The keycard slides into my hotel room door with a soft click that might as well be a thunderclap in the empty hallway. Blair's door, our door until a few minutes ago, remains firmly shut behind me, sealing away the woman who'll be hurling herself around a racetrack tomorrow while I watch from the sidelines, heart in my throat.
My room is the sad cousin of Blair's luxury suite, a single queen bed instead of king, a view of the parking garage instead of Melbourne's glittering skyline, and a distinct lack of blue-haired racing prodigy. But it does have one thing her room doesn't, my streaming setup.
I flick on the lights and survey my little traveling studio. The foldable racing wheel stand sits in the corner with my Fanatec wheel clamped to it, pedals positioned just right on the hotel carpet. My gaming laptop, a gift from Blair after her first Formula 2 win, glows with anticipation, its now purple backlit keyboard matching the Zenith team colors. The portable ring light and camera are already mounted on their collapsible tripod, ready to broadcast my mediocre gaming skills to whoever might be watching at this hour.
"Might as well make use of the racing adrenaline," I mutter to myself, changing into a slightly nicer t-shirt, one of Blair's team shirts, naturally, and running fingers through my disheveled brown hair.
I reach for my streaming gloves from the side pocket of my duffel bag, slipping them over my hands with practiced ease. The snug black fabric hugs my fingers and palms, leaving no skin exposed. Always feels a bit cringey wearing these things, like I'm cosplaying as a "serious gamer" or something, but when you stream regularly with a wheel, they're practically mandatory.
I still remember finding Melissa's old iRacing setup gathering dust in our garage when I turned 18. Mom had already upgraded her to a professional rig by then, anything for her racing star daughter. I'd plugged it all in, more out of curiosity than anything else, and somehow found myself with a modest following within months. Funny how life works out sometimes.
Tonight, though, I'm not in the mood for iRacing's hardcore sim experience. I boot up F1 2025 instead, settling into my chair as the game's familiar loading screen appears. The digital version of Blair's car, that distinctive purple Zenith livery, flashes across my screen, and I feel a little pang in my chest. God, I'm smitten.
I adjust my camera, hit the "Go Live" button, and paste on my streamer smile. "Hey everyone, DNF_Nick here, coming at you live from Melbourne."
The chat immediately starts filling with messages, and I glance over to see what my small but loyal audience is saying. My smile falters slightly as I read the comments rolling in.
"OMG, is that Blair West's boyfriend??"
"how tf did this mid-looking dude bag an F1 driver lmaooo"
"Blud using his gf for clout, classic"
"No way she actually dates this guy."
I sigh, rolling my eyes at the camera. "Come on, chat, cut me some slack. I've been with Blair for years, since before she even made it to F1." I navigate through the game menus, selecting online multiplayer. "We met on the karting circuit when we were teenagers. I was just following my sister's career back then."
The chat doesn't let up, of course. It never does. Half of them don't believe I'm actually dating Blair, despite the single-digit appearances she's made on my stream over the past few years. The other half can't fathom why someone like her would be with someone like me. Sometimes I wonder the same thing.
"Anyway," I continue, forcing brightness into my voice, "thought we'd do some online races tonight. Blair's got the real thing tomorrow, but this is as close as I'll ever get to an F1 car."
I click "quick match" and wait for the lobby to fill up, sipping from a water bottle while I watch the usernames appear. There's something oddly comforting about being absolute trash at this game. No expectations, no pressure, just the opposite of what Blair experiences every day.
"Alright, looks like we've got a full grid," I announce as the track selection screen appears. "Monza? Thank god."
The loading screen transitions to the starting grid, my car positioned near the back because, well, that's where I belong. I've got traction control maxed out, anti-lock brakes on, racing line fully visible, basically every assist the game offers.
"For those just tuning in, fair warning, I am catastrophically bad at this," I laugh, adjusting my wheel as the countdown begins. "But that's kind of the point."
The lights go out and I manage a decent start, only to immediately witness three cars ahead of me swerve into each other at the first chicane. I brake early, watching the chaos unfold as carbon fiber textures fly across the screen.
"And there it is!," I narrate, carefully navigating around the digital wreckage. "This is why I love multiplayer. It's not about racing, it's about survival."
Chat erupts with laughing emojis as I somehow emerge from the carnage in 12th place.
"See? I'm already exceeding expectations by not being in a wall," I say, just before a Ferrari-liveried car divebombs me from seemingly nowhere, sending me spinning into the gravel.
"Spoke too soon! Thanks, Prostisgai44, very cool," I groan, fighting to get back on track while three more cars zoom past. "And this is why I'd never make it in real racing. Blair deals with this kind of aggression at 300 kilometers per hour without breaking a sweat."
I manage to rejoin in 16th place, only to have someone deliberately ram me on the next straight.
"Oh, come on!" I laugh despite myself. "What did I ever do to you, urdadsukzmyclit?"
"Classy username," I mutter, trying to get back on track again. I'm now firmly in last place, a full twenty seconds behind the next car.
As I struggle through the next few corners, chat suddenly shifts tone.
"Yo Nick, you're actually decent when you try," says one message.
"I've seen you race better than this," another chimes in.
"Stop sandbagging and actually RACE!" demands someone with too many numbers in their username.
I exhale, adjusting my position in the chair as I barely make a chicane. "Look, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I'm in Australia right now. It's getting late, I'm tired, and I'm not exactly in a trying mood after being separated from my girlfriend right before her big race."
The chat scrolls faster, and suddenly, my heart sinks as I glimpse the first slur. Then another. And another. N words, F slurs, C words. Mostly Slurs that don't even apply to me.
"Real nice, guys," I sigh, completely missing the braking point and sailing off into the gravel again. I don't even bother trying to recover. Instead, I put down the wheel and reach for my laptop.
"Sorry to the actual decent people watching, but we're taking a brief timeout while I clean up chat." I click through to my moderation panel, methodically banning account after account. It's sad how routine this has become. Being "Blair West's boyfriend" puts a weird target on my back for every insecure woman-child with a gaming setup and an axe to grind.
"If you're just joining, welcome to 'Watch Nick Ban Trolls, The Stream,'" I narrate while working through the list. "Very exciting content, I know. Maybe I should make this my main channel focus."
A familiar notification sound cuts through the toxic sludge of my chat. The little mod icon appears next to a username that instantly makes my shoulders relax.
"Oh, thank god," I breathe, feeling a genuine smile replace my streamer mask. "Nickismyhusbando has entered the chat, ladies and gentlemen. The only mod brave enough to show up at this ungodly Australian hour."
Her message pops up immediately: "GM Nick! ♥️ sorry I'm late."
I abandon the race completely now, letting my digital car sit in the gravel while the rest of the lobby zooms around the track. "No worries! You're actually right on time to witness the usual purge."
She's already at work, timeouts and bans flying faster than I can process them. Nickismyhusbando has been with me since... what, my third stream ever? When I had maybe fifteen viewers and was still figuring out OBS? It's weird to think about how long she's been watching me fail at video games.
"how's Australia treating you? Bet it's super warm there right now!" she types as she continues to moderate.
"It's beautiful here," I reply, reaching for my water bottle. "Warm but not too humid. Perfect racing weather, which is good for Blair. I'd show you the view from my window, but it's literally just a parking garage."
The chat starts to normalize as the worst offenders get removed. A few regular viewers return to the conversation, asking about Melbourne and tomorrow's race.
"Blair's feeling confident," I tell them, settling back into my chair. "P5 in qualifying has her fired up. She's convinced she's going to show everyone what she's made of."
"Let's start over," I say, exiting the online lobby and navigating back to the main menu. "I'm thinking single player, just chill and chat with you guys instead of dealing with the online demolition derby."
I select the Australian Grand Prix circuit—might as well virtually race where I am—and start setting up a casual practice session.
"Speaking of Blair," Nickismyhusbando types, "how's she handling the pressure? First F1 race and all..."
"She's in her element," I respond, selecting Blair's car from the team lineup again. "Pressure just makes her sharper, you know? It's actually incredible to watch."
There's a slight pause before Nickismyhusbando responds: "Must be hard dating someone so... intense. Does she even make time for you?"
I frown slightly, eyes flickering to the chat as I roll out of the virtual pit lane. "She makes as much time as she can. Racing comes first right now, which is totally fair."
"You deserve someone who puts YOU first, Nick."
The message catches me off guard, making me miss the apex of Turn 1 completely. I recover the car and laugh it off. "Come on, Husbando, don't start with that. Blair's incredible."
"Just saying... Always in separate hotel rooms. Always watching HER races. Does she ever watch YOUR streams?"
Other chat messages fly by, but Nickismyhusbando's stands out, highlighted in mod colors. I feel a sudden discomfort in my stomach.
"She's busy," I defend, taking Turn 3 too wide. "F1 is kind of demanding, you know? And she does watch my VODs sometimes when she has downtime."
"I've been watching for 3 years, and she's shown up like 5 times. You deserve better."
I sigh, focusing on the virtual track ahead. "Look, I appreciate you looking out for me, but Blair and I are good. Really."
"If you say so... 🙄"
I pretend not to notice the eye-roll emoji, instead forcing enthusiasm as I navigate through the fast sequence of corners. "So, chat, who do you think is going to win tomorrow? Blair's got a real shot from P5, especially with her start reflexes."
The chat shifts gears as I mention tomorrow's race, thankfully moving away from my relationship status.
"Ivy's gonna crush everyone," someone types.
"Nah, Blair's gonna surprise everyone," another counters.
I smile, grateful for the change in topic. "That's what I like to hear. Blair's been studying the track all week. She knows exactly where she can make moves."
I manage to string together a few decent corners, actually hitting the racing line for once. "Hey, look at that! Maybe I should be the F1 driver in this relationship."
"lol sure nick, blair would lap you 3 times," someone teases.
"Oh, absolutely," I laugh. "I'd be happy just to finish the race without crashing."
Nickismyhusbando's icon appears again: "You sell yourself short too much. You're actually not bad when you focus."
"Thanks, but I know my limits," I reply.
The next hour goes better. I manage to complete several clean laps, chat about tomorrow's race predictions, and even share a few behind-the-scenes stories about life in the paddock. Nickismyhusbando mostly sticks to normal conversation, though occasionally she'll drop comments like "must be lonely watching from the sidelines" or "hope she appreciates how supportive you are."
I've gotten pretty good at deflecting these little jabs over the years.
Around a little midnight, I stifle a yawn. "Alright, folks, I think I've got about thirty more minutes in me before I need to crash. Any specific track requests?"
"Monaco!" several people type at once.
"I fucking hate Monaco." I groan, but select the infamously tight street circuit anyway.
As I'm setting up the race, a new comment catches my eye.
"Did you see Charli Romano's new boyfriend at the paddock today? Dude's literally a model."
I nod as I adjust the race settings. "Yeah, Lorenzo. Nice guy, actually. Met him briefly at the team reception."
The chat immediately explodes.
"OMG LORENZO VALENTI?? The face of Armani's summer campaign???"
"Charli upgraded HARD from her last bf"
"All these F1 girls dating literal models and then there's Blair with... no offense Nick"
I press my lips together, trying not to let it bother me. "None taken," I lie, focusing harder on the virtual track.
"Lorenzo has been on like 15 magazine covers this year," someone adds.
"Yeah, and Charli's been on the cover of Sports Illustrated twice," I counter, trying to keep my tone light. "They make sense together."
"That's actually bullshit," Nickismyhusbando's message cuts through the chat, highlighted in mod green. "Nick doesn't need to be a model to deserve Blair. He's supportive, kind, and actually has a personality unlike most of these manufactured pretty boys."
I can't help but notice she doesn't call me hot or attractive in her defense, just that I have a "personality." The compliment lands like a participation trophy, but I appreciate her standing up for me anyway.
"Thanks, Husbando," I say, navigating the hairpin at Monaco with surprising precision. "But it's fine. I know what I bring to the table."
"Nick is WAY more than just Blair's cheerleader," Nickismyhusbando continues, clearly on a mission now. "He's smart and funny and actually LISTENS. Most of these F1 girls date guys who are just pretty accessories."
The chat splits between people agreeing with her and others posting increasingly cruel comparisons between me and the model boyfriends scattered throughout the paddock.
"Lorenzo looks like he was carved from marble," someone writes.
"And Nick looks like he was carved from mid," comes the reply.
I force a laugh, though it comes out strained. "Let's calm down."
"BANNED," Nickismyhusbando types, followed immediately by, "and that other jerk too. Anyone else want to join them?"
The chat quiets momentarily, and I use the reprieve to focus on not crashing.
"You don't need to keep defending me," I say after successfully navigating the corner. "I'm a big boy. I can handle some trolls."
"Someone has to stand up for you since you won't do it yourself," she replies.
Her words hit a little too close to home, making my chest tighten. I glance at the clock already almost 12:30 AM. The race starts in less than twelve hours, and here I am, getting roasted by strangers while my girlfriend sleeps peacefully in her luxury suite.
"You know what?" I say, deliberately missing the next corner and sending my virtual car into the barriers. "I think that's enough punishment for one night."
I roll my shoulders and force a yawn that quickly becomes genuine. "Thanks for hanging out tonight, everyone. I should probably get some sleep before tomorrow's big day."
The chat fills with goodbyes and good luck messages for Blair. I navigate back to the main menu, stretching my arms overhead.
"Seriously though, Nickismyhusbando, thanks for having my back tonight. Don't know what I'd do without you keeping the trolls at bay."
"Always here for you, Nick ♥️" she responds immediately. "Get some rest! I hope you're happy with the tomorrows results!"
"Will do. Goodnight everyone, catch you after the race." I wave at the camera and end the stream, the sudden silence in the room both a relief and a reminder of how alone I am.
I sit there for a moment, staring at my dark screen. My reflection looks back at me, tired eyes and messy hair, wearing Blair's team merchandise like a badge of belonging.
With a sigh, I pull out my phone and tap the alarm app, setting it for 7 AM. Blair will be up at 6:30 sharp, her race day routine is precision-engineered down to the minute, but I need the extra sleep after tonight's stream. Just enough time to get myself together before she's fully in the zone.
I toss my phone onto the nightstand and begin dismantling my streaming setup, carefully folding the wheel stand and unplugging the equipment. The conversation with chat replays in my mind, particularly Nickismyhusbando's comments. Why does she always zero in on the fault lines in my relationship?
Once everything's packed away, I jump onto the bed. It feels impossibly empty as I slide under the covers. Despite this, sleep comes fast since it's been such a long day.