hit him.

An echo of his own giggle, soft brown eyes, the whisper of a "like him so much".

Oh, no.

Oh no.

He had done it. He confessed, and now Fernando was going to be overly amused about it. Or overly nice, and Lance didn't know what was worse.

Rejection was always a bitch, but basically having to live with your unrequited crush for 24 week-ends? That was going to be a nightmare to go through for all parts involved.

Or maybe just for Lance, with his stupid feelings and his too-hopeful heart.

Ugh, Lance just didn't know what to do.

On one hand, he wanted to call Fernando and be done with all of this. On the other, he wanted to pretend nothing happened, and everything was fine and normal and good.

He sighed, because deep down he knew he was going to have to talk with Fernando, if he liked it or not.

Ok, let's analyze. He knows I like him, and still wants to talk to me. So, he is going to reject me kindly, at least. Ok, we can totally take it like champs. Basic rule still applied: no tears in front of him. It should be quick and painless. Ok, we can do this.

So he took his time in the shower, and ordered a healthy if slightly generous breakfast.

When he was done, he brushed his teeth, wore his comfort hoodie and left his room in a controlled chaos.

One mess at a time: first his love life, then his room.

He knew that Fernando's room was the one across from his, so he didn't even bother calling. He simply knocked.

When the door opened, Lance was sure he had hit his head badly the night before. Maybe the possible concussion and heavy hepatic failure led him to an early grave.

But if death meant he could get to see a still semi-wet Nando, covered just by a tiny towel low on his hips, well, he lived a rich and full life, if a little short.

He could feel himself staring, but also couldn't take his eyes off the view.

He just waited for the self-combustion to take him.

Then he heard a light chuckle, and a hand gently gripped his sleeve, pulling him inside.

When the subject of his awe turned his back on him, walking to the adjacent kitchenette, his brain seemed to be back online.

He shook his head and closed the door behind himself like a particularly stupid rabbit that voluntarily enters the den of a particularly fascinating fox.

Fernando must have known how nervous he was feeling, because he gave him a glass of water and led him to the couch.

"Wait here, I'll be right back" said the Spanish man, leaving Lance alone, stunned and with the glass still in his hand.

You're being ridiculous, grow a pair and just talk like the adult you supposedly are, a voice in his head that sounded like his sister's gently scolded him.

He drank the water while waiting, and felt slightly better.

When Fernando re-entered the room, calm and collected and clothed, Lance waited until he was seated before looking him in the eyes and starting speaking.

"Thank you for last night. For bringing me here safely, I mean"

Not the smoother transition ever, but Fernando had to be used to how stilted he sounded, and would appreciate it anyway.

"No need to. We are friends, no?" he asked with something in his eyes that Lance couldn't describe, but that made him want to talk more.

"About that... I also wanted to say sorry if I said something weird yesterday"

See Chloe? He was actually talking about things that embarrassed him instead of forever avoiding them. Well, not really being super specific, but small progress was still progress.

"Hmm... And what are you referring to?"

The bastard was actually going to make him say the words. Well, in for a penny...

"That I like you"

Lance could feel his cheeks heating up and could no longer stand Fernando's gaze, so he moved his eyes until he was watching a particularly boring patch of carpet.

"Lance, look at me"

It only took those four words, spoken in a tone so gentle and warm to bring Lance's eyes back to Fernando's.

"Why are you apologizing? Did you lie?" he asked softly.

"No" he half shouted, and then flinched because of the reaction. "No, I do like you" he said, exhaling.

"Then what are you apologizing for?"

Fernando could be soft when he wanted, but that didn't stop him from being stubborn.

"I didn't want to offend you" and also didn't want you to really know, because it's embarrassing and you deserve better and I can't be normal about this nor you.

He didn't say the words, but Fernando must have been able to hear them anyway, because he responded firmly.

"You didn't"

That lifted a huge weight from Lance's shoulders. Maybe this partnership could still be saved.

"Ok. Good, I'm glad" he was being awkward and subtly twisting his fingers. But nothing escaped Fernando's attention.

Seeing how the younger man was spiralling in his own thoughts, he didn't hesitate, reaching out to him and taking a hold of his hands.

"There is no need to be nervous. Just tell me again, tell me properly"

Lance could see in his eyes the want and the patience and something else.

They were in this together, he suddenly realised.

You are not alone anymore, said his mental Chloe.

He inhaled as much air as he could, held it and then exhaled. He found the strength he needed in a pair of brown eyes that were already looking in his own.

"I've been wanting to tell you for so long. I like you. I like how you drive, how you give feedback on the car and how you are always, no matter what, the best. But that's just racing stuff. I like how you compliment me, how you never made me feel less than, or just a spoiled kid, how you make me feel. But those are selfish reasons. I like how kind you are with kids, how ready you are to help any of the other drivers. But most importantly, I like you, Fernando Alonso, two times world champion, menace on and off track, mentor and teammate and friend and so much more. I like you, Nando"

He barely finished talking that there was a pair of lips on his own, soft and warm and gentle.

He realised he closed his eyes only when he opened them, and in front was Fernando, bright and shining and perfect in every way that mattered. To Lance, at least.

"You made me wait a long time, no? Let's not waste anymore" he said before diving in a second kiss that was hot and passionate and demanding.

Fernando broke the kiss and stood up, starting to walk, and Lance could only follow the man leading him towards his bed, and towards a life together.

#strollonso #fernando alonso #lance stroll #grumpy cat boy x besotted old man #some love for lance #because he deserves it #insecure lance is insecure but nando gets him so...

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