Breaking the Grid

Lisboa

I lean back in my seat, laughing at one of Kimi's ridiculous jokes — his timing is always perfect, especially when I'm too tired to function. The plane shakes slightly as the pilot announces our descent into Lisbon. I reach for my seatbelt, fastening it with a click just as a long yawn escapes me, my hand instinctively covering my mouth. God, I'm exhausted.

The post-race adrenaline has finally faded, leaving behind that heavy, satisfying ache in my body — the kind that only comes after giving everything you have. I won the Grand Prix, and now I'm sitting second in the championship, only four points behind Lando. Four points. It feels surreal, almost within reach, but my head is still spinning from everything that's happened.

Kimi bumps his shoulder against mine, breaking me out of my thoughts. "You still thinking about the race, champ?" he teases, grinning as he unbuckles early — even though the seatbelt light is still on.

I smirk, shaking my head. "You know me too well. It's hard not to."

He chuckles, glancing out the window as the coast of Portugal appears below, bathed in golden light. "You'll win the next one too. You've got that look again."

I arch an eyebrow. "What look?"

"The scary one," he says, pretending to shiver. "The 'I'm about to destroy everyone on track' look."

I laugh softly, rubbing my temples. "Well, maybe I should use it on you sometimes. You might stop making fun of your older sister."

"Older, yeah. Wiser? Not sure about that one."

The plane touches down smoothly, applause breaking out from a few passengers. I grab my bag from under the seat, my movements slower than usual. My muscles ache from sitting still for too long, and I'm already thinking about the shower I'll take the second we reach the hotel.

As we make our way off the plane, the humid Lisbon air hits my face. It's warm, a soft kind of warmth that reminds me of evenings spent at home with Kyra. I adjust my sunglasses and look at Kimi, who's carrying both our small bags like the gentleman he pretends to be.

"Thanks," I say, patting his shoulder.

He gives me a sideways look. "You owe me coffee for this. And maybe dinner."

"Yeah, sure," I answer distractedly, scanning the small crowd waiting near the exit.

It's strange — a few people already recognize us, probably from the race. Some point, whisper, and raise their phones. I smile and wave politely, even though I'd rather crawl into bed and not move for 12 hours.

Kimi, of course, thrives on attention. "See, I told you," he says, grinning. "You can't even breathe without someone filming you now."

I roll my eyes, following him out into the warm Lisbon air, where a car is already waiting for us. "I didn't come here to be filmed," I say, sliding into the back seat. "I came here to watch football."

He laughs, closing the door behind him. "Sure, that's what you say. But if Arsenal wins tonight, Kyra's going to rub it in your face for months."

I smile softly, leaning my head against the window as the city rolls past. "Yeah," I murmur, half to myself. "But if it makes her happy, I'll take it."

Kimi chuckles beside me, but I'm already drifting off again — Lisbon lights blurring outside the window, the sound of traffic fading, and the last thing I think before sleep takes me is that maybe, just maybe, this crazy life is finally finding its rhythm again.

Kimi takes out his phone and waves it casually. "Uber's on the way," he says, scrolling through the screen.

I nod, stretching my legs a little as we stand near the terminal exit. My eyes scan the crowd — tourists, fans, a few people still holding up their phones as if we're part of some show. I sigh quietly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.