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There was a girl in Damon’s car.
Actually, no, that’s not right.
Damon was the girl in Damon’s car.
Michael shook his head, trying to get rid of that thought as soon as it had formed. This was driving him insane. Damon was sitting in the A18 with his helmet off. Couple of the Arrows guys in a circle around the car whispering worriedly to him. Probably about the performance that their lame horse of a car had just given. But the more pressing issue…
Damon had long hair now. That was it. He just had long hair. Really long. But that couldn’t really just be it. It had to be Damon playing some sort of mind game to ruin his season. He was trying to help his Williams ex-teammate win the championship this year. Michael was almost sure of it. Like 97% sure.
Damon’s hair had gotten pretty long by the end of the ‘96 season. Curling around his neck. Last time Michael had seen the guy, at his championship win after party, Jacques had even made a joke about it. “Your highness, Princess Damon- Ah! No, my mistake! Queen Damon Hill of the 1996 season!” Damon had laughed, extremely drunk after the victory celebrations. Michael had figured that he’d just have cut it all neat and proper again over the break. But no. His hair was even longer now. It went significantly past his shoulders even. He looked like a girl, like he could be his own sister. Would he laugh now if Michael called him a pretty gir-
Argh! Michael! What was that train of thought? “Like a girl”? As if. He still looked like a sour faced British ass, just with girly hair now. He had to get a hold of himself. Mind games, he reminded himself. Mind. Games.
Damon was getting out of his Arrows now. Enough torture for the day, Michael supposed. He pulled his hair back and tied it into a ponytail. A really messy ponytail. Honestly, even Michael could have tied it better if Damon would just let him touch his hai-
…
…98% sure.
Damon had not been having a very good title defense. Coming off of the championship season with a brand new team built around him should have gone a lot better. Unfortunately, he wasn’t defending anything currently. Couldn’t even get in the points. Hell, he hadn’t even started at the Australian Grand Prix. Way to start the season.
Michael would have felt bad for him but that was pretty difficult right now. Because he on the other hand had just won at Monaco for the third time! But also. Yes the hair was in fact, still, driving him up the wall. Damon was sulking around the paddock after his third straight retirement. Zero Monaco wins as a champion. As Mr. Monaco’s son, no less. Had to hurt for the poor bastard.
No!
No no no no no no. NO! No sympathy for long haired racers in Michael’s heart! None!
He'd caught a glimpse of Damon pulling off his balaclava and walking back to the pits as he was still racing. Nearly crashed at that. Speeding around the Monaco circuit and Damon Hill’s stupid hair flopping around had nearly made him one with the barriers.
Mind. Games.
No way was he loosing the championship because of pretty hair being flaunted in his face.
It was really unfair too. Michael wanted to terrorize him on the track for his hair crimes. Go wheel to wheel and whatnot! But Damon was in an Arrows. Michael would look insane if he tried tussling with a damn Arrows in his shiny Ferrari. And worse, his own teammate definitely suspected something by now. Michael was unfortunately not a very subtle man. His unbroken glare in Damon’s general direction during the podium was a big hint of that fact. His defense when questioned about it was that he happened glare all the time anyway, nothing to do with any Hill. No siree.
All he could hope for was that Irvine didn’t figure out what it was that was actually bothering him about Damon. But Eddie’s cheesy grin sure did unnerve him.
Eddie had definitely figured out what it was that was actually bothering him about Damon. Fuck. Just how unsubtle was he? Irvine had looked like a Cheshire cat the entire morning. But he hadn’t said a single word to Michael the entire day, aside from necessary race details. It was making Michael’s palms itch.
He'd just had a fairly decent race. Fourth place. A meh result if you asked him. Yet another retirement for Damon though. His fourth straight one. Ouch. He was no doubt sulking around the paddock again. Michael was trying his best to avoid the Briton. The long hair + the eyeliner eyes + the sad pout? A lethal mind game combo from Damon. Good news was, he had been pretty successful at steering clear of the Arrows motorhomes and personnel for the past hour. Bad news was that Eddie had also been MIA for the past hour. Never a good sign when that guy was left alone to his devices for that long.
He was tiptoeing near the Williams motorhomes when he finally came across a friendly face.
Frentzen happened to catch him sneaking around and nearly screamed before he realized it was just Michael. Good ol’ Heinz-Harald, the guy who now held the other Williams seat. The two were amicable. They’d known one another before F1. Surely Frentzen would be the best person to talk to about his Damon related woes.
“Michael! Why are you acting like a thief buddy?”
“Trying to keep myself scarce. You got time for a little chat by any chance?”
Frentzen looked slightly taken aback. Well, it had been some time since they had last spoken as ‘friends’. And they hadn’t even really been ‘friends’ at the time, just teammates. Ah shit, was Frentzen really the guy to talk to?
“Sure my friend! All the time in the world. Race is over anyways, very free at the moment. What’s up?”
Huh. Well he supposed he was. Michael quickly pulled Frentzen aside so that they would be relatively hidden by the motorhomes.
“You noticed Damon’s hair this season? It’s insane isn’t it? Surely that can’t be FIA legal.”
“Wha- Damon? Damon Hill’s hair? What’s wrong with it?”
“It. Is. So. Long. C’mon Heinz, you have to have noticed that.”
Frentzen squinted at him, confused.
“Well, yes it is long. But why would that be wrong Michael?”
“He looks like a girl!” Michael threw his arms up. “Hair that long can’t be safe, no?!”
Frentzen raised an eyebrow, “Well that’s mean of you Michael. I don’t think Damon looks like a girl. He’s just trying a new look. It looks rather good on him, actually.”
Oh, ok, so now at least one person on the grid definitely thought that Michael was possibly a homophobic asshole. Awesome.
“No! No no. I didn’t mean that as an insult or anything! He looks like a girl, like pretty, no, like girl, like, like, long hair girl, like- not girl pretty, like no no, like- um- uh-“
Michael flailed his arms at that point and Frentzen was beginning to actually look worried for him. Amazing save there Michael.
“Does this mean you weren’t behind the bow on Damon?”
“I wasn’t wha-“
Michael didn’t get to finish that train of thought. Damon walked by the motorhomes, oblivious to the two of them. Still sulking, by the way. But the sight of his hair made Michael’s breath catch in his throat.
There was a small pink bow on Damon’s hair. Not an actual bow tied on, but more a bow stuck to a hair clip. Michael wondered if he had started having stress hallucinations at the sight of Damon.
“What the fuck?”
“Oh yeah, totally just Eddie then.”
He turned to look at Frentzen.
“I overheard him asking his girls for one of their hair clip things. He was giggling about pranking another driver with it. I just assumed both of you were in on it. Because of how you have been acting, you know.”
Irvine that bitch. How did he even manage that? And just who was getting pranked exactly? This was causing him way more agony than Damon.
“Because of how I’ve been acting?”
“Ah, do not be angry at me Michael. You definitely know how you have been acting towards Damon recently.”
Frentzen paused for a second, seemingly wondering if he should continue that train of thought. He soldiered on.
“I worry you will send his Arrows flying one of these days. If looks could kill, you would have run him over several times by now, you know.”
Michael huffed. He admitted he could be pretty obvious at times, but obvious enough for other teams to notice? Surely not?
“You’re very obvious Michael.”
“Shut up man.”
Michael was following Damon now.
After observing for a few minutes, hidden in between the motorhomes, Michael realized that Damon had possibly still not noticed the clip in his hair. Frentzen had been giving him a weird look the entire time. He’d given him an even more appalled look when Michael had told him he would follow Damon for a while to properly cement that theory.
“You’ll scare him to death! Damon doesn’t deserve being hunted down by a serial killer in a driver’s body.”
Ok wow, so it’s just open season on him now?
“Pretty harsh there Heinz. I’m just following him for a little while. Just in the paddock too. Not chasing him around his neighborhood with a knife.”
“Doesn’t seem like that’s very far either…”
“What?”
“Nothing Michael. Please do not scare my predecessor to death. Good luck on your, uh, mission.”
Frentzen says it with a smile, but Michael still feels the judgement in waves.
And now here he was. About 10 feet behind Damon. Diving behind motorhomes and being very sneaky about his observing. For Damon’s own good of course. He would tell Damon about the clip once he figured out if he had it in his hair because he liked it or because he didn’t know about it yet. It looked fine on him, of course. Michael wouldn’t judge him if he actually wanted the bow on. That was totally fine with him. Even if it totally stepping up the mind games to an unfair level. He thought that it looked rather nice on his long hair even. If Damon had some ribbon, Michael could actually tie an actual bow into his hair for him. If Damon wanted that of course. Not that having long hair meant that Damon was like a girl now. Not that there was anything wrong with that. And not to sound like the mind games were working. But if Damon wanted that then Michael definitely-
“Ok, who the fuck has been following me for like five minutes now?”
Whoops.
Michael tried to walk into view in the most non threatening way possible.
“Look man it’s jus_”
“Michael.”
Damon sounded cautiously clipped.
“Care to explain why I’m being stalked by a fellow racer?”
“Now hold on. I wasn’t stalking you. I was just following you. For your own sake mind you.”
Damon’s usual ‘British gloom’ face became even more pinched at that.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He reached out to get the hair clip. Damon flinched away from his hand.
“What are you-“
“Yeah, hold on man. Don’t move, ok? I’m trying to show you.”
He reached out again and unclipped the bow from Damon’s hair. Wow his hair was surprisingly soft. Ah! Focus, Michael, focus. He was dealing with a mind games master here.
“So, you’re rocking the pretty princess look now?”
Damon stared at the hair clip in his hand. He didn’t react at all for a few seconds. But then red starts creeping up his neck. Very quickly Damon’s face went completely red. Oh boy, he was shaking.
“What is your fucking problem with me, Schumacher? Why embarrass me more when I’m already having the shittiest season possible?”
Huh? Why was he ‘Schumacher’ now? Even ‘94 he’d still been ‘Michael’.
“A hair clip? How fucking immature man. You and your Ferrari cronies.”
Damon sounded like it was taking all his will power to not start swinging at Michael right then and there. Michael was caught off guard. He’d never really seen him get this mad about anything. It had always been the ‘polite little British boy’ act that Damon had used to deal with every wrong he faced. Why was he so mad at Michael? Was it because it was him? He had been on his best behavior with Damon this season. He didn’t deserve this at all. This wasn’t even his doing. Oh wait, this wasn’t his doing at all. This was all on Eddie. Unfortunately, Damon did not give him the chance to explain that little fact.
“Stay the fuck away from me, Schumacher.”
“Wait, hold on man. This wasn’t me at all. Hey, hold on! Hey!”
Damon turned around and quickly walked off. Walked off angrily, stomping like a cartoon character with steam coming out of their ears. Michael was left standing there alone, looking stupid, a little pink bow hair clip in his hand and the feeling of soft hair on his fingers.
Ok, so he was going to kill Eddie Irvine.
It had been an amazing day for Michael. A win in Canada, Eddie out in lap one (karma), and Damon finally in a better mood.
He had not managed to clear the air between himself and Damon yet. The only solace he had gotten for that situation was a payback prank on Eddie (fart spray in crash helmet). Damon had been avoiding him at every opportunity. But perhaps today he could finally get his word in.
Damon had finally managed to finish a race. P9. Still not a points position, but at this point, the Arrows team were probably happy for anything they could get. Damon was definitely happier though. There had been no sulking through the paddock after the race today. In fact, Damon was hanging out around the Williams garage. He was joking and laughing it up with Frentzen and some of the Williams mechanics.
Michael knew this because he was standing just in the periphery of their garage. He could see how much lighter Damon looked today. Wild hair untied and tucked behind his ears, but coming untucked and covering half of his face because of his shaking laughter. They couldn’t really see him though. And thank God for that. Michael was pretty sure he had a strange expression on currently. Probably the fault of the mind games; definitely no other reason.
Ok, man up time Michael. Time to walk over to the Williams garage and clear up any bad blood with Damon. Not even a few steps forward however, he was rudely stopped. Someone had come and stood directly in his way. The ankle biter. Jacques Villeneuve.
Urgh. Championship rival. If it were any other situation he would have just shouldered past the little dude. Big guy advantage and all that. But Damon did really like the little rascal for some reason. They’d been really chummy as teammates and were still very friendly. It wouldn’t do Michael much good to start off on the wrong foot with Damon’s circle. Even if Damon was helping Jacques win and messing with Michael’s psyche for it. Put on your best smile Michael. Just for this one occasion.
“Hello Jacques. Headed to the Williams garage?”
“I can, like, count all your teeth when you smile, dude. Very ‘Jaws’ man.”
Little maple syrup shit.
Grit it out Michael. You need him on your side.
“Ha. Hey man, is Damon over at your garage? Could you call him out or something? I was hoping to get a word with him.”
Jacques smirks. Lord help Michael.
“No way Schooms.”
He really drags out the ‘Schooms’. Michael never wants to hear that version of his nickname ever again.
“Why would I actually help you embarrass Damon again? One time not enough for you Ferrari peeps?”
“IT WASN’T ME!”
Ah c’mon, level tones Michael.
“Look, I keep trying to tell him. It wasn’t me behind the hair clip. That was 100% Eddie playing a prank on Damon. I was actually hoping to apologize on our, on Ferrari’s behalf. You know, no bad blood between the teams and all that.”
The little imp scrunched his face at that.
“Literally why would any of us believe that?”
Oh man, c’mon, how was he supposed to bypass this riddling troll? Jacques would never believe anything coming out of Michael’s mouth. Especially not this year, not his damn rival.
“Could you just call him out for a second? Look, all you Williams grunts can stand guard right behind him or something. I give you all the permission to attack the moment he looks even slightly miffed. That fair enough for you?”
Jacques folded his arms and stared at Michael for a few seconds. It would have been pretty tense if not for Jacques being a head shorter than him. And also in an oversized race suit. Rosy-cheeked overgrown toddler vs huge lean Ferrari meanie. Michael mentally giggled a little at the imagery.
Finally Jacques sighed.
“Whatever man. It’s up to Damon anyway. Stay here. I’ll call hi- uh, no, I’ll tell him. If he doesn’t wanna, then he won’t come. Suffer.”
Jacques walked off to the Williams garage. Waddle, waddle, waddle. Hehe.
Michael hoped he wouldn’t be getting a cold shoulder today. They could surely both be adults about this. He would apologize for the clip fiasco and Damon would own up to his mind games. Surely.
It took a good minute or so. Damon walked out of the Williams garage. The face that had just been giggling with the mechanics, was now back to a typical pinched British look. Keeping some distance between them, Damon stood with his arms crossed.
“Schumacher.”
“Ok, you need to believe me on this. I am seriously here to apologize for the hair clip thing.”
“Why? Isn’t that just another stupid prank for you gu-“
“If you also admit that the long hair is totally a mind games thing. I think that’s fair, right? Just a fair give and take situation here man.”
Damon completely blanked at that. Even the sour glare had been wiped off his face. He just blinked confused at Michael.
“My what is a what? What did you just say to me?”
“Your hair Damon. Total distraction. Way too long. No way that’s even FIA legal. Definitely a mind game tactic to distract me in the championship running and help Jacques win. I apologize for the hair clip and you admit that.”
Damon stood with his mouth agape. Michael, unbothered by it, remembered he had another point to clear.
“Also the hair clip was totally not me. That was completely Eddie’s handiwork. Eddie Irvine. One of his girl’s hair clip. Totally his prank on m- *ahem* you. His prank on you.”
Michael waited for a response from him. Was Damon just going to stand there, mouth moving like a fish with no sound?
Damon’s eyebrows creased. Uh-oh. Now he just looked angry. The man actually bristled like an angered cat. At least he didn’t go bright red again.
“What the fuck are you even talking about? My- my hair is a mind game? What can’t it ever be easy with you? Just give me a simple fucking sorry for humiliating me!”
Arms uncrossed now, Damon was threateningly pointing at Michael’s face and shouting.
“Ah, c’mon man, I just explained how it wasn’t me at all. How is this unfair? It seems pretty 50/50 to me.”
Damon moved forward crowding into his space, still pointing. Interesting flip on the Jacques situation. Michael was the one who had to slightly look up at Damon now.
“You are talking insane crap! I just wanted a stupid apology! What has my hair ever done to you?!”
“You look like a girl! The long hair makes you look girly Damon. It’s really distracting to everyone.”
Damon stared at him like a deer. Not a cute deer stare, like Bambi or the such. Nope. He stared at Michael like one of those deer who would stare down a car and run straight at it. Was Michael about to be trampled by a gangly British man today?
“You evil wanker. You know what, I hope your car fucking explodes.”
Damon’s voice was a whisper. Michael readied himself for a right hook; which never came. Instead Damon turned on his heel and was yet again about to leave the conversation. Oh no he didn’t. Not another conversation cut short, with Michael unable to explain himself, again.
Michael grabbed at Damon’s shoulder and turned him around. Damon stumbled a little closer in shock. They were stood face-to-face now. Oh boy, this was actually really close. Damon looked murderous. But his hair was yet again falling over his face. His surprisingly soft hair. Damon had been tucking his hair back every time it fell on his face. In the garage. Smiling and laughing with the mechanics. Even Frentzen.
Michael reached out and tucked Damon’s hair back in place.
“Wow, yeah, that hair is really soft.”
Wait.
Michael did what?
Damon goes bright red immediately. Shit.
“My hair is soft?“
Oh lord, had he said that out loud?
Michael could feel his face heat up. He turned around and fucking booked it away from the Williams garage. The imp backup must have come out at that moment. He could faintly hear Jacques loudly demand what had happened and why Damon was so red. Michael himself probably looked like a tomato.
All in all, not a very successful apology he had to say.
The French Grand Prix goes amazing for Michael. Pole, fastest lap, and he wins. He had heard later that Damon had managed to finish the race as well. ‘Heard’ it from the Canadian Satan (p4, suck it looser). ‘Later’ because he had left the premises as soon as he possibly could have. He did not want to run into Damon by any chance. Lot of things there to self reflect on that Michael simply wanted to ignore by focusing 100% on racing.
Damon had remained quiet on the whole fiasco that had gone down in Canada. He hadn’t heard any whispers of him calling Damon’s hair ‘soft’. Unfortunately to his horror, Jacques had also informed him that Damon had wanted to talk to him. He actually wanted to talk to Michael? Was this going to be blackmail? Now he definitely could fast-track Jacques’ championship win. Damn Michael’s big mouth!
But there was going to be no talk between Damon and him. He would not be touching that mess with a twenty foot pole. Michael could just tactically avoid any contact with Damon for the rest of the season. Nine races more. No way that A18 was touching the podium (where Michael would be) this season. Now to skirt around him in England.
Michael retired at the British Grand Prix. Damon scored his first points of the season in p6. It really just was his luck wasn’t it? He supposed it was his turn to sulk around the paddock.
Which is what Michael had been doing till then. Huffing and kicking at rocks around his motorhome. Suddenly from behind him he heard a familiar voice.
“Oh lighten up Michael. You’ve already had three race wins this season. Five podiums total too.”
Michael turned around so fast he nearly fell over. Damon stood casually in front of his Ferrari motorhome. Actually causally, he was in casual clothes. Band t-shirt and jeans. Michael was still in his grimy race suit. Damon looked to be in much lighter moods today. Was he grinning?
“Oh rub it in Hill, why don’t you.”
“Ha, so what? I’m demoted to ‘Hill’ now?”
Smug British basta- Hold on. Was he back to ‘Michael’ again? Why? Was Damon messing with him? Mind games?!
“Wasn’t I demoted to ‘Schumacher’ a little while ago?”
“Oh hush, you totally deserved that.”
Michael needs to run before his face goes all heated again.
“Whatever. Why are you here Damon?”
“Ah, yes. Well, I forgive you for the hair clip thing Michael.”
“Huh? Where’s this coming from?”
“Eddie came to me to apologize after the French GP. Apparently he felt pretty guilty about leaving his buddy hung out to dry like he did. Explained all about the prank being his doing 100%.”
Well, that was certainly unexpected. Eddie had certainly seemed kind of guilty about the whole fiasco later on. Something about the prank going further than he had anticipated. At least the guy had cleared it all up eventually. Finally Michael was off the proverbial hook and- why was Damon smirking?
“Eddie also mentioned how the ‘prank’ was actually meant to rile up his best bud who had been getting all bothered about someone’s hair.”
Ok so, he was going to kill Eddie Irvine.
“I honestly thought you were just insulting me, calling me ‘girly’ and such stuff. But you were actually bothered by my long luscious hair Michael?”
Damon looked so damn smug, he seemed like he could burst into giggles at any moment. Evil, cruel, Michael tormenting giggles.
“Oh I don’t know whether to be flattered or not Michael! I have been taking very good care of my hair you know. Can’t get hair so soft without plenty of work!”
Damon did the kooky fluttery eyes at him as a joke. Unfortunately, somehow with Damon’s eyelashes and big deer eyes it actually looked nice. Michael’s face is definitely heating up. He hadn’t self reflected on that at all. Therefore he blamed what happened next entirely on Damon. Should have let him self reflect Damon!
Michael grabbed Damon by the stupid band shirt’s collar and pulled him down. He kissed him. Like actually. Like on the lips. Like thin villainous British lips with small evil German lips. Wow.
Also his face felt like a furnace.
Michael pulled back. He didn’t know what expression he had on currently but he knew it looked stupid. Damon looked stunned. Thankfully Damon had also gone red in the face. They certainly must had been looking novel. Two tomatoes smooching.
“Yeah, I guess your hair is pretty looking or whatever.”
Amazing save there Michael.
“Amazing save there, Michael.”
Damn.
Damon came second at the Hungarian Grand Prix. Michael came a far distant (to him) fourth. He couldn’t even feel bad about this result however. After the amazing start, he’d actually been rooting for Damon to clutch a win. Unfortunately, the A18 predictably falters towards the end and Jacques overtook Damon. Damn walking bleach blond roadkill.
Michael wouldn’t snipe at Jacques for that of course. Damon still was fond of the human Chihuahua. And Michael didn’t really want to upset him on his big day.
That’s where he had expected to find him. Celebrating his amazing win with the Arrows team. The team was certainly celebrating. Where was Damon though? Maybe out with Jacques? They had both gotten a win of sorts today.
Michael trudged his way back to his Ferrari motorhome. He’d just congratulate Damon some other time he supposed. As he locked the door behind him he realized that someone was playing shitty Brit rock in his motorhome. And who else could it be?
On his bed, sat the day’s clear winner (in everyone’s hearts at least), Damon Hill. Who, Michael was certain, was trying to kill him. Damon sat with his back turned to him. There was a Silver ribbon tying up his long hair. Silver ribbon tied up like a bow on a Christmas present. Michael’s palms itched at the sight.
“What are you doing here, today’s true winner? Shouldn’t you be out celebrating your amazing win?”
Damon kept his back turned to him. Oh British siren of shitty Brit-rock
“What am I doing here? I’m here to celebrate my win Michael. You’re going to help me do that aren’t you?”
Well, how could Michael refuse no?
“C’mon don’t be so surprised Eddie. Of course it worked out. Of course we worked out! You helped out in this happening! You knew it was coming.”
“Well I knew you’d be that stupid. I didn’t think Damon would be though!”
“Ah fuck you man. I don’t know how we’re even friends.”
“Like you said, I helped it happen didn’t I? So fun to be the first to know such juicy gossip!”
“Uh…..”
“You did tell me first right?”
“Well Damon already blabbed to Jacques, you know…”
“And you?”
“……I told Heinz-Harald first.”
“Fuck you man.”
2010
“Hey hon? Do you think this damn team is some sort of karmic justice for me causing you grief in your Arrows year?”
Damon walked over to the living room couch from his office. He plopped down beside Michael. His chest length hair has gone all silver. Damon really pulled it off in his opinion. Michael would never let even a drop of hair dye near his husband.
“Why do you say that love?”
“I’m having the worst season everrrrrrr!”
Damon laughed.
“C’mon big guy. Pull yourself together! Seven time champion! It’s no small feat. Besides, it’s probably that break you took causing the little hiccups for now. You’ll be crushing Keke’s little twink son in no time!”
“Urghhh. The stewards despise me. I’ll probably get sent to penalty jail before I beat mini Rosberg.”
“For what it’s worth, if I were a steward in your races, I’d totally help you out in every way possible.”
Damon thinks for a second. Oh it was coming again.
“Given you or Miniberg don’t freak out about my ‘mind games’ afterwards.”
“Damonnnnn. You’re never going to let that go are you.”
“Well it was very rude to be shaken awake by my boyfriend, who was raving about me having cost him the championship to Jacques. Because I was apparently playing ‘mind games’ getting into a relationship with him.”
Ouch. That had certainly been one of Michael’s lowest moments. In his defense, he had been pretty drunk and heard whispers of how Jacques had been ‘helped’ in the championship. Of course later, sober, he’d realized that people had meant that Michael’s own stupid move was what had ‘helped’ Jacques win.
He'd been couch bound for a week. The tiny scratchy motorhome couches had been even more torturous than regular ones. Michael’s lowest point for real.
“But the boyfriend did make up for it quite a lot, so I suppose all was forgiven too.”
“Then why’d you bring it up so many times?”
“Ah you can’t fault me for that Michael. In hindsight, it was truly a bizarre hilarious moment. Imagine being woken up by a guy so clearly torn between wanting to kiss you and crying over your 'betrayal'. You were streaming tears and still making kissy faces.”
Damon giggled and his hair fell on his face. Michael tutted and pulled out a spare ribbon from his pocket. He always had one on him. Damon usually forgot and also Michael just wanted any excuse to run his hands through his hair. He dutifully tied up Damon’s hair into a neat ponytail with a Ferrari red ribbon. Old habits.
“Well I suppose I can look over my readings and charts one more time. Figure out an opening.”
Damon beamed at him.
“Go get ‘em tiger.”
He gives Michael a soft kiss on the cheek.
Michael, obviously, made it dirtier.
The most successful mind game in the sport he’d ever encountered, and it wasn’t even a mind game. It was just pretty long hair.
xx