💭 on my mind: send me Danny thoughts (or thots 👀) and I'll write a lil scenario about it: Daniel seems like the type of person to pick at his nails when he's nervous and it makes me want to hold his hands constantly
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You notice it every time. Daniel's nervous habit of picking at his nails. It's subtle, but you can tell when he's anxious. Right now, as he sits in his driver's room, race suit unzipped to his hips, his fingers are at it again, meticulously working at the edges of his nails.
Outside, the pre-race atmosphere buzzes, the distant hum of engines and chatter around the garage as the team prepares for the race. Inside his driver's room, it's quiet, except for the tv screen displaying the live footage of the track during the race build up.
You can't help but steal glances at Daniel, watching as his fingers move with restless energy, picking and peeling at the skin around his nails. It's a habit that drives you crazy—not because it annoys you, but it tells you that he's anxious, that he's struggling internally.
The urge to comfort him wells up inside you, and without thinking too much about it, you let your hand drift over to gently cover his.
His fingers freeze beneath your touch. You half expect him to pull away or make a comment, but he doesn't. He glances at you, but you force yourself to look at the screen, not wanting your gesture to look intentional. His hand relaxes under your touch, the tension ebbing away. You lace your fingers with his, squeezing lightly.
The tv drones on in the background, a commentator walking around the paddock and conducting short interviews with a few other drivers. You know that it's almost time for Daniel to get out there too, replacing the comfort in this moment to the fast paced racing world. But you don't release your grip on his hand.
In this moment, it's just you and Daniel. You can feel the pulse in his hand, the warmth of his skin against yours. You sense his gratitude in the way he gently squeezes your hand back. He knew it was a bad habit of his, but he never realized that he was picking at his nails until others pointed it out, but he appreciated your solution.
A knock at the door startles both of you, his trainer peeking in, announcing it's time to head to the garage. Daniel nods, taking a deep breath.
He pauses, looking at you with a mixture of gratitude and determination. "I'll see you after the race," he says, and you nod, giving him a smile to encourage him.
"Fuck 'em all," you remind him, earning a widened smile from him as he repeats the words.
He gives your hand one last squeeze before heading out, following his trainer, knowing you'll be watching from the garage once the race begins.
That wasn't the last time you've held his hand to prevent him from picking at his nails. Over time, Daniel began to appreciate the solution you found. Every time he lost himself in the habit, you placed your hand over his before intertwining your fingers together.
Slowly but surely, his habit started to change. The nail-picking became less frequent, replaced by the comforting routine of holding your hand. One particular tense afternoon, you reached out instinctively, but before you could, his hand found yours. He squeezed it gently, a small smile playing on his lips as he turned to look at you.
Even though no words were spoken, and the gesture was never brought to attention, it became a joint habit of yours.
