— You're supposed to play me, right? — A handsome brunette with curly hair dressed in McLaren orange came up to me and asked offhand, leaning against the railing that separated the guest area of ​​the garage.

— Yes, it's me, but it's not a problem, is it?

— No, why!  You're just not like me at all. — He sounded disappointed.  I ran through my mind through the list of characters who had appeared in our series: I had been given the role of Lando Norris, so he was standing in front of me.  He was not lacking in self-confidence.  He looked me up and down and back, lingering on my lips for a long time before looking into my eyes.

— After all, that's what it's all about, thanks to which viewers will not immediately recognize who was the inspiration for the creation of a given character — I explained, feeling as if I had to explain to a preschooler that 2+2 is the same as 2*2.  I felt strangely vulnerable under his gaze, he was definitely dominating me, but for some reason it felt nice.  It got more dangerous when he supposedly accidentally (although I knew he did it on purpose to see my reaction, and he knew I knew) drank water from the orange and black water bottle he was holding in his hand, spilling some down the bottom of his shirt.  He lifted the wet piece of clothing up, revealing bare skin.  I managed to make out the white stripe of elastic from what must have been expensive boxers before I turned my head away in embarrassment.

"Saint, get a grip, you're at work!“ — I told myself in my mind.  — "I shouldn't be imagining too much, that bloody Brit is starting to get on my nerves!"  And I have to play him?  Why did I even agree to this?!  It will be torture!"

Lando had no inhibitions.  He lowered his shirt and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye.  He didn't care that there were mechanics around, that someone might notice us, even if we were standing in the corner of the garage, someone could still take a picture of us and come to the wrong conclusions.  He should be more careful.  Does he not even remember who he is and how important his reputation is?  Doesn't it occur to him that such stupid behavior could get him kicked off the team?

I was angry at him, but also angry at myself because my body's reaction betrayed everything about me that I didn't want to say out loud.

— Am I embarrassing you? — He asked, making me want to look away again.

— Damn, you could at least be ugly — I said in Thai, knowing he wouldn't understand, which made me happy.

The Brit next to me, teasing me, was really handsome, dark skinned, piercing green eyes, big, full, soft-looking lips, and the muscles clearly visible through his tight T-shirt that for some reason I wanted to touch, run my hands over.  and even to see if they could bear the weight of my body.

I shook my head, banishing such thoughts.  Apart from Zee, I've never thought of any guy that way, it seemed to me that they couldn't turn me on.  Meanwhile, the situation with Norris made me realize that perhaps I was lying to myself.  Maybe I just didn't want to accept the fact that I wasn't straight after all.

— What did you say?  Translate it. —  He ordered, and I didn't like the tone he said.  I had had enough of P'Sky's orders, I hated being ordered around in such a way that I felt humiliated and shut down and didn't follow orders, which in turn pissed P'Sky off even more and drove me to tears.  to the fact that he punished me, sometimes just by beating me, other times by burning the skin on my forearm with a cigarette or cutting it with a knife.  I had a lot of scars, but I learned to hide them with makeup.  While playing in the series, our make-up artists, stylists and make-up artists, of course, saw everything, but there was a rule between us that we did not ask each other about such things.  I guessed that a lot of people thought I did it to myself, perhaps they added that I was depressed or suffered from other mental disorders.  I didn't pay attention to it, other people's opinions didn't matter to me.

— Nothing that matters to you —  I replied gruffly, pushing him away.  He was way too close, if I took a small step forward my chest would touch him, and if I fell over?... Oh...!  And I didn't even want to think about that.  Pushing him away seemed the safest option.

* * *

Few hours and not the best race later...

Lando hung on to me, not stopping kissing me even for a moment.  But he wasn't completely drunk.  He seemed to know exactly what he was doing.  I pushed him slightly to get the room key card out of my pocket.  I sighed heavily and opened the door to my apartment.  He immediately pulled me onto the bed with him and turned me onto my back, straddling me, started kissing my jaw, and then moved to the Adam's apple area, I moaned as he sucked the skin in this place.  What was left of my common sense was screaming that I should push him away, let him sleep on the bed, and move myself to the couch for the safety of both of us, but he wouldn't let me.  He was nothing like the innocent, cute, sweet boy McLaren had made him out to be.  He was naughty, spicy, predatory.  I knew he wanted it, and there was no doubt that I did too.

Without asking or permission, he unbuttoned my shirt, taking it off me and throwing it to the floor.  Moments later, he also took off his team shirt and went back to kissing me.  Again and again he attacked my mouth, our tongues colliding in a crazy dance, my hands roaming his body, squeezing the skin on his back...

I wanted more, more, I wanted to feel him everywhere on me, in me, everywhere.  I didn't care about the consequences anymore, we're both adults and even if we regret it tomorrow, now is now and I wasn't going to give it up.

While I was a total amateur when it comes to sex with another man, Lando seemed to know what he was doing, probably had a lot of experience in the subject, but it suited me just fine.

Take me there, I thought before all thoughts ceased to matter.  "Take me wherever you want. Don't spare me, be as brutal as you want, I don't mind suffering, you can hurt me as much as you want."

I thought I kept these thoughts to myself, yet he seemed to hear them.  His hand traveled to my back, scratching it.  I was sure that there would be a clear mark, luckily maybe it will heal before we start working on the series.

I pushed all unnecessary thoughts away, at the moment my work didn't matter, only he mattered, a handsome, hot British man who had just started unzipping my pants and pulling them off me.

When we were both completely naked, nothing separated us anymore.  His touch was almost burning, his brutality and the aggression with which he attacked my mouth, sending wild moans of pleasure from my lips.

We liked the semi-darkness of the room, lit only by LED, small, colored lamps placed at each glass surface.  We caressed each other's bodies, giving ourselves to this desire completely.  We didn't talk, we didn't need words.

This time I rolled him onto his back and dug into his mouth, it was soft, willing, inviting.  I only pulled away from him for a moment to catch my breath, then started kissing his cheeks, jaw, neck, going lower and lower.  When our breathing became loud, he covered my mouth with his hand, signaling that we need to be quieter, as if he remembered that Pierre and Yuki lived in the next room and could hear everything.

I opened my eyes and saw him staring at me.  There was the same fire in his gaze and the same desire that consumed me.  I pulled him in for a quick kiss.

* * *

Waking up wasn't as pleasant as I'd hoped.  I expected to see his face right in front of me on the pillow, perhaps he should be asleep waiting for me to wake him up, but when I opened my eyes I realized one thing: he wasn't there.  Coldness and emptiness enveloped me before I realized what had happened.

He used me.  That's what I expected.  Why was I so naive to think I was waiting for a sweet morning in the arms of a hot, sexy British man?  It was unreal, impossible.  Why did I have any illusions at all?

Disheartened, I dragged myself out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom for my morning routine.  I looked at my naked reflection in the mirror, and suddenly a panic seized me that I hadn't felt in a long time.

My skin was covered here and there with familiar marks, not only hickeys but also scratches.  The lips were swollen.  And today we have a photo shoot.

— Fuck! — I shouted to myself and vented my annoyance by slamming my open hand against the sink.  It hurt but I didn't care, P'Sky had done worse to me.  I won't hide it, no matter how much makeup I put on myself, there was no chance.

Maybe I should call Annie and tell her I got sick?  But... Isn't that too naive?  She saw me with Lando... Let's hope she was too drunk to understand, though... I doubt it though, I thought, vaguely remembering the night before. After the race we went for a walk, we drank too much.  Louis Tomlinson, the world-famous singer, member of the band One Direction, who freely admitted that he has something more in common with Harry Styles. Just like us, they were in the so-called glass cabinet: fans supposedly knew about them  (that's why it was such a great metaphor: through glass you can see everything, but sometimes it's too thick to break through, it won't break and it won't give you a way to escape your hits, it takes more than that) but officially  they couldn't say anything.

The feeling of disappointment at Lando's escape gripped my heart.  Then I remembered that Louis sent me a list of songs I should listen to yesterday.  I found his message, clicked on the YouTube link, and listened while brushing my teeth.  Despite how hopeless I felt, I had to gather all my energy and play the role of a good, polite, humble Saint once again.  That's where my nickname, Saint, came from.  People associate the saint with this: with kindness, obedience, devotion to the idea...

Meanwhile, there was nothing sacred about me.  Just what I did and tried to do to Zee was far from anything a saint would do.

It's an old curse, dreamers divin' head first
Broken beaks and dead birds
Can't get through the glass
There's no use cryin' over spilled blood
Carin' only kills love
A kiss won't bring it back

How well I understood!  Dead birds don't sing, dead birds don't even have a voice anymore, like us, they can't get out of glass cages, they're too weak.  Louis knew exactly what he was talking about.  With a barely audible hint of regret, he informed us that no record company wanted to help him release this song, they didn't like the lyrics, it seemed too risky.  And rightly so.

The words of the chorus hit me with all their might.

Young man hush your crying, dry your tears away
Nothing is original, there's nothing left to say
You won't be the first or be the last to bleed
Every broken heart as far as your eye can see

It's a copy of a copy of a copy
It's a copy of a copy of a copy

Possibly, but I didn't want it to last that long, and at the same time I felt helpless.  That's what Louis was singing about.  I could almost feel the pain that accompanied the creation of the text.

„You're right Louis, I'm not the first to cry about this.  And you're right, we're in this together, we're all in the same shit, and there's not much we can do on our own, but maybe someday that will change?” —  I thought looking at my reflection in the mirror.  As the song changed to another, I went out to grab clothes for the day from the closet.  One thing I knew for sure: we were not allowed to give up.  If we give up, we will lose and never be free again.

Before I got to the photoshoot location, I sent a few messages to Lando.  He only replied to one.

Lando 🧡: I'm sorry, please, forget about me, this didn't mean anything

It hurt.

Even though I was prepared for it, even though I kind of expected it, I felt my heart break.  As a rock that has been poured with water for too long eventually breaks down, so did my petrified heart.  And yet the world continued to exist, time did not stop.  My legs automatically took me where I needed to be, and a fake, forced smile appeared on my face just as automatically as Som complained about the perfectly visible marks from the night before.  I apologized to her and begged her to hide it somehow.

— Oh Saint, Saint, what have you gotten yourself into again? — She asked with her usual sense of humor, then went about covering up the evidence of our little crime.