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Kimi is no scientist, but here is his working hypothesis: His teammate wants him to kiss him.
Badly.
Unfortunately, there are no written guides for such a thing, so Kimi will just have to be the first one. Antonelli, Andrea. “Here’s what to do when Oliver Bearman wants to kiss you, a step-by-step guide.” Journal of Mercedes, vol 16, no 12, December 2024, pp 12-87. Number one—
Ollie broke up with Estelle back in October. Kimi’s relationship fell apart in the middle of November when the reality of Mercedes became too big and too real to ignore. Ollie and Estelle were just a little more devastating despite being a shorter relationship — Ollie talked a lot about his grievances, her lack of understanding of his schedule, about his lack of understanding of her pain. Sometimes, it seemed like all Ollie had were grievances. Kimi didn’t say it out loud, but he wasn’t exactly surprised when it happened.
Kimi’s relationship on the other hand… Well. It was unfortunate, but inevitable. He knew he would need to focus more on his training and racing, and if Eli truly couldn’t understand that, what was he supposed to do? It hurt, but he just let it. There was nothing he could do about it. His destiny was written for him from the age of nine.
It’s Thursday, Abu Dhabi. As it stands, their last race as teammates. If they don’t somehow end up as teammates in the future — by some miracle — then at least their last race as F2 teammates. They’ve been avoiding The Talk. Ollie asks, hands pressed flat against his thighs as he massages them, “Um. Are you— Well. Where are you going for the winter break?”
They’re at the Prema home. Later, they have media. “Um. Going to see my family, yeah. Won’t have the time in the world to see them after the start of next season, so.” It strikes Kimi as an unusual question for Ollie to ask, so he strikes back with the same, “Uh. Are you not going back to England?”
He nods firmly, focusing on a knot seemingly above his right knee. Ollie’s hands are slim, but not bony. His fingers are shorter, all red like the team he dreams of. “I am. Um, only for a week or two. Until Christmas, then I’ll be back for New Years.” He looks back. “Do you have any plans? For New Years?”
“Not… Exactly.” He almost cringes after getting the words out. He was going to spend it with his girlfriend. He needs to return the promise ring soon. He just— Hasn’t had the time, or the strength, for it yet. He’s letting it hurt for now. “Do you?”
“No.” Ollie’s hands go deathly still. That’s no good for a race car driver. “I was gonna ask if— You wanna spend it with me. In Modena.” Now, they’re tightening around the muscle of his thighs, looking for an anchor. “Lots of things to do, and— I have an extra bed if you’d like.”
“Ah.” Kimi is— “That’d be nice. Uh. Sure.” Confused. Processing. Deeply unsure about what’s actually happening here. “Figure out the details later?”
Ollie’s eyes are wide open. Not in the sense that they’re bulging out of his head, but more in the sense of an invite. His lips are slightly open, and bitten and chapped down the middle. He’s waiting. For something that can’t happen, and knows won’t happen, but he’s leaving the olive branch there just in case someone — anyone — would like to pick it up.
It’s Thursday, Abu Dhabi. He’s nearly about to cross the finish line only to enter a bigger and much more terrifying race, but the job is not done yet. There is still work to do.
Kimi smiles. He leaves the olive branch alone.
Key evidence for Kimi’s hypothesis, which is related, but also isn’t at the same time:
One time, a very long time ago, someone told Kimi that it feels like less than a dozen people on this Earth will ever get to truly see him for who he is. His family are the only ones at the moment, and the only ones for a long time.
He didn’t understand what they meant at the time. Honestly, he still doesn’t. He’s not good with metaphors and feelings and the poetry of life, and he never has been. But. He’s starting to get there.
Hypothesis: Ollie wants Kimi to kiss him.
Evidence number 1: Of all things, Kimi forgot to bring a jacket to Modena. It means that Ollie has to lend him his own jacket. It shouldn’t be as big of an internal ordeal as it is. Essentially, Kimi and Ollie are really the same build — strong arms, slim waists, necks still not thick enough to accommodate for the G-forces in F1 — Kimi just happens to be a couple of shades darker, and Ollie just happens to be a couple of inches taller. That still translates into a difference in their jacket sizes.
It’s just a jacket. But after all, everything is just something. It’s just a girl. It’s just a race car. It's just a team. It’s just a jacket, and it’s just a boy. It’s just another boy’s jacket. That’s all. Open eyes, open mouth.
Evidence number 2: When the fireworks went off and every person surrounding them in the crowd turned next to their beloved and embraced them tightly, Kimi instinctively turned to Ollie, and Ollie instinctively turned to Kimi.
Evidence number 3: They didn’t do anything.
AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX 2025 — PRESS CONFERENCE
O. BEARMAN: [SMILING] Oh, I’m so excited to still be racing with Kimi, of course. We’ll be fighting different battles this year, but he’ll always be my teammate regardless, so. It’s nice that he’ll still be in the paddock with me.
INTERVIEWER: Kimi, anything to share on your end?
A. ANTONELLI: Well… [STAMMERS] Yes, it would be nice if I could see– or battle Ollie on track again, and—
O. BEARMAN: [OFF MIC] Wow, my feelings are quite hurt!
[ROOM LAUGHS]
A. ANTONELLI: [SMILING] That is not what I mean, mate.
O. BEARMAN: [SMILING] I know!
Kimi doesn’t have wires instead of veins, a motherboard in the place of a heart, or buttons and dials in place of emotional regulation. Simply put, he’s not a robot.
Sometimes he catches himself thinking, especially when he’s amid some strange and often overpowering human emotions, that he’d much prefer to be a race car than a human being, but— That doesn’t change anything. As nice as it sounds to have a team of people worrying about your development and well-being and a person deciding exactly where you will go, down to every last millimeter in direction, Kimi is still a human boy. Therefore, he’s not immune to things other human boys are not immune to.
He cries. Not often, possibly not enough, but he does. He feels things and feels them deeply. He wants. Sometimes, it feels like all he does is want. He didn’t want his relationship to end. He wants companionship, lifelong, just like anyone else, because he’s not immune, just like anyone else. I want to race forever. I want to win many championships. I want to see my sister. I want, well, of course, I want—
It’s starting to fuck with him now, the idea that Ollie can witness all this secret desperation, and still want—
Well. Let’s not jump to conclusions. There is still a long season ahead. Yes. Of course.
In astronomy, fireballs are unusually bright meteors, last only a few seconds, and can be seen from a wide area. They’re about the same magnitude of light as the planet Venus in the morning or evening sky. The brighter, the rarer.
Several thousand fireballs occur in Earth’s atmosphere each and every single day. However, the vast majority of them occur over oceans, uninhabited regions, and at night, which makes them more difficult to witness.
Thousands of fireballs occur every single day. The average person, however, will be very lucky to witness one only a few times in their lifetime.
This is part of Kimi’s hypothesis. Key evidence. Don’t forget it.
Kimi wins the 2025 Japanese Grand Prix.
Despite all his relentless, unwavering belief he has in himself — that he has to have — he honestly has no idea how he’s done it. Whether the Ferraris or McLarens will get better with upgrades is a thing only time can tell, but Mercedes’ car development has been on the uprise since the midpoint of ‘24, and now— This is Kimi’s moment to savor. The champagne and the glory and the quieting of the voices that never believed in him in the first place.
It’s surreal. He’s getting pulled in every direction, people from all sides shouting out congratulations to him faster than he can thank them back. Toto was the first to congratulate him over the radio after his engineer. His family aren’t here with him today, but he’ll have to call them the first moment he gets, and there’s still the press conference, and— There is so much to do for a first-time race winner. Almost too much.
As soon as Kimi opens the door to his driver’s room, he narrowly dodges getting hit in the face with confetti. When he checks, it’s— “Ollie!” The breath gets knocked out of his lungs. “Mate, how in the world did you get in here?”
He shrugs, a little proud of himself, and holding the confetti poppers in his hands, “George let me in.”
“Russell? That—” He doesn’t get to finish the thought before Ollie launches forward to wrap him in a hug. It’s the 200th one in a row, but certainly not the last for today, and certainly one of the only few between him and Ollie that truly mean something. Not a quick one from the side, but Ollie with his arms wrapped around Kimi’s neck, and Kimi with no choice but to put his around Ollie’s waist kind of hug.
It’s nice. Kimi will allow himself as much.
When Ollie pulls away first, he squeezes Kimi’s shoulder. Kimi tries not to throw a fit right in front of his face by saying, “P7— Not bad.”
Ollie seems surprised, “You checked?” Kimi shrugs. He’d be a fool to let him know that he’s the first person he looked for on the timesheet. Ollie shrugs back, “Yeah. P1’s not bad either.”
Ollie’s hands linger on Kimi’s arms and shoulders, and— There it is. That look again. Wide eyes, furrowed brows, slightly open, red, bitten mouth. He’s starting to recognize it. Honestly, Kimi could recognize it from a mile away.
Ollie’s hands— Stay. They stay frozen in place, and his eyes dart from inch to inch of Kimi’s face, trying to find meaning where it exists and where it has died a long time ago, he’s always been a little like that, and then— It encroaches on the part of Kimi’s face he knew not to linger on for long. Especially not where Kimi can see him, open and unashamed. He sits and stays staring, mouth open.
Kimi tries to come up with a million excuses in the span of one second — it’s the adrenaline, it’s the high, Ollie doesn’t really know what he’s doing, how could he, it’s Kimi — but. Ollie is so warm, and so still in his hold. He’s waiting. He’d been waiting for a long time, and now, he’s starting to pull away again, disappointed yet another time that nothing had happened between them yet again, and Kimi is—
So sick of this. Sick of holding back. Sick of being close enough to be held, and never going for it out of the name of something. Of what? He tries with, “You—” The words get stuck in his throat. The fireball. “You came here. For me.”
Ollie’s eyebrows go up in surprise. His hands sit still, and so does the position of his mouth. Kimi would know. “No one else here, yeah.”
Kimi swallows the fireball in his throat. “Why?”
Ollie tilts his head. He’s watching, very closely, very intently. It’s a moment before he speaks again, slow and quiet, “I think you know why.” It’s one of the only times he’s ever seen Ollie so serious, and yet so sincere.
Does he? It feels like everyone assumes he should have the answer. He supposes it makes sense why, he drives in Formula One, but— He’s still only eighteen. He’s an adult, but not yet. He certainly doesn’t feel like it. He doesn’t know what this is supposed to mean. All he knows is that it’s been months since they both broke up with their girlfriends, and whatever Kimi had with Eli was simpler to understand than this.
“Kimi!” A series of quick, loud knocks on his driver’s room door. He’s gotten used to the sound of his PR officer yelling at him in a short amount of time. “You’ll be late for the press conference! Hurry up in there!”
It takes him a moment to respond, Ollie still not letting go of his shoulders, “Coming!”
When the sound of footsteps faintly fade on the outside, Ollie says, cheekily, “We’re running out of time.” He’s smiling. And squeezing Kimi’s shoulders. Bastard. “Kimi, what are you trying to say to me?”
If he doesn’t have the time to figure out what exactly are the words that he’s supposed to say, then he’ll just say it. “You are— Frustrating.” Even if they don’t make any sense at all. He’ll just say it. “So frustrating.” He— Almost wants to cry. That’s hardly appropriate for someone who just won his first Grand Prix. “I don’t have the courage for this. You know it.”
This is the moment when Ollie decides to cash in his sincerity, if only for the moment. “What are you talking about?” He doesn’t lose the smile. “You always have.” Open eyes, open mouth. In a word, inviting.
For the first time, Kimi takes the invite.
Just outside, the sakura trees are howling with warm wind. It’s springtime. Rebirth and new emotions. This is one of the easier metaphors for Kimi to understand. Mostly because it’s not really a metaphor at all.
Oh, Kimi thinks to himself as to avoid a ten thousand Euro fine, For fuck’s sake.
Kimi does not have to turn his head a mere ninety degrees to feel it. His wide eyes but slightly furrowed eyebrows, the pout of his lips, Ollie staring at the side of his face so intensely he might burn a bullet hole where his cheek should be. Usually, it’s endearing. Puppy-like, bearcub-like. It would be endearing. And it is.
Kimi can’t find it in him to find it exactly cute though considering the microphone in Kimi’s hand and the dozens of cameras all stuck to his face at the moment. They’re asking him something about the car — developments, upgrades, what they can expect out of Mercedes for the first triple header of the season — and Kimi remembers his PR training diligently, and gives them some vague, hopeful answer.
When he hands the microphone over to Lewis and his own hands settle down and over his thighs, he gathers the courage to look over to Ollie. For a moment, his signature is there: Open eyes and parted mouth. He quickly transforms it into his big, wide smile, the one Kimi knows the best.
So help me God, Kimi thinks to himself before tearing his eyes away. This guy is impossible.
(Kimi leads Ollie back to his driver’s room, a place between private and public, pointedly ignoring every Mercedes staff’s look that they throw over to the two of them, and he closes the door with the ferocity of a meteor hitting the earth. He pushes Ollie up against it and kisses him on his stupid, fat mouth.
Initially, Ollie is confused by it — has been confused since Kimi muttered Vieni qui and wrapped his hand around his wrist — but melts into it, before he quickly gets confused all over again and starts pushing Kimi back. “Hey— What is— I mean, I don’t mind it, don’t get me wrong, but what’s all this about?”
“You—” He’s struggling to find the words. Not just because he’s speaking in English, Google Translate has become one of his lesser visited websites as time goes on, but because he can’t find them in any language. He settles on— “You idiot.”
Well. Those aren’t the ones either.
For a moment, Ollie’s confusion is mixed with this tinge of hurt. He’s always been a bit of a gentle thing, especially when it comes to Kimi.
Kimi, unfortunately, is deeply aware of this. He swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, tasting the faintest remnants of Ollie, and breathes in deeply. “You cannot just— Stare at me for thirty minutes straight. There are cameras, Ollie. It was a presser.”
His eyes jump from corner to corner of Ollie’s face — his square jaw, full lips, wide eyes — watching as the confusion melts into something else. Ollie keeps his eyes forward the entire time. His face curls into a smile, saying, “Oh. I fluster you?”
Kimi groans, launching himself forward to hide his face in Ollie’s shoulder, “Shut up.”
He doesn’t. “But.” Ollie continues, wrapping one arm around Kimi and the other on the back of his neck and fingers spreading up into his hair, “That’s a good thing. I have an effect on you. Yes?”
“...Yes.” He doesn’t have to look up to know exactly what Ollie looks like when he’s entirely too proud of himself, pink blush high on his cheeks and all. “So. You must stop it. Using it for evil, and everything else. It’s no good.”
“Okay.” Ollie hums, his fingers coming up to swipe away Kimi’s curly locks behind his ear, then planting a kiss on the tip of it. He should get a haircut soon, he thinks. “I’ll only use it for good, then.”
Kimi still doesn’t have the courage to look up.)
In astronomy, fireballs are meteors that are unusually bright, last only a few seconds, and can be seen from a wide area. They’re about the same magnitude of light as the planet Venus in the morning or evening sky. The brighter, the rarer.
Several thousand fireballs occur in Earth’s atmosphere each and every single day. However, the vast majority of them occur over oceans, uninhabited regions, and at night, which makes them more difficult to witness.
Thousands of fireballs occur every single day. The average person, however, will be very lucky to witness one only a few times in their lifetime.
There is a certain intensity to being desired like this, constantly and openly, Kimi thinks.
It’s different from a team wanting him, even if Toto was the one who had his eyes set on race car number 12. That’s for ability. Merit. Something Kimi is confident about. It’s different from the way girls want him, too. It lies in the fact that girls are softer and curvier where Kimi isn’t, gentle and loving, and Ollie is just as loving, but with much brighter ferocity for it. Fireball ferocity.
It happens all the time. Just one over is all it takes for the invite to happen. Even in pressers, when Kimi jumps out of the car — regardless of whatever position he parks in — even when he’s awful. Just no good at all. Even with Kimi’s hand in his boxers, Ollie still has those wide eyes, waiting desperately for something to happen. Something that he’s waited for longer than either of them would care to admit.
Kimi doesn’t know what spurs him to say, “You always get this— Look on your face when you want me to kiss you.” It must be his brain melting and dripping out of his ears.
Ollie blinks. “...What?” Open, inviting eyes. Open, inviting mouth. The look that currently says Sometimes, I wish you were just a little bit less inexplicable, and you’d spend more of your time kissing me and having fun.
He can’t help it. He’s a race car driver. He’s never been one to abort a lap willingly. “Oh, see? There. It’s all there.”
This is the only time when Ollie will be the one looking up. It’s a pretty sight. Especially when he laughs and laughs, all red like the car he dreams of.
Whatever. What’s the point in making all of this sound something poetic or meaningful when he’s sitting on top of Ollie’s thighs? Finding meaning in things has never been what he’s good at. He can barely tame the English language enough to convey what he really wants to say.
Here is what he is good at — his race starts, his pace over one lap, and taking his hand to the back of Ollie’s neck and slotting their mouths together, letting the animal of their hearts beat pathetically against each other.
If Kimi really does have a fireball heart — so blindingly bright, yet so difficult to witness — then he doesn’t exactly mind Ollie being the only one able to see it.