Chapter Text
Nico was never good with drinks.
Two shots of vodka were enough to get him completely drunk, and he always messed up when he got like that. But his own 40th birthday was a good excuse to get wasted, wasn’t it?
He was downing drink after drink, laughing as he felt the alcohol turn the club into a whirlwind of colors and sounds, mixed with the sweet scent of liquor.
He felt young again. Suddenly, he was 31, back in 2016, celebrating his first and only world title, feeling sticky champagne on his aching cheeks.
Suddenly, he was also back in those holidays in Greece, tracing the stars, dreaming of the day he’d join Formula 1, imagining what the engine would sound like.
Suddenly, he was back with Lewis.
They’d never dated. Not really. Maybe some drunken, angry kisses followed by half-assed excuses like “we were caught up in the moment.” Maybe post-fight confessions, but never a healthy relationship. Nico never understood why he missed all of it. He knew it wasn’t healthy.
But even so...
“I miss you,” he found himself typing. Because honestly, fuck it — what could make things worse? The last time they’d seen each other, they’d run into each other in the elevator, and Nico couldn’t remember a more awkward elevator ride in his life.
He had no hope that Lewis would reply with something like “I want you too” or some bullshit like that. He knew he had messed things up really badly back then, and he knew a drunk text wouldn’t erase years of bitterness.
God, how he wished it would.
He drank another shot, hoping the burning in his throat would drown out the ache in his chest, and if anyone asked, the tears at the corners of his eyes were just from the imminent vomiting.
But then, he felt his phone vibrate.
“I know. Happy birthday.” That was all it said. Dry and formal. Nico felt like someone had stabbed him.
His stomach twisted, a knot forming in his throat as he typed out another impulsive message.
“Sorry.” He typed back. Short, without specifying what for, but it felt necessary.
Maybe Lewis would think he was apologizing for the message. Or maybe he’d understand the meaning beneath it.
“Sorry for everything. I miss you. I love you.” That’s what he should’ve written, but he wasn’t drunk enough yet.
A small “read” mark appeared beside the message, and Nico realized he really was going to puke. He rushed to the club’s tiny, claustrophobic bathroom, clinging to the edge of the toilet as his stomach emptied through his mouth.
Five minutes and no reply.
Tears ran down his cheeks, mixing with the alcoholic taste of bile.
Six minutes.
He gargled water, trying to wash out the disgusting taste from his mouth.
Seven minutes.
He sat on the bathroom floor, staring at the wall, feeling his throat burn.
Eight minutes.
“Where are you?” The notification popped up, and Nico froze.
“Club Lotus, near our building.” He replied, knowing Lewis would know exactly where it was — they used to come here and get wasted. Before everything fell apart.
Ten minutes passed. Nico felt like shit. The dizziness in his head made him want to puke again, but he had nothing left to put out.
Fifteen minutes. Then he heard a knock on the door, followed by a familiar voice calling his name.
“Nico, you in there?” He heard Lewis call. His heart dropped for a moment as he stood frozen, listening to the voice he had longed to hear say his name again for so long.
He got up, staggering toward the door, opening it quickly and facing Lewis.
He looked tired, but still as beautiful as ever.
His braids were tied back in a ponytail, and he wore a black t-shirt and wide-leg jeans. It was a simple look for someone as fashionable as Lewis, which meant he hadn’t thought too much before heading to the club.
“Lewis?” Nico said, like he couldn’t believe the man standing in front of him was really his ex… best friend? Rival? Hookup?
His ex-something.
“Nico.” Lewis replied. It sounded like an exhale, like the name had been stuck inside him like a breath.
Lewis looked at him, brows slightly furrowed, lips parted, examining the man in front of him with something close to pity.
“You look like shit, man.” He said with genuine concern, making Nico huff a half-laugh. “Did you... throw up?”
“Yeah.” Nico gave a weak, awkward chuckle. “Sorry… for the message and everything.” He mumbled, not brave enough to say what he really meant. Lewis sighed, exhausted.
“It’s okay, man. Just… are you ok?”
Nico hesitated for a moment. Lewis had never asked that before, and the question almost broke him right there.
No, he was not ok. It was his 40th birthday, and he’d gotten wasted and texted his ex-love/rival, and now here he was. Staring his past in the face. Nothing was ok.
“Yes.” He managed to whisper, barely.
Lewis looked at him, concern etched into his face.
“Nico…” He seemed to think for a moment before shaking his head like trying to push a thought away. “Come on, I’ll take you home.” He said, grabbing Nico by the waist and slinging his arm over his shoulder.
Nico didn’t fight it, shivering slightly at the gentle touch. His eyes stung a bit, filled with memories of the past — of when a younger, drunken Nico had been helped to walk by the very same man.
Lewis guided him to the car, with Nico stumbling at least six times along the way.
He helped the blond settle into the passenger seat, fastening the seatbelt and holding his gaze for a few seconds before closing the door and walking over to the driver’s side.
The walk back to their building wasn’t long, but the silence stretching between them felt eternal. Like a painful reminder that they were no longer friends.
"Are you okay?" Lewis asked again, more firmly this time.
"Define okay," Nico muttered, embarrassed. Lewis let his eyes linger on the blond for a moment.
He looked wrecked. There were dark circles under his eyes, his usually well-groomed hair was a mess of disheveled blond strands. His mouth was curved into an almost perfect upside-down “u”, like he always did when he wanted to cry.
"Alright then," Lewis sighed, knowing he wouldn’t get anything more out of the other.
The ride continued quietly, the silence broken only by the hum of the car engine.
Lewis parked in the underground garage, and they sat there for a while longer before either of them dared to speak.
"How are Vivian and the girls?" Lewis asked, a bit tense. Nico let out a grunt.
"They're at Vivian’s mother’s place." Lewis looked at him, confused and concerned. Nico scoffed. "I think we’re going to end up divorcing." he confessed, covering his face with his hands and sinking into the seat.
So that was it, Lewis thought. He was leaving his wife, and suddenly, midlife crisis had hit, making him text his ex in a panic.
It was almost funny. Almost.
"You… you know you could’ve called me, right?" Lewis asked, voice low enough for Nico to wonder if he had imagined it. "I mean, you didn’t have to let it get this far."
He gestured toward Nico, as if analyzing his state. Nico blushed.
"I didn’t think I could," he admitted, ashamed. "I thought you hated me."
Lewis froze for a moment, his hands tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.
"Nico," he said, his voice firm. "I never hated you. How could I?"
Nico bit his lower lip, feeling his eyes sting and grow wet, silently thankful that his hands were still covering them.
He heard Lewis’s door open and close, and for a moment, he let out a shaky breath through his lips, trying to pull himself together.
Then he heard his own door open. He let his hands slide from his face but didn’t look at the figure standing there.
"Nico?" Lewis called, extending his hand to the blond.
Nico hesitated, weighing whether he should accept the offered hand. It was a small gesture, one that might normally mean nothing, but it was Lewis.
Everything meant something when it came from him.
He took Lewis’s hand delicately, as if the touch hurt. And it did. It hurt so much, Nico felt like he might collapse right there.
Lewis held his hand tighter as Nico got out of the car, stumbling slightly. He helped him walk toward the elevator.
The ride up was silent, filled only with their anxious, heavy breaths. Maybe it was for the best. Small talk at a moment like that would only make everything worse.
They walked down the empty hallway side by side but didn’t touch. Everyone in the building was already asleep—it was nearly 2 a.m.
They stopped between two doors: apartment 643 and 644. Lewis looked at him, a little uneasy.
"You…" He cleared his throat. "Do you want to come in? I have something for headaches," he added quickly.
Nico thought. He didn’t want to step into Lewis’s apartment. There were too many memories, too many ghosts of what had happened there.
He remembered the fights, the stinging eyes, the painful words, the games.
But he didn’t want to go back to the silence and quiet sobbing of his own apartment either.
He nodded as Lewis unlocked the door to 644.
The apartment smelled of a light perfume and coconut soap. It was familiar. The same scent Nico had noticed when they’d gone shopping for Lewis’s new place, excited about the move. Excited about the future.
Flashbacks hit him. This time, the good ones. The childish laughter, the play fights in hotel rooms, the holidays Lewis spent with the Rosbergs.
Nico almost smiled softly when he looked at the small cabinet next to the large living room sofa. There was a photo of them, much younger, on a big ATV.
He remembered that day so well. Lewis had gone to visit him for the weekend, and they’d found the thing in Nico’s dad’s garage. Of course Lewis knew how to drive it.
They’d sped down the path, laughing loudly, with Nico holding tightly onto Lewis’s waist, his head resting on his shoulder.
He stepped closer to the photo, tracing the frame gently with his finger, as if any touch might make it crumble to dust.
Up close, he saw the photo was taped together in four large pieces.
"You ripped this photo?" he asked, looking at Lewis, who was in the kitchen—separated from the living room by a counter—getting the medicine.
"Yeah," he murmured, not looking at Nico, clearly ashamed. "The day you got married." He confessed, voice trembling.
Nico didn’t answer right away. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. The air felt stuck in his lungs.
"I wanted to throw it away," Lewis admitted, still facing away from Nico. "I wanted to forget everything and move on." His voice cracked.
"It was impulsive, you know?" Nico found himself saying before he could stop. Lewis turned to him, confused. "The marriage to Vivian, I mean. I mean, I loved her, yeah. But…" He tried. Lewis let out a strangled ‘ah’. "... I always loved you more." He admitted, locking eyes with Lewis.
Both of their eyes welled with tears. Nico hadn’t planned on admitting that, and he knew he had already hurt Lewis enough, but saying it out loud felt like a weight had lifted off his chest.
"Sorry, I…" he began, stepping away from the photo as if it were on fire. "I shouldn’t have said that. I mean, you’ve moved on and everything…" Nico mumbled, ashamed, but Lewis cut him off.
"No." He said. A single word—nothing more, nothing less—but it hit Nico like a bullet. "Stay. Tonight. Sleep on the couch." He asked, his voice firm but full of emotion.
Nico didn’t hesitate before nodding. Lewis, without another word, handed him the medicine and went toward the bedroom to grab some blankets, leaving Nico alone.
He walked over to the sofa, sitting down gently as a single tear slid down his cheek.