Breaking the Grid

Croissant

The taxi door clicked shut behind me with that soft finality I only ever noticed when I was already tired. It was 2:03 a.m., the night air clinging cool against my skin as I adjusted the duffel on my shoulder and waited for Kimi to circle the car and meet me on the sidewalk.

We didn't say anything at first. No need.

We were both wrecked.
Between the adrenaline crash of the race, the interviews, the endless airport chaos, and now the seventeen-hour flight from Melbourne — I felt like I was walking through mud.

Not just my limbs.
My head, too.

Second place.

Second again.

I couldn't shake it — the feeling of that near-win burning behind my ribs, like a bruise you keep poking because maybe it'll stop hurting if you push hard enough.

Red flags. A two-second gap turned into a three-place shuffle and I clawed back to second — but still... not first.

"I still should've had it," I muttered under my breath, mostly to myself.

Kimi hummed as we reached the gate. "You'll get the next one. It was still a monster drive."

I didn't reply. Not really out of sulking — just too drained to speak optimism into existence.

We walked down the long, familiar driveway toward my house, the automatic porch light flickering on above the front door. My fingers slid into my pocket and found my key out of muscle memory.

I unlocked the door and motioned for him to step in first, the soft click of our shoes swallowed by the dark.

The house was quiet. Still. That strange kind of silence only a full, sleeping house can create — warm and lived in, but holding its breath.

"Your room should be empty," I whispered, closing the door behind us and flicking on just one low light by the entrance.

Kimi dropped his bag to the floor without care, his body moving like it was on autopilot. "Yeah, yeah. My room."

I narrowed my eyes at him, whisper-hissing, "Can you not stomp around like an elephant? There's a child sleeping here."

He raised an eyebrow at me and grinned — sleepily, smugly. "Right. Because you're basically a mum now, huh?"

I gave him a light shove. "Shut up. Go shower and sleep, I beg."

But he kept going, just to get on my nerves.

"You'll be saying the same thing when you and Kyra have a kid," he said with a crooked smirk.

I froze.
Only a second.
Just enough that it registered.

Then I rolled my eyes again, more out of habit than anything, but the words had landed somewhere deeper than he probably intended.

My fingers paused on the light switch.
My chest felt full in a weird, fluttering way.

"When Kyra and I have a kid..."

It sounded like a joke coming from him — but it didn't feel like one.

That thought...
It stayed.

More than the red flag.
More than second place.
More than the flight or the sweat or the weight of my half-empty stomach.

I looked down the hallway, where I knew my girl was fast asleep.

A kid.

A family.

That kind of love, growing into something bigger than just us.

I swallowed quietly, not letting Kimi see the slight shake in my breath.