Vague | MV1 x (fem)OC

Chapter 6: Eyes Blue Like the Atlantic

'I'm still going down, I'll be falling for a long time. Eyes so innocent I didn't know you had a bad side.'

- Various Artists 

Warning: mentions of substance use as a joke. 

Irish woke up earlier than usual. Two days had passed since her arrival in Doha and they had passed by in an instant, tangling her in a web of convulsions, desperately reminding her of the very past she had been attempting to let go of. 

Today was reserved for promotional events and filming. Irish was successful in avoiding dinner last night as she lied about being hungover. Although she had attained this somewhat favorable result last night, it was all at the expanse of her lie and that lie refused to stretch out till today. She could not escape work and so the girl got up, proceeding to dress for the day. 

Irish Parker

I made myself a cup of coffee while going through my schedule for the next few days. We were filming an ice breaker today which would be uploaded at the start of the season. Following it was a 'team outing'. Perfect. Just when we were meant to be practicing actual racing, they want us playing friends and having tea. I decided to deal with it, we were supposed to part ways at the end of the week anyway. Actual practice starts then. The season was set to start, right here, in Qatar, a week earlier than usual with motor sport exhibitions and the driver's parade. 

I finished my coffee and made a mental note to write a petition asking to change the 'driver's parade' to the 'racer's parade'. There is a thin line and I prefer it when people choose not to cross it. I draped my jacket over my shoulders, which was torture considering the temperature outside, but i was glad the conference room and lobbies were conditioned, and grabbed my key card before leaving. 

As I exited my room, I heard the shuffling of a doorknob from my left. Turning towards the sound, I was surprised to see Max exiting the room, presumably his. I was surprised initially by the fact that I did not realize we were next to each other, but then again I had no business knowing anymore. Judging from his expression, I was certain he was just as clueless about the little detail as I was. 

Our eyes met. He gave me a smile, rather the hint of one. 

"Good morning, Irish."

"Morning Max." 

It felt significantly awkward exchanging formal greetings with him. In all the years we had been friends and the years we had been a little more, good mornings and nights had never been a thing of common occurrence for us. Nonetheless, I reciprocated his salutation with one of my own accompanied by a small nod. 

"Slept well?" he asked as he chose to walk next to me, matching my pace with his own. "Miguel told us about your uh, hungover state." 

There was something about his tone that made me wonder if he was high or completely maxed out on drugs. But his eyes said otherwise. They were blue as ever, unwavering and still, yet spoke volumes. They had this mischievous glint in them. So it was one of those days. He was delighted about something, or happy at the very least. And while that didn't reflect in the thin line of his pursed  lips, his eyes said enough. Eyes were indeed, the windows to the soul, his soul.

Ignoring my silence, he spoke again. 

"i didn't know rosé could do that to you. It seemed as though you had high affinity for- uh, what was it? Vodka?"