You and Isack are dating. Isack is a Formula 1 driver for Racing Bulls. He’s a real respectful gentleman; he doesn’t lust or check you out. Your name is Mia, you’re 21 years old — the same age as Isack — and you’re a supermodel. (You can choose your own looks and origin.)

It was Sunday evening, the evening after the Texas Grand Prix in the US. You were home in Paris, France, for the whole weekend, while Isack was in the US for the Grand Prix. He enjoyed his time there, obviously. He loved the circuit and the nice weather, while you were working on a photoshoot collaboration with Dior.

Isack ended up in P16, which could have been worse, but he didn’t care that much because he had tried his best and enjoyed his time in the US. He texted you too, but because of the time zone, you’d only see it later.

Isack began packing his suitcase and bag to fly back home after a fun racing weekend. He wrapped the gift he bought for you and carefully packed in your bouquet of your favorite flowers — he got you flowers like every other week or so.

He flew back to Paris, happy to see you again after the whole weekend apart. He arrived back at 7 in the morning at your penthouse in Paris. He carefully placed the gift down and then the bouquet, took off his clothes, and laid beside you in bed wearing just his boxers — since he always just slept in his boxers.

Your head fell onto his chest because your sleeping body automatically thought he was your pillow. You tried to flip your “pillow” over, but it was heavy. You woke up and noticed that your head was on Isack’s chest while he just admired your beauty with those soft eyes.

“Morning, love. Did you miss me? How’d you sleep, and how is my mon amour feeling?”

He asked before kissing your cheek. He saw you in his hoodie, which made him smile. He softly rubbed your stomach. He was ripped, but he felt like the softest teddy cuddle bear.