Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Bahrain, February 26th. First day of pre-season testing.

Gabriel Bortoleto made it to Formula 1! For the first time in 8 years, Brazil has one of their own representing their colors in the sport. It’s weird, really. In a good way, though. Gabriel feels his feet and hands tingling with anxiety as he arrives at the track. Formula 2 felt like this. Formula 3 felt like this. Moving to Italy at 11 felt like this. So none of this should be new to him. But it is. Maybe because he realizes, once again, that being here is just the beginning. He still has to prove himself every weekend on track, or else it doesn't matter that he made it in, he’ll be out soon enough. He’d seen it happen, way too closely. Logan Sargeant struggled to score a single point before being replaced mid-season, and that's just the most recent example, but far from being the first.

Gabriel walks into the garage and is welcomed with awkward clapping and almost warm embraces. The team is happy to have a new driver, but the tension of welcoming a rookie spills through the cracks at times. Gabriel waves, hugs, offers smiles that don’t quite capture the tension that pulls at his heart. And then he sees Nico, standing tall, propped up on a pile of tyres, arms crossed and his eyes focused on a mechanic’s in front of him. Gabriel shuffles closer, ducking mechanics who carry all sorts of heavy pieces from his own car, until he makes it to Nico’s line of sight. He raises an arm, not confident enough, but still waves with obvious uncertainty.

“Hi Nico!” An awkward smile paints his face. Nico looks in his direction, puzzled. He excuses himself from the conversation with the mechanic, who promptly walks away.

“Hi, Gabriel.” He extends a welcoming hand for Gabriel to shake, gazing into his eyes with a very obviously PR-trained smile that doesn’t quite express anything deeper, Gabriel feels.

“It’s nice, seeing you here! Obviously.” Gabriel shakes his hand, too eager, maybe. “I’ve seen your onboards! Learned a lot from them. I hope we can do well together today.” His feet shift beneath him, like a little kid. Maybe that isn’t far from the truth. Nico has been driving in Formula 1 for almost as long as Gabriel has been alive. That places a distance between them that he doesn’t exactly know how to overcome just yet. But he is determined to try.

“Thanks. I’m sure you’ll do great. Formula 2 champion, right? Not bad,” Nico smiles, although his gaze doesn’t quite meet the other’s anymore. It feels distant, even if not physically.

“Yeah. Thanks! I’ll do my best,” Gabriel scratches the back of his neck — it’s a bad habit. He does that when he’s nervous. There’s no way Nico knows that, though.

“Hülkenberg?” A team member slightly nudges his arm, grabbing his attention. “Can you come with me? We need to adjust your seat,” She states, smiling. Nico turns toward her, away from Gabriel. Naturally.

“Gotta get going. See you, Gabriel.” He walks away with the same, says-nothing smile on his face, creating a distance Gabriel wants to shorten. It’s their first time meeting each other, of course things would be awkward at first. But he catches himself scheming.

Gabriel knows, from now on, every lap will be a test, every practice session will be a show and every race will be a spectacle in which he needs to be the central piece — to his engineer, if only. And he realizes it isn’t just for the team. He wants to prove himself to Nico, too. He wants to be respected by his teammate as much as he wants to be respected by the rest of the world. It feels important.

“See you!” He waves, hand lingering in the air for a beat too long.

He’ll prove himself on track, he hopes.

––––––––––––––––––––

The first few hours are rough. The car feels different from the Sim, of course. Heavier. Gabriel seems to fight the rear end at every corner. Exceeds track limits way too many times for him to be proud of his performance. Four hours, on and off, he feels like he’s making no progress at all. Soon enough, comes time for break. His body is hungry, but his mind can't quite calm down enough for him to feel like eating something. He settles for a latte.

Sat down at the track cafeteria, he drums his fingers on the table like that could give him answers. It doesn’t. He stares blankly at the menu, wondering if eating a croissant would make him feel better or worse. He can’t decide.

Until he sees Nico. He’s talking to Esteban Ocon, who moved to his seat at Haas after 2024. Gabriel shyly joins in, standing by their side. He introduces himself to Esteban, who shakes his hand and offers him a warm smile.

They talk about the team changes, mostly. Afterall, both Haas and Sauber aren’t exactly the dream team for either of them. Still, it's better than not having a seat.

“It’s sad that Haas’ best result is a P4. But if someone has done it before, then I’m sure it can be done again. The team’s new, they’re still figuring things out. You did it with an Alpine, man, I’m sure you can do it again,” Nico places a hand on his shoulder, reassuring as he could be, given that, well, he had the same chance and couldn’t do it.

“I hope you’re right,” Esteban laughs, but Gabriel feels it’s just for show, too. All of them know it’s not an easy task to overperform in a non-competitive car. Still, spreading all that perfectly polished positivity feels like the nice, correct thing to do, even if everyone in this little talking circle knows it’s bullshit. “We both have something in common, no?” Esteban eyes Gabriel before turning his gaze back to Nico, taking his coffee cup to his mouth.

“Yeah, rookie teammates. How are things with Oliver?” Nico barely looks at Gabriel before taking a sip of his own coffee. Gabriel just smiles, again bringing his hand to his neck.

“Good, good! He’s good. He seems to be struggling with the car a bit, but considering it’s just the first day of testing, I can’t even blame him. I’m not doing exactly awesome either. And you, Gabi?”

Gabriel seems surprised by the attention — not really by the nickname. He’s rarely called by his full name on track. “Well, I’m- fine, I guess,” Gabriel stutters. ”It’s different. I’ve raced in Bahrain, it shouldn’t be the issue. But I can’t manage my rear.” He looks down at his shoes, saddened.

“It’s normal. You’ll get the hang of the car eventually.” It’s Esteban’s turn to offer a reassuring touch to Gabriel’s shoulder. ”We have three days here, remember? And you have a veteran by your side,” Esteban eyes Nico. “It helps.” Nico laughs, interrupted by a Haas team member calling for Esteban. “Well, thanks! I’ll see you both around. Good luck!” He says as he walks away, chatting with the same warm smile he always has. Silence falls as Gabriel continues looking at his shoes, then at Nico’s. His coffee is still untouched.

“You’re doing too much,” Nico states, matter-of-fact.

“What?” Gabriel looks up.

“I know you want- you have to be fast, but not now. Not on your first day. Feel the car first. Understand what it’s telling you. If anything, you still have tomorrow and the day after to be your fastest. Now’s not the time.” His voice is calculated. He speaks with the certainty of someone who had to adapt to a new car, new parts, new regulations way too many times.

“Feels like I’ll just waste everyone’s time if I don’t try to be fast, though,” Gabriel breathes out, not confident, not sure why he is opening up so easily, not sure if it’s a bad idea.

“It’s pre-season testing. It’s all about the car, not really about you and me. Adjusting the car is the most important task for the team this week. You can figure out your pace later, even tomorrow if you’re that eager. Just not today. You’ll get it, eventually. Good luck, Gabriel," Nico says as he walks away, blending into the crowd of mechanics, drivers and team members. Gabriel stands, thinking.

His coffee has turned cold.

––––––––––––––––––––

The second half of the day feels better for Gabriel. Nico’s words linger in the air as he sits in the cockpit. He just needs to figure out the car. He can do that.

He still struggles in most corners, but he can now pinpoint where he is making mistakes and where the car feels harder to drive. He shares what he deems useful over the radio, drives in and out of the garage as many times as was necessary to adjust the car.

“And box, box. We're done for the day, well done Gabi,” He hears over the radio, and for the first time since the session started, Gabriel lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He drives the car to the garage, mentally exhausted, physically even worse. It doesn't help that he hasn't eaten anything since that morning — his nerves wouldn't allow it.

He looks for Nico around the garage, wants to thank him for the input, but can't find him. He figures his session has ended early, and maybe he would have already left by then. Gabriel doesn't mind asking anyone, too drained. They’ll have the whole weekend, he figures.

––––––––––––––––––––

The next day feels refreshing. Gabriel makes sure to have a healthy, balanced breakfast, and decides he will face the day with the mentality of a winner. He is a winner, afterall. Sure, Formula 2. But the first rookie winner in three years. First last-to-first in Formula 2 history. His past gives him the confidence he needs for the first few days of his future. And he drives well — as well as his car will allow. His best shot at a fair comparison is obviously his teammate, after all they have equal machinery, and Gabriel isn't far behind Nico. They ran similar times, Gabriel a few tenths behind, but that only shows that 15 years behind the steering wheel make you better at managing the car. Gabriel is okay with that difference.

During the break, he allows himself the croissant and, this time, actually takes a sip of his latte. He keeps to himself mostly, his fingers still tapping familiar rhythms on the table, grounding him. In his mind, he scans over his slowest laps, worst turns, moments where he exceeded track limits, taking mental notes of his mistakes and creating a strategy as to not repeat any of them. He sees Nico ordering coffee, and thinks about reaching out to him, but decides against it. He figures their conversation will be more productive if he has better progress to show for his efforts. So, for the second half of the day, he focuses on delivering that. And after a few adjustments to the car, he gets really close to Nico's lap time. It takes him some time to muster up the courage to actually ask about their time difference on the radio, but he is confident he set a good time, so he eventually does — even though it feels a bit showy. He is glad no one can see his smile behind the helmet when he hears he is 0.4s behind Nico's best time, session basically over. He doesn’t want to seem cocky, he isn't. Seeing his best efforts pay off just feels nice. It should.

He parks the car into the garage and realizes this time it actually makes sense to talk to Nico. His advice has helped him, and he figures it would be nice to thank him, maybe over dinner. Yeah, dinner sounds nice.

As he sees Nico park his own car, he waits eagerly by a tyre pile. Nico leaves the car and starts discussing something with his engineer leaving the pit wall. His expression seems carefully neutral, a sight Gabriel has become used to after two days sharing the garage with him. He figures 15 years of all of this could give you a pretty good poker face. As Nico thanks the engineer and turns his body toward the exit, Gabriel snakes into his way and stops in front of him, hand raised in an amicable wave.

“Hey! Good session today. Your laps were good.” His smile spreads to his eyes.

“Thank you,” Nico says, simply.

“Your advice helped, a lot. When I understood the car better, it was easier to distinguish where I was going wrong and where the car felt weird.”

“Told ‘ya!” Nico raises an eyebrow, playful. Every expression of his seems like a carefully constructed facade to Gabriel. It feels like Nico is building invisible walls between them, and it shouldn’t bother Gabriel as much as it does. He wants to tear those walls down, but he knows it will take time. He’ll wait.

“Hey, would you like to discuss this over dinner? We can go to the hotel restaurant. If you want, obviously.” A long shot, maybe.

“I think we should both rest now. 8 hours is too much. Good night, Gabriel,” Nico pats his shoulder, which is the most physical contact they’ve had since they met.

“Good night, Nico,” Gabriel offers him a smile, although he feels disappointed — not surprised — by Nico declining. It’s true, eight hours tired him like hell, and maybe it is the smarter choice to lay in bed and get as much sleep as he can before the last day of testing. Nico walks away. Gabriel stands for a few minutes, processing.

He walks out of the garage, pondering what else he could do for Nico to believe he deserves his attention.

––––––––––––––––––––

Today is about being fast. The car should be all set, and now is the time to connect with it. It’s the driver’s time to shine.

It’s tiring. When you’re driving in and out of the garage, adjusting pieces all around the car, you have time to breathe, walk around without the weight of the helmet, the heat of the gloves and the pressure of delivering the best lap times you can. But the last day isn’t about that. It’s about getting every next lap to be closer to perfect than the last. Of course none of them would drive for four hours straight, that’s insane. But they have less excuses to get out of the car this time, so Gabriel just lowers himself on the cockpit and drives. His times are messy, his sectors are all over the place; whenever he gets a good first sector, something ruins the next one. If he gets the first three turns right, he’ll oversteer on turn 4. It’s frustrating, really.

During the break, he struggles to relax — not like he expected he would, anyways. He just didn't expect to be this nervous. He didn't notice exactly when his breathing had turned uneven, or his palms had started to sweat. His hands tremble as he raises the coffee cup to his mouth, light but noticeable. He closes his eyes in an attempt to ground himself, breathing in deeply. It doesn't do much.

“Hey Gabi, you good?” He hears a familiar voice and feels someone approach his table. He opens his eyes to see López smile as he pulls the chair closest to Gabriel's, sitting as he sets his own cup of coffee on the table. His race engineer, who followed him since he joined the McLaren development program and now made it to Formula 1 with him.

“Hi López. Yeah, I'm good. Just thinking about the laps I did earlier,” Gabriel offers López a smile that apparently doesn't convince him, because López presses further.

“Come on, tell me what's on your mind. You're shaking,” His eyes hold a familiar empathy he has offered Gabriel multiple times before, and Gabriel feels that was better than anything else he could have asked for right then.

“I don't know what happened,” He exhales, defeated. “I was feeling good in the car yesterday, We adjusted everything, it was supposed to be all set — well, it is all set. But I haven't done a single good lap today. Four hours, López,” Gabriel didn't notice when he started tapping his fingers on the table, coffee cup abandoned but marked by the sweat on his palms. “It makes me think that, maybe, I-”

“Don't say that.” López touches his shoulder, making Gabriel look in his eyes again. They’re soft with understanding. “You're too nervous, Gabi. It's harder to drive when we let our emotions take control. I'm sure if you trust yourself, you'll find it easier to control the car.”

“Well, I don't know how to do that. It looks like I've never touched a steering wheel before, actually. It's a disaster.” Gabriel's accent is heavier now.

“It's not, Gabi. You're a great driver, you should know that. You just won Formula 2! Do you know how insane that is?” López shakes Gabriel lightly, making him smile shyly. “You know how to drive, you just need to trust yourself. Did you feel this nervous in Monza?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Gabriel snorts, but there’s no malice behind it — just humorless desperation.

“You didn't, Gabi, or else you couldn’t have pulled off that fantastic drive. You trusted yourself. You knew you were good and you knew you could do it, so you did it. You didn't let your emotions get in the way and you fucking did what no one else before you had ever done. You need that unbothered Gabriel to take over.” López smiles fondly, his fingers caressing Gabriel’s shoulder, nearing his back. He clicks his tongue before pulling Gabriel in for a hug. The younger takes a few moments to ease into it, sighing in a mix of exhaustion and frustration. Gabriel allows exactly one single tear to roll, hiding it with a hand to his face.

“It's a lot of pressure,” Gabriel says as they pull apart from the hug. “I think a lot more than Formula 2. Maybe because… You saw what happened to Logan. I don't want to be next,” His voice falters, rough around the edges like he’s holding back tears — he is.

“Gabi, it's your first week. Sauber is not going to drop you because of pre-season testing. Everyone in the team knows what we're getting ourselves into when the team signs a rookie. And if you allow me,” López draws closer, as if telling a secret. “We got the best one. The champion.” Gabriel smiles despite himself. “Now, I need you to get in that car and breathe. Just do what you’ve been doing your whole life. Drive.”

“That simple, huh?” Gabriel raises an eyebrow, playful now, less tense.

“Yeah, always is. We just forget it sometimes.”

––––––––––––––––––––

As he lowers his body into the cockpit, he can feel the change in the atmosphere. The helmet doesn’t weigh a thousand pounds on his neck, his palms don’t feel slick with sweat inside the gloves and his eyes don’t burn with unshed tears anymore. He feels as ready as he could be to face the next four hours of testing with his newfound sense of confidence. All he has to do is drive. He trusts himself to do that.

“Alright Gabi, let’s warm up first. Build up the tyres slowly, find a good rhythm. We’re doing a 15 lap run, race pace, then we’ll switch to quali laps. Ok?” He hears López’s calm, neutral voice over the radio, and it doesn’t even feel like the same López who had just pulled him in for a tight hug, somehow knowing how much he needed it. Gabriel appreciates it, the neutrality in his voice. The last thing he needs is people thinking his race engineer is being soft on him.

It takes him a few laps until he reaches a good, steady pace. But when he does, it feels like nothing he has ever experienced before. Speed is everything to him; it has shaped every aspect of his life up until that now. And he never felt so fast. He is untouchable. Turns where he once fought his rear are now manageable, and he doesn't even once hear López scold him for exceeding track limits. Holy shit, I'm driving a Formula 1 car and I'm fucking nailing it, he thinks, heart racing maybe more than his engine.

“Box box. We're going on softs for the quali laps.” Gabriel can barely hear the radio over the sound of his own heartbeat thudding loudly in his ear. “Well done Gabi, incredible pace there,” López adds, and it makes Gabriel smile inside his helmet. He doesn't radio back, figures he can't help sounding childishly excited if he does. Instead, he just drives into the pit lane.

A very non-rushed pit stop later, he drives into the track again, weaving on the first straight as to warm up his tyres.

First lap is good. Second one isn't terrible, but he exceeds track limits on turn 6. Third lap is better. Fourth lap is fucking awesome, Gabriel knows it even before he’s told the time. He did everything right, he’s sure.

“How was this one?” Gabriel asks, hiding his boyish excitement behind his helmet and balaclava.

“Amazing, Gabi. That's P12, our best result of the session. Well done, that's huge.” He squirms in his seat, praying to all gods no one is looking at any cameras inside his car. He lets out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding, tense to the point his lungs hurt when he breathes out.

“Thank you,” He manages, smile painting his words even through the radio.

“Would you like to continue on track?”

“I'm happy with P12. Box this lap?”

“Yes, box box, we're done. Very good Gabi, very happy with the results.” Gabi gleams inside the cockpit as he starts driving toward the pit lane.

Before that, though, he needs to know.

“How's Nico?”

“Nico is P17, but we're not done with his quali laps. He can still get two or three laps with these tyres, then he'll box.”

Gabriel can't help smiling. He won't get ahead of himself — Nico can still get in a pole-worthy lap — but he is happy being ahead of his more experienced teammate who he’s definitely trying to impress. He can finally show Nico his progress, can finally thank him properly for the advice he gave him earlier that week now that he has results to show for his efforts, can finally hope Nico actually looks at him.

Climbing out of the cockpit, the same faces that greeted him with barely disguised skepticism on his first day now have bright smiles and genuine pride in them. Gabriel figures it’s normal for his good result to change the air around him, turning a healthy amount of doubt into something warmer. He distributes some fist bumps, receives a few encouraging touches to his helmet and claps to his shoulder, but he’s focused on something — someone else. He needs to talk to Nico.

Gabriel waits by the same tyre pile, helmet handed to a mechanic he didn’t really look in the eyes, balaclava in hand. He eventually sees Nico pull into the garage, coming out of the car with a slightly curved posture. He’s greeted with smiles by the mechanics  that are closest to his car, but doesn’t really talk much to any of them. As Nico walks past him, Gabriel raises his hand as to get his attention.

“Nico!”

“Hi Gabriel,” Nico slows to a stop in front of Gabriel and replies, focused on taking off his helmet, balaclava, gloves. Extremely tired, Gabriel figures. Although his blonde hair does look impossibly pretty, even disheveled by the protection equipment. Gabriel shakes the thought away.

“I wanted to thank you for the advice. It helped, really helped.” Gabriel’s mouth opens to mention his fast lap, but closes before any sound comes out. He doesn’t want to seem too full of himself. “I’m really looking forward to working with you this year,” He settles, the corners of his mouth curving into a small, timid smile.

“I’m sure we’ll do great together,” Nico offers him a smile that doesn’t quite feel warm.

“If you want, we could discuss the car more in depth. I mean, I know it’s pretty new to you too,” Gabriel rambles. “But I’d love to hear your thoughts.” He hesitates for a second. “Over dinner. If you’re up to it,” Gabriel stands in front of him, feet shifting beneath him with the same nervousness as a five-year-old before their first school dance.

“I’m sure you’re very nervous about everything right now, but there’s no rush. Best thing you can do is be prepared to try your best in a few weeks, when you actually need it. There’s not much to be done or discussed now.” Nico’s tone is flat, and Gabriel knows it comes from almost two decades of doing exactly what he instructed the younger to do. Still, the polite refusal burns at his throat, hot with disappointment.

“Ah, sure. I’ll see you around then,” He smiles, even if it hurts.

“Get some rest, Gabriel,” Nico pats his shoulder, but he doesn’t linger. Gabriel wishes he would.

Nico promptly walks away, blending into the crowd of mechanics and machinery. Once again, Gabriel stands, thinking.

He will get that dinner eventually.

Chapter Text

Australia, March 16th. Race day.

Gabriel’s heart is racing inside his chest to the point it has turned quite painful. Free practice and qualifying hadn’t felt nearly as terrifying as the race start. From the moment he enters the cockpit, to the first few seconds of the formation lap, to the very moment the first red light lights up, Gabriel feels like he could pass out or throw up. His lungs feel compressed by a weight in his chest he can’t shake, can't escape, can’t ignore.

The lights go out, and from now on, his life will never be the same.

It’s a great start. He gains a position on the first straight, then two more on the first corner. He’s already P15 by the time he hears a familiar voice on the radio.

“Great start Gabi, you’re P15 now. You can still push for P14, Gasly is 0.6s in front, you can overtake.”

Gabriel can barely hear the radio over the sound of his own, thudding heart in his ear. His hands not shaking feel like a mystery he’s thankful he doesn't have to solve, and the grip the gloves provide was a life-saver, because his palms are definitely too sweaty to hold the steering wheel on their own.

It takes him four laps to overtake Gasly, but he does it with such ease he can't stop the timid smile tugging at his lips.

“Ocon right behind you, you need to defend the inside line,” He hears on the radio, but it’s too late. He does what he can, but it isn't enough to defend his position. He’s back to P15.

“Gabi, we're seeing some rain on turn 7, be careful, entry is wet.”

“Do we box for inters?”

“No, the rest of the track is dry, we're staying out for now.”

Gabriel isn't good with wet races. He isn't terrible either, but he knows the truth: the wetter the track, the tighter his chest gets, which makes him more conservative. But you can't afford being conservative when you're a Formula 1 driver. So he pushes. Harder than he should.

On lap 31, rain has barely touched the asphalt. He’s one of the first to go through the wet sector, and he holds it. Clean, controlled.

Lap 32, grip starts to slip away. He goes a tiny bit too wide, enough to cost him a position to Bearman.

Lap 33, water has already coated the asphalt after every spray caused by the cars in front. Gabriel is too aggressive, trying not to lose his P16, but it backfires. He completely loses his rear, which sends him into the barrier.

“Are you ok, Gabi?”

“Yeah.” He lets out mid-sigh, frustrated.

“Can you get back on track?”

“No, I'm in the wall. Front wing's gone. Sorry guys.”

“It's okay. Red flag is out, the marshals are coming to get you. It was a great race up until here, don't beat yourself up.”

Gabriel throws his head back and closes his eyes as he replays every second of his last lap. He was doing well, his start was awesome and he was able to defend his position for 30 full laps. He can't believe it ended like this.

––––––––––––––––––––

The drive back to the pitlane is shameful. He’s glad none of the marshals try to chat him up, because he doesn't believe he’ll be able to answer without crying.

His fingers drum a familiar rhythm on his thigh, which usually works for grounding him. This time, it doesn't.

His breath hitches as the car stops by the Sauber garage back entry. He nearly loses balance climbing out of the car, his feet not ready to support his body weight. He hopes no one noticed.

Walking in, he’s greeted with compassionate looks and probably pitiful touches to his shoulder. He can barely hear the team members’ voices over the loud ringing in his ears. Maybe he should tell the medical team about that. He feels it isn't physical as much as it is emotional, though.

He meets López and is met with the same compassion as always. He doesn't start the debrief until he makes sure Gabriel is okay, and Gabriel knows he probably notices his eyes are glossy with unshed tears, but figures it will do no good to mention that in public.

Gabriel does his absolute best to focus on the debrief, but a few words are lost here and there, when his eyes unfocus and his ears start ringing louder. López might’ve had to repeat himself a few times, which only makes Gabriel feel shittier about the whole situation.
“We’re done, Gabi,” López claps his shoulder. Gabriel flinches. “Usually I’d ask you to watch the rest of the race, but I can’t imagine you’re feeling too well. It’s okay if you need time.”

Gabriel manages to mouth a breathless ‘thank you’ and walks away to hospitality, posture curved inwards like he could disappear within himself if he just wished hard enough.

He walks straight into the bathroom, locking himself inside and taking a deep breath in front of the mirror. He washes his face in hopes that the cold water will ground him — it doesn’t work. If anything, it only makes him start shivering. He grips the sink with unsteady hands. It’s hard. Not harder than looking at his own reflection in the mirror, though. He can barely lift his eyes enough to see his own reflection. When he does, god, it hurts. Sure, he didn’t think he was doing a great job at hiding his emotions — it has never been his strong suit. But he didn’t expect his sadness to be written all over his face so clearly. His lips tremble as he watches his own disappointment set deep in his gaze, eyes barely open, glossy with tears that threaten to spill.

Seeing himself on the verge of a breakdown sends him over the edge.

He walks a step backwards so his back touches the wall and lets his body slide down into a sitting position, knees raised to his chest, and fucking sobs. Where no one can see him. Where no one will know how much it hurts to fail, how much he hates himself right now, how much he feels like his dream could be slipping through his fingers.

Suddenly, the dream of being a Formula 1 driver feels further away now, sitting on the bathroom floor in a race suit, than it did when he was twelve. He feels like this it, it's over before it even began. He’ll never be on the podium, or win a race, or be a world champion because he fucking blew his chance.

He’s properly spiraling.

––––––––––––––––––––

Gabriel isn’t sure how long he spent sitting on the bathroom floor, but at some point the tears had dried out in his face and his heart had slowed down in his chest. He has a pounding headache, though.

He gets up to look at himself in the mirror and he doesn’t feel like he looks any more presentable than right before his breakdown. He washes his face and, this time, the cold water actually feels refreshing. He breathes in and out a few times before practicing what could be mistaken as an everything-is-fine face, were his eyes not still swollen and his smile clearly pained.

He doesn’t have all the time in the world, though.

He leaves the bathroom.

Some people at hospitality look at him weird, but he did just hide in the bathroom for god knows how long, so, fair. He walks to the garage, where he sees the team… Celebrating? After a few seconds of close attention to the voices around him, he’s able to make out the reason: Nico had finished the race in the points.

A P10 in the first race of the season is huge for Sauber — starting off the year with such a good result is more than anyone in this garage could have expected, honestly. Mechanics hug, clap each other on the shoulder and share warm smiles at the achievement.

Gabriel thinks of Nico. 

God, he should be happy for him. Nico's own success is great for the team, which of course is great for himself. It means, first of all, that maybe this season's car isn't as bad as the 2024 one — although what happened last year shouldn't be in any way Gabriel's business. But most importantly, it means the spirits of everyone in the team will be uplifted, their hopes will be higher. And that should make Gabriel happy.

But a great result by Nico contrasts pretty badly with his DNF. The thought of what he could have achieved had he been… Well, better, hammers in his head and leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

He forces himself to smile, though. It probably looks imperfect and rough at the edges, but he still tries.

He hugs a few mechanics and claps and celebrates as he waits for Nico to arrive at the garage.

He needs to congratulate Nico.

––––––––––––––––––––

Nico looks radiant. Truly, his smile is probably the brightest thing in the garage right now. It makes Gabriel's heart ache in his chest, though he can't quite place why — is it happiness? Envy? Relief? Or something else entirely? He doesn't have time to think about it. Not now, because Nico is walking in his direction, and he has to put on that same fragile smile he offered everyone else just a few minutes ago.

“Hey!” Nico says, voice almost too bright. Carefully measured, as everything Nico did, Gabriel figures.

“Hey! Great result today. Really, I'm happy for you.” Gabriel offers a smile he hopes looks genuine enough.

“Thank you, mate.” Nico says, voice lower now that they were closer. “Tough day today in the rain?” He raises an eyebrow, playful.

It hurts more than it should.

“Yeah. I don't do well in the rain. As everyone can probably see,” He half-whispers the last sentence, the expression on his face probably reduced to a mournful one.

Silence sits heavy between them for a beat, uncomfortable.

“Hey,” Nico's hand shoots up his shoulder, making Gabriel flinch. He could swear he saw Nico's smile falter, softening into something that almost looked like tenderness for just a fraction of a second. No, Gabriel must have imagined it. “Remember that dinner you offered in Bahrain? I'll take you up on that offer,” Nico says, squeezing his shoulder lightly, and Gabriel freezes at that. The shoulder touch and squeeze, the dinner invitation, and the facade that seems to crack for just a second, how is Gabriel supposed to be normal about that?

“If the offer still stands,” Nico breaks the silence caused by Gabriel's complete lack of reaction. His soul leaves his body, but comes back just in time. Nico is looking him in the eyes. God.

“Y-yeah, it's still up. Let's- It'll-” Gabriel stumbles over his words, his cheeks probably turning a bit pink. He scratches his neck again — God, he should stop doing that so often around Nico. “Yeah, let's go,” He manages, eventually. Nico chuckles at the sight, making Gabriel smile shyly.

“Our hotel has a really nice Italian restaurant. I think we can meet there by seven, yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that's nice. It'll be nice,” Gabriel says, more to himself.

“Well, see ya,” Nico clicks his tongue before walking away. 

––––––––––––––––––––

Gabriel might have a problem. He’s overthinking this. Shower, get dressed, go out, have dinner. Boom, simple as that.

Except he has been staring at his suitcase for the past fifteen minutes and he doesn't have anything that is acceptable to wear in a restaurant with THE Nico Hülkenberg and he doesn't even know why he cares so much about the stupid clothes he’ll wear and the impression they will leave.

He does know why, actually. He wants to impress Nico. Obviously. He’s more experienced and a really great driver and gave Gabriel really great, genuine advice when he needed most and it doesn't even matter that he has those ridiculously pretty blue eyes that are so intense but also never show any more emotion than strictly necessary and it matters even less that he has that radiant smile that is so obviously rehearsed and Gabriel desperately wants to be genuine. Or maybe it does matter. Well, fuck.

Gabriel knows he’s into men. You can't exactly live 20 years of your life in such a male-dominated sport without figuring that one out. That doesn't mean he has the right to have a crush on his teammate, though. He has been there once before and he promised himself, never again.

Gabriel and his old teammate did like each other, even if it took them half a season to actually cave in. It was a particularly cold Sunday evening in the middle of September and they were discussing a disastrous race result in the motorhome. Both of them sat across from each other on the floor, Gabriel had his legs crossed while Luka had his legs stretched forward, nudging Gabriel's knee with a socked foot every once in a while. The air between them shifted at some point, because they both started leaning into each other until they inevitably were face to face, breathing each other in. The kiss was sweet, innocent. Gabriel's heart thudded loud against his ribcage, though. It felt dangerous, even if it was everything he wanted.

They spent the rest of the evening nuzzled up together, but neither of them could look the other in the eyes. 

It lasted a few weeks. They were really close — too close for their own good. But at some point, it was bound to end. And it did because Luka was scared. Scared people would know, scared his father would find out. Scared it would ruin his career if they did. And Gabriel could never be mad at him for this, because the same fear hammered at the inside of his skull with every touch and kiss and promise. He was more mad at himself, for allowing this relationship to bloom even knowing it could never last.

The memory makes his chest a little tighter. But he's not 16 anymore. He's grown, and he won't make the same mistake again. It's just dinner. He can manage that.

––––––––––––––––––––

Gabriel is late. He half-runs around the hotel corridors to find the restaurant they’re supposed to meet at. And of course nothing can go his way today because he manages to get lost. Twice.

When he finally spots the entrance, he brushes off imaginary dust and wrinkles from his clothes, clears his throat, and walks in like he didn’t just jog through a five-star hotel. He scans the tables to find Nico, who’s sitting by a window with that same relaxed posture and cool expression he has inside the paddock. How does that come so naturally to him?

Gabriel walks over and tries to sit down like a functional human being, but he can't have shit today, can he? As he opens his mouth to greet Nico, his foot catches the leg of the chair he was trying to pull out, causing a screeching noise so loud it makes half the restaurant turn their heads in their direction. Not to mention it hurts like a motherfucker.

“Nice entrance,” Nico teases, amused, as Gabriel finally sits down muttering curse words under his breath. “Very demure.”

“I meant to do that,” Gabriel retorts, his smile barely hiding a pained wince. “Leaves quite an impression, don't you think?” Gabriel dares looking him in the eyes. His breath catches at the sight.

“It sure does. Not sure if it's one you want to run with, though.”

“Yeah, probably not.”

Gabriel thinks this tripping-over-the-chair disaster was probably better than the inevitable stumbling-on-his-words disaster that would've surely happened anyways. At least first impressions are out of the way.

“So… P10, huh? How did you manage?” He says, opening the menu just so he'd have something to do with his hands and somewhere to look. Not really reading it, no.

“Well… I overtook other cars. Five, actually. Six, if you count Lance’s DNF.”

“Well, yeah. How did he manage to DNF in Australia, of all places? Loser,” Gabriel mocks himself, lips probably contorted into a disappointed expression. Way to kill the mood.

“Hey, don't beat yourself up. I know you always want to prove something in your first race, but it's not the end of the world.” Nico's tone is infuriatingly flat — like a textbook example on how to tend to an insecure rookie’s bruised ego. “But for what it's worth, I think you were having a really great race until that point,” He adds. Gabriel's eyes shoot up to look at him. He is surprised to notice Nico staring, unreadable expression in his face betrayed by the faintest flick of a smile on his lips. Different from the PR-trained, paddock smile. Maybe.

Maybe not.

“Yeah?” Gabriel half-whispers.

“Yeah. You overtook what, three cars on the first lap?”

Gabriel smiles shyly.

“When did you watch my race?”

“Learn to take a compliment, Gabi,” Nico chuckles.

Gabi.

It’s the first time Nico calls him that. It punches the air right out of his lungs.

Before he can compose himself, the waiter stops by their table to take their orders. Thank god.

“I'll have the fettuccine Alfredo,” Nico says confidently. Gabriel panics because he hasn't read a single word on the menu.

“I'll… Have what he's having,” He hesitates. The waiter nods and disappears into the kitchen.

“Not particularly inspired by the menu?” Nico raises an eyebrow, playful.

“Just figured you knew what you were doing.”

“You're the one with the Italian last name.”

They both smile.

“So,” Gabriel shifts in his chair. “What are your expectations for the season? Because… I know it's not the same car, but last year's Sauber was… Really shitty,” He adds, voice low.

“Understatement of the year,” Nico scoffs. “And… I'm realistic, I think. Being in the points today was really nice, but I don't expect it to be recurrent. The team knows we don't have the best car — hell, I'd argue we have one of the worst. So they know it's hard to be competitive. But we'll make do with what we have. We can still fight for points. And when we achieve them, we'll celebrate. Even if it's just a P10.”

“I wouldn't say it was ‘just’ a P10. That was actually really impressive.”

“You know you don't have to boost my ego, right? I'm already insufferable enough.”

“You're not,” Gabriel responds, way too fast. Nico raises an eyebrow. “I mean, you're… You know what, I'm not gonna try to finish this sentence.” He doesn't even get to the last word when Nico starts laughing — properly laughing, mouth wide open, body curved inward. Gabriel joins him.

The air between them shifts. The waiter comes back with their orders and from then on, conversation flows easily. They talk about the project Sauber presented when they first signed their contracts, expectations for the next few races, share experiences they had on different tracks in the past. The feelings of inadequacy Gabriel had felt for the past 4 hours are long forgotten in his chest by the time they pay the bill. They leave the restaurant still talking, still smiling. They reach the main lobby while Gabriel gesticulates heftily with his hands — too Italian for someone born in São Paulo.

“Gonna walk me back to my room?” He smirks as they come to a stop.

“Did you pay for my dinner?” Nico teases back, brow arched slightly, grinning.

“If that’s what it takes, I’ll take notes. You know, for next time,” He shoots back, trying to sound casual, but the pink creeping up his ears betrays him. He hopes Nico hasn’t noticed.

“Yeah. Next time. Good night, Gabi,” Nico smiles, tender.

“Good night, Nico,” Gabriel smiles, cheerful.

They go their separate ways.

Gabriel could get used to this.

Chapter Text

Saudi Arabia, April 19th. Qualifying day.

It’s been a rough start of the season for Gabriel. Sure, he knew what kind of car he was given in the beginning of the year: calling it midfield would be optimistic at best, delusional if he’s being honest. But Nico has been in the points twice in the first four races. Gabriel can’t help but blame himself for his underwhelming performance. Hell, his best starting position has been a P17.

Today is different, though.

End of Q1. “Gabi, you're P9. You’re through to Q2. Congrats mate.” It takes him a few seconds to actually process what he’s heard. Actually, yeah, there's no way he heard that right. “Can you confirm, P9? Is that right? Q1 is over?” He asks, voice probably shaky. “Confirm, end of Q1, you're P9.” His breath hitches before he can let go of the radio button, and Gabriel figures whoever is listening on the other end hears the very high-pitched squeal that escapes him. He doesn't really care though. His first Q2. He can't stop himself from smiling wide inside his helmet.

He drives back into the boxes, heart pounding louder than it has since the weekend started.

Start of Q2. The other cars line up by the pitlane and, one by one, enter the track. It takes at least a minute before he actually joins them — he has to make sure his heart doesn’t try to jump out of his throat before he starts driving.

His first lap is fine — nothing special, nothing disastrous. It places him P10, but that doesn’t mean much within the first three minutes. He starts another fast lap, and his first sector is good. Second one is better. Third, he loses his rear on turn 23, suspension sparkling behind him as it hits the kerb. Shit, he was so close.

“Is the suspension ok?” Gabriel asks, voice low, worried.

“Box now, we have to check,” A tense voice answers. Gabriel does as he's told, a hell of a lot more worried than he was when quali first started. Guess the more you have to lose, the harder it gets to think straight.

He drives into the pitlane and his car is swarmed by the mechanics, checking every single bolt and screw they can in the very limited time they have.

Gabriel’s breathing is somehow louder than every clink of equipment surrounding him.

“You’re free to go Gabi, everything’s ok.”

He has approximately all of half a second to feel relieved.

“Gabi, three minutes to go, we have time for one final lap. Get on track, let's do this!” He hears a clap at the end that wakes him from whatever anxiety-induced trance he had been in. He doesn't even blink before he's on track again, body moving faster than his mind can afford to.

He drives past the start line. The clock is ticking.

He drives through the first sector with practiced ease. He knows what to do, knows how the car should behave in each of those turns, knows exactly how fast it should go in each straight. Green first sector.

Second sector, he doesn’t even think. Doesn’t have to. The car practically drives itself, Gabriel feels like he’s watching someone else’s onboard. Purple second sector. He hears some sort of excited praise on the radio — doesn’t really process what is said. He’s got bigger problems ahead.

He starts the third sector with caution — he should stop that. Stop being so cautious. But then he remembers Australia. He remembers how pushing too hard ruined every other effort he put in. He’s torn.

Turn 23 is coming. He hesitates.

He brakes too early.

It’s not bad. It doesn’t ruin anything. He just played it safe. He hopes it’ll work in his favor.

He crosses the line. Green third sector.

“Gabi, that’s P11. Insane mate, congratulations!”

Gabriel is silent. P11, his best starting position so far. That’s huge. He lets himself be happy, proud, but beneath it, it stings. Q3 was so close, within reach. If only he had been braver. Better

He starts the race P11, finishes P16.

––––––––––––––––––––

Dinner has become a habit for them. Ever since Australia, they’ve gone to hotel restaurants after every race to discuss their results, celebrate small victories, lament eventual mistakes, just get to know each other. Each one has their turn at picking the restaurant. Today, it’s Nico’s turn, and he chooses Thai.

They arrive at the same time, almost bumping into each other by the entrance. They laugh at the coincidence and Gabriel fistbumps Nico’s shoulder.

As they sit by the window — Nico makes a point of it every time — they’re handed the menu by a waitress, and Gabriel scoffs. “Nico, do you even like spicy food?” He half-whispers.

“... Yeah?” Nico hesitates. Gabriel isn't convinced.

“Then why on earth did you choose a Thai restaurant?” He sounds incredulous, although a smile betrays his challenging tone.

“I don’t think it’s such a bad idea, though. I’m sure they can make it more mild if you ask nicely.”

“Well, asking is a bit humiliating, don’t you think?”

“You’re a Formula 1 driver, the pinnacle of motorsport. You drive the fastest cars in the world-”

“Wrong, I drive a Kick Sauber,” Gabriel cuts him off, laughing.

“Well,” Nico hesitates before chuckling. “True. You drive the tenth fastest car in the world, and you’re scared of being judged by restaurant staff?

“I’ve got a reputation to keep!” Gabriel kicks Nico’s feet under the table, and the German driver half groans, half laughs at that.

“Well, I can spare you the humiliation and order your mild…” Nico looks down at the menu, then at Gabriel.

“Pad Thai.”

“Yeah, your mild Pad Thai, and then order my regular, spicy Pad Thai. They’ll never know you’re the one with an embarrassingly low spice tolerance.”

Gabriel hides his face on his palms and groans. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“You were well aware of that since Australia,” Nico states, smug smile on his face, as he waves the waitress over.

Their dinners have felt like this since Australia: easy, comfortable, full of banter and playfully mocking remarks that have only pulled them closer together. Both of them have grown to enjoy each other's presence even in such a small amount of time. Gabriel does try his best to ignore the blooming feeling in his chest, though. He isn't sure it's working.

“So,” Nico clears his throat. “About today.” Gabriel stares, attentive. “Congrats on Q2, first of all. Impressive,” He smiles.

Gabriel sits his hand flat on the table, close enough that any wrong move would lead to touching.

Wishful thinking.

“But you need to defend better. You did great in quali, and your start was good.” Nico's voice is neutral — too neutral, almost cold.

“It keeps amazing me that you find time to watch my races before we meet,” Gabriel jokes — tries to — but his laugh catches in his throat.

“Don't change the subject, Gabi.” Nico offers him a smile, albeit not a very warm one.

“Right,” He mutters. “Defending. Go on.”

“You're not confident enough, and those precious tenths you lose hesitating before a turn are enough to cost you a position.” Nico gesticulates with his hands, a lot more restrained than Gabriel whenever he's doing the same. Cultural, probably.

“I don't hesitate. I think.” He knows he does. And he knows what it costs him.

“You do. Lap 5, when you lost a position to Franco. Lap 12 was worse, you lost two within three turns. If you're more confident going into the turns, it shouldn't happen that often. It's probably why you brake too early.”

“Well, thanks. Noted.” Gabriel stares at him, small, thankful smile tugging at his lips. It also makes him insanely proud that he finally feels worthy of Nico's attention; that Nico actually takes his own time not only to meet Gabriel casually after races, but he prepares for it by watching his race, in order to provide advice.

“If you don't defend yourself, people are going to walk all over you.” Nico picks up his glass of water and swirls the ice inside.

Gabriel opens his mouth to answer, but closes it again. Nico's words stir in his mind as it dawns on him. He isn't just talking about racing, is he?  Gabriel understands what goes unsaid here. Nico isn't talking just about defending a P11 in a barely competitive, back-of-the-grid car. He's seen the walls Nico puts up for other people — engineers, mechanics, even for him. God, even as they're having dinner for the fifth time, Gabriel barely knows anything about Nico's personal life. He feels he's never met someone who makes themself so deliberately distant.

“You mean on track, right?” He isn't sure he should've said anything.

Nico drinks from his glass, slow. Maybe hesitant, maybe deliberate.

“Yeah. On track,” He settles.

As if on cue, the waitress stops by their table and serves them their food. They share a knowing look, making them both smile.

“Excuse me, which one is regular and which one is mild?” Nico asks as Gabriel hides his face to muffle a laugh.

“The one in front of you is mild, sir. His is spicy.”

“Ah, just right. Thank you very much.”

She walks away and Gabriel can barely hold his laughter.

“Is she far away enough? Can we switch now?” Nico leans in, covers his mouth and half-whispers as if he's telling a top-tier secret. Gabriel loses it.

“Yeah, yeah, she's far away enough, thanks for saving me, my knight in shining armour,” Gabriel finds it within him to mock Nico in the middle of his laughing fit as they switch plates.

Nico stares as Gabriel tries the food first. It takes him a few seconds to react.

“It's good! Really good. And… Appropriately spicy,” Gabriel smiles. “You're not gonna try yours?” He raises a playful eyebrow.

“I am. Just wanted to check if mildly spicy is too spicy for you. Glad it's not,” Nico grins, maybe smiles. It's hard to tell.

Nico puts the first spoonful of noodles in his mouth and his face lights up… Right before turning completely red. Gabriel laughs at the irony.

“I knew it! You're full of shit!” He points at Nico, his other hand grabbing his stomach as the repeated fits of laughter he's had the past 5 minutes are starting to make it ache.

Nico tries not to laugh with his mouth full, but a smile tugs at his lips. He eventually swallows and immediately reaches for his glass of water, trying to look nonchalant but failing as he chokes.

“Are you willing to go the even more humiliating route and ask for a mildly spicy plate now?” Gabriel teases, laughter dying out in his throat but leaving a stupidly bright smile on his face. 

“I bet it doesn't burn as much after three or four bites…. I'll keep you updated," Nico says as they both start eating, Gabriel closely analyzing Nico's face for any sign of redness.

They eat in silence for a while.

“You do know you're good, right?”

“What?” It comes out of nowhere. Gabriel straightens his posture as heat shoots up his cheeks.

“Even if we take the other rookies as the only fair comparison. None of them even compare to what you did last year, when you had mostly equal machinery. And honestly, you're doing great this season too — even compared to Kimi, who's driving a rocketship. All of you are struggling, but getting that P11 start this weekend with the shitbox we're driving was… Impressive.” Nico delivers his whole speech staring into Gabriel's eyes. The Brazilian scratches his neck, his gaze switching from Nico's hands to his glass to his eyes again.

“You know… I'm already insufferable enough,” Gabriel quotes Nico, smiling shyly.

“Ayy…” Nico raises an eyebrow. “I see what you did there.” He laughs, pointing a knowing finger in Gabriel's direction. “Seriously, though. You need to trust yourself. No one can do it for you.” Nico's tone is… Tender, Gabriel thinks. Although Nico still feels very hard to read.

“You know, you're not the first one to tell me that. Bahrain, pre-season testing. López — you know him, my race engineer — he gave me the same advice. Guess it's harder to follow than I expected,” Gabriel’s eyes are lowered to his plate.

“You'll get there eventually. Results help. And you're clearly on your way to getting there. Hesitating less is the way to start, don't forget that.”

“Yeah. Thank you,” Gabriel mutters.

He hesitates before actually opening his mouth again. “Does it ever get easier?”

“What?” Nico stops in his tracks, spoon held mid-air, and looks at Gabriel. His gaze burns the Brazilian, who looks somewhere — anywhere else — fidgeting with his spoon and fork.

“You know, everything. Defending. Confidence. Actually trusting your decisions before it's too late. Being in the worst car. All of it seems pretty overwhelming.”

“Well, yeah. Not by much. The shitty car thing will always suck. But the rest does get easier.” He puts his spoon down. Looks at Gabriel's hand. Looks back into his eyes — Gabriel makes an effort to look back. “It's sort of a paradox, because as soon as you get your first real result, it's going to be a hell of a lot easier to feel confident. But you'll never get that first result if you don't trust yourself to begin with.”

Gabriel considers asking him a follow-up question. Where did you learn all this, or, how long did it take you to realize this? But as he looks at Nico stabbing a noodle with his fork, he sees it. Posture straight, jawline tense. The walls are back in place.

“Think I've still got a long way to go,” He settles.

“You’ll get there. You have the pace, you have the skill. You just need to trust yourself as much as everyone in that garage does.”

It’s a compliment. Clearly. Gabriel can’t stop the smile that tugs at the corner of his lips. Earning Nico’s respect was one of the first things he aimed to do when he first joined the team. And here he is, sitting across from him on a restaurant table for the fifth time, receiving confidence tips, being complimented on his racing skills and sharing friendly banter.

Nico sees him now.

And still, very stupidly, Gabriel wishes for something more.

Chapter Text

Miami, May 4th. Race day.
It’s not a terrible race for Nico. He manages to get in two or three overtakes, nothing special, but he finishes better than he started. Just out of the points though, a P12.
He hears the usual, polite praise on the radio. It’s not empty, he would say, but it doesn’t feel warm or happy either. It shouldn’t, he thinks. Yeah, P12, whatever. Not good enough again, but no one's blaming him for it.

It isn't the ‘congrats, we did what we could’  that gets Nico out of his own head though. It's what comes after.

“And Gabi is in the points with a P9. Solid drive from both of you, let's keep it up.”

Nico isn't surprised, really. He never lied to Gabriel when he told him he had the pace, the skill, the drive. It's nice seeing the results of Gabriel's hard work. Nico's happy for him.

“Oh, nice. We're getting there, step by step. Happy with what we did today,” Nico replies. He's mastered the art of sounding perfectly cordial and satisfied even after the most whatever results. This isn't what this is, though. He's genuinely happy for Gabriel. In fact, if anyone were to take a peak behind his helmet, they'd probably see a small smile painted onto his face. The most genuine smile he's had since arriving in Miami, actually.

––––––––––––––––––––

Nico meets Gabriel inside the garage and hugs him one-armed. “Congrats mate! Really good, happy for ‘ya!”

“Thank you, Nico,” Gabriel smiles wide as they part from the hug. He's glowing, Nico notices. “I actually can't believe it! I'm… First of all, surprised. But I'm actually really happy.”

“You should be.” Nico pats his shoulder, resting his hand there while he speaks. “You started what, P17?”

“Yeah, can you believe that?” Gabriel is so giddy it makes Nico fight a smile. It doesn't work.

“Yeah, of course I can. I told you the results would come!” Nico shakes Gabriel playfully and he laughs. Gabriel puts a hand over Nico's on his own shoulder to maybe steady himself, maybe stop him, maybe for a completely different reason. Nico doesn't dwell on that. He doesn't move his hand away either.

They're both silent for a second.

“Hey, what do you think we skip dinner for the hotel bar tonight?” Gabriel asks, and his eyes have a glinting light on them. 

Nico tries to stop his surprise from being written all over his face. He feels he's doing a pretty good job. He is pretty fucking surprised, though. Gabriel’s expression is unreadable, which is not like him.

“Yeah? And why is that?” Nico raises an eyebrow.

“Celebrating. Obviously. Isn't drinking like, a whole thing in Germany?” He mocks Nico. “Come on, don't make me sound crazy.” He playfully punches Nico's shoulder with the hand that had been sitting on his own, smiling — grinning, maybe. Nico's hand finally leaves his shoulder.

“Yeah, obviously,” he laughs under his breath — not dry, not fake, just… Surprised. At the audacity. “Let's go then. Meet you at 11?”

“Yeah, I'll be there,” Gabriel winks. Winks. What the fuck?

––––––––––––––––––––

For the first time, Nico arrives later than Gabriel. He spots the Brazilian sitting on a high stool by the counter, one leg crossed over the other, foot dangling slightly. He sips on a very colorful drink. Of course.

Nico walks over with a practiced smile and waves. “Hey,” he says as he sits beside Gabriel, who turns his body in his direction.

“Hey!” Gabriel waves, before sipping on his drink, looking at Nico through his lashes. “You’re this well-dressed to see me? I’m honored.” He places a hand on top of his heart, faking emotion. Nico laughs.

“Well, someone has to try,” he teases back.

“You’re bold, old man.” The nickname rolls off Gabriel’s tongue with such ease it startles Nico. He opens his mouth, though it takes a full second before any words come out.

“Old man?” Nico raises an eyebrow.

“Well, if I’m the benchmark, you’re pretty old.”

Gabriel scratches his neck. Ah, there it is, Nico thinks to himself, and it takes more willpower than he’s willing to admit to stop himself from grinning. Gabriel does that when he’s nervous. It’s almost endearing. Maybe all that earlier confidence was just for show.

Nico used to have those too, the nervous tics. When he was a rookie himself, new to all the chaos and high stakes of Formula 1. Before shielding himself behind perfectly PR-trained smiles and perfecting the typical-of-the-paddock supportive small talk that would make one believe they’re friends, even if they’re battling on track every weekend.

“Sure, if you say so,” Nico throws his hands in the air in surrender. He’s not winning that argument. “What are you drinking?” He looks down at Gabriel’s hand swirling the half-melted ice inside the blue drink.

“Something fruity. Tastes like… Saccharine,” he chuckles. “Wanna try it?” He raises his glass toward Nico.

“You’re asking me if I want to try your fruity, neon blue, sickeningly sweet drink?”

“It’s not that bad. You have anything against fruity?” Gabriel looks like he knows exactly what he’s doing, knows exactly what he just said — or what was left unsaid, implied. Any flicker of hesitation Nico might have seen in him just moments ago — gone in an instant.

Nico doesn’t say anything, just touches his lips to the rim of the glass as Gabriel tilts it toward his gaping mouth — Nico would rather not think about how this scene looks from the outside.

Yeah, it tastes blue.

His face might have contorted into a displeased expression.

“You’re exaggerating,” Gabriel shoves his shoulder playfully.

“I actually can’t believe you’re willingly drinking that.” Nico’s judgmental tone is betrayed by a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Why would I ever drink something that’s dark and bitter when I can have something fun and sweet and colorful?” He finishes the drink and waves the bartender over. “Hey, do you have a pink one?” He asks, but his gaze is set on Nico by his side. Gabriel’s grinning.

Nico scoffs. “I’ll have a beer,” he asks the bartender. “Safer,” he half-whispers to Gabriel.

“Oh god, you’re irredeemably German,” Gabriel rolls his eyes as the bartender hands him his pink drink. “Oh look, this one is sparkling!” His smile is almost childish for a moment. Nico is amused by that. Oh, that reminds him…

“Can you even drink in Miami? Aren’t you a minor here?” Nico asks after he’s handed the beer, making sure the bartender doesn’t hear it.

“I look older than I am, don’t I? I’m sure no one will notice.” Each word spills out of Gabriel’s mouth lower and lower as he draws in closer. It should be a secret, afterall. ”Especially if I’m with you, no? You look responsible enough.” The look in his eyes is suggestive as he brushes Nico’s arm, mindful, intentional. Nico’s breath catches in his throat.

“And you call me bold.” Nico rolls his eyes. Gabriel doesn’t stop looking. Doesn’t stop grinning.

“Nothing wrong with that.” Gabriel sips on his drink. “Maybe it’s a compliment.” He kicks Nico’s foot lightly under the counter.

“Are you always like this when you drink?” Nico asks, probably a pretty shitty attempt at sounding neutral.

“Do you always pretend like you’re not having fun?” Gabriel gestures with the hand holding the drink. It almost spills. He laughs.

“I am having fun. I’m just able to do so without having a sugar crash.” Nico flashes his beer in front of him before sipping on it. Calm, collected. Or at least makes it look like it.

“Can I try that?”

Nico pauses. “Sure.” He raises his glass halfway between them.

Gabriel wraps his hand around both the glass and Nico's own hand and brings it to his mouth, basically dragging Nico closer by the arm. What the fuck.

Gabriel doesn't like beer. The aftertaste of his fruity, pink, sparkling drink makes it taste even more bitter in contrast. His face contorts into a grossed-out expression that makes Nico laugh, amused.

“It's horrible,” he says, tongue half out as if that would cleanse his palate. “But it suits you.” His hand lingers over Nico's for a beat too long before he pulls back, sipping his own drink.

“Is that also one of your weird compliments?”

“That one's for you to figure out. I'm done with the hints.” Gabriel leans back, shoulders slacked. His gaze never leaves Nico though. His foot dangles again, reaching Nico’s shin. Then again. Nico looks down, then looks at Gabriel. He’s smirking, the little shit.

“So,” he starts, “your start today was-”

“No.”

“What?” Nico looks confused.

“No racing talk tonight. Let’s just… Celebrate. Plenty of time to discuss it during the week. Give yourself an hour to forget it.” Gabriel sounds more serious than he did since they arrived at the bar. Nico figures he’s right.

“Sure thing. No racing, just… Discuss each other’s drink preferences.” He smiles. Gabriel groans.

“Oh you’re gonna bully me again? I get it, you don’t like fun. You prefer things bitter and cold and distant and so, so serious…” Gabriel trails off when he realizes what he’s saying. Nico ponders. That doesn’t sound like a compliment.

“I do like fun and bright and sickeningly sweet stuff.” He leans in. “Or else I wouldn’t be here with you, no?”

Two can play this game, Gabriel Bortoleto.

Gabriel freezes for a millisecond. Nico sees him addam’s apple bob as he gulps, nervous. But any hesitation is gone just as fast as it comes, replaced by pure mischief painted onto his grin. He leans forward, lips so close to Nico’s ear he feels the hot air hit his earlobe. Gabriel places a hand on Nico’s knee and shifts his weight onto it.

“Careful Nico,” he delivers the name so, so sweetly. “Flattery works on me.” Nico’s breath hitches. Gabriel laughs, low, amused.

They're both breathing heavily, as if they both realize they're playing a dangerous game in a very public hotel bar.

Gabriel squeezes Nico's knee slightly. God.

It shoots Nico right out of his trance. He figures he should say something.

“Dangerous thing to admit.” His voice is lower than he intends.

“Only if you intend on using it.” Nico can hear the grin in Gabriel’s words. “Do you?” Nico laughs low.

Neither of them pulls away.

The sound of shattering glass cuts through the tension as someone on the opposite side of the counter curses loudly at the broken — they assume it was a pint glass — reduced to scattered shards on the floor. Gabriel shoots up straight, startled by the sound. His hand leaves Nico’s knee, and the German driver pulls away too, straightening his clothes probably just because he feels awkward.

“Shit. That was…” Gabriel starts, but doesn’t finish.

“Yeah. I feel bad for whoever’s gonna have to clean that up,” Nico smoothly changes the subject. They don’t address the big, pink elephant in the room.

It takes them a few moments to ease into normal, comfortable conversation again, but it eventually happens. They talk about… Nothing, really. The alcohol doesn’t help either of them concentrate on long, technical rants on race pace, quali times or overtakes. Which Gabriel has also made very clear he doesn’t want to talk about anyway, so it’s not like either of them were really thinking about starting a conversation on that topic.

Eventually, Gabriel’s pink drink is gone and Nico has also finished his second beer. The only remnants of their earlier conversation are Gabriel’s foot still occasionally kicking at Nico’s shin, and the heat left on their hand and knee respectively from the earlier touch.

––––––––––––––––––––

“Nuh-uh, I'm paying!” Gabriel says, card already in hand.

“And why exactly would you do that?”

“First of all, I invited you. That's basic chivalry, isn't it?” He fumbles with the card before shoving it clumsily in the machine. “Besides, I have my own agenda.” His eyes look heavy; maybe with sleep, most likely with how much alcohol he had. 

“Sure, sure. Let's go buddy,” Nico rests a hand in the middle of his back, guiding him out of the bar as they both wave goodbye at the bar staff.

They come to a stop in front of the elevator door. Nico presses the button as Gabriel watches — well, stares.

“Well?” Gabriel extends his hand. Nico looks at him, puzzled. “I paid your tab. You owe me a walk back to my hotel room,” he says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Nico looks at him, incredulous. He opens his mouth, but struggles to get a word out.

“You’re serious,” he says more than asks.

“Obviously.” Gabriel looks down at his own hand, then back into Nico’s eyes. Nico’s gaze follows his.

The elevator door opens.

Nico takes Gabriel's hand. Gabriel smiles.

They enter the elevator.

As the elevator door slides shut behind them, Nico notices the warmth in Gabriel's fingers, but most importantly, in his eyes. Gabriel has something to his gaze Nico hasn't seen much in him since they met. He's relaxed, smiley, and… Certain.

This isn't teasing anymore.

It should make Nico wary. He should pull away. It's the smart thing to do. He should be thinking about his PR management, or contracts, or every single reason this could be a bad idea for his image or his career. He's spent fifteen years learning how to be careful, how to keep things controlled, professional. He also remembers very clearly how that ended last time.

Nico realizes he's already crossed a line. He isn't sure at what point in the night it happened, but it's done now.

Gabriel must have noticed it in Nico's expression, because he ever so slightly squeezes Nico's hand in his, gaze never leaving the other’s as his expression turns impossibly softer.

Yeah, Nico doesn't give a fuck about PR right now. 

He smiles softly at Gabriel, who laughs quietly, lowering his head in front of him. As he lifts his gaze, Nico sees him blushing.

Cute.

The elevator door opens and Gabriel is the first to step out, pulling lightly at Nico's hand. Nico follows him to the door of room 527.

“Thank you for… Celebrating with me.” Gabriel’s feet shift anxiously beneath him. Nico notices he's still the same insecure Gabriel he met in Bahrain, even with everything he’s seen from him tonight.

“I'm sure we'll have a lot to celebrate this season. Just… Keep doing what you're doing. And keep your head up, don't forget that.” Nico absentmindedly brushes Gabriel's knuckles with his thumb.

The night is over. Neither of them wants to pull away.

Until Nico does. But Gabriel can see the apologetic look in his eyes.

“Good night, Gabi.” Nico's voice is low and breathy.

“Good night, Nico.”

Chapter Text

Imola, May 18th. Race day.

Gabriel definitely didn't drink too much last Sunday. And he definitely hasn't been thinking about it the whole week. Surely Nico's words haven't played over and over again in his head during qualifying. And the heat of Nico's knee under his hand, or, god, Nico's fingers wrapped around his, definitely didn't linger in his hand even while he held the steering wheel during the race. Of course not. Or else he would've been too distracted to actually race properly. Or maybe he is distracted because the next thing he knows, he fucking hits Nico's rear going in turn 13.

He feels it before he sees it: the crushing impact hitting his whole body at once and jolting his head forward, followed by the horribly loud sound of metal being crushed and disfigured. God, no matter how many times it happens, Gabriel will never get used to this sound.

He doesn't even have time to ask himself how the fuck did that happen before the radio startles him. “Gabi, are you okay?”

He isn't sure.

“Yeah, I'm okay,” he breathes out.

“What happened?” his engineer asks, and it shouldn't hit Gabriel as hard as it does. But the thing is, he doesn't know what happened. Honestly, the last… He doesn't even know how many seconds, just feel like a blur. Gabriel likes to believe he's really meticulous when it comes to racing. It's not like he never makes mistakes, but he's always been the first one to figure out what he did wrong and how to avoid doing it again. This time though, he didn't even see it.

It takes him a few seconds to respond. “I… don't know,” he manages. Then it hits him. “I'm sorry. Fuck, I'm so, so sorry, I don't know how-”

“Gabi, it's ok, it happens.”

He lets out a long, shaky sigh.

“Is… Nico okay?”

“Yes, he's okay.”

Is he mad at me, is what he wants to ask next, but it feels stupid. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out, yeah, he's probably furious.

“The marshals are coming for both of you.”

It takes him a few seconds before he can manage getting out of the car — or what’s left of it.

––––––––––––––––––––

Each of them climbs into the car through a different door. Gabriel almost wants to look up at Nico, but the idea of seeing his rage-filled eyes makes his stomach churn. He doesn’t look up once.

Nico is silent the whole ride back to the garage. Gabriel doesn’t like silence. He almost feels like Nico shouting at him would be better than… Whatever his silence means.

Gabriel is an anxious mess. He tries his best to control his breathing, but it’s still rapid and shallow; he manages to avoid sounding loud, though. No one notices, he thinks.

Suddenly, he feels Nico’s gaze burning at him. He dares to look back.

Nico’s looking down to Gabriel’s legs. When had Gabriel started bouncing his foot?

His gaze isn’t angry. Not judgmental either. Just… Silent acknowledgment.

Nico doesn’t seem mad.

But then again, this is Nico Hülkenberg, master of PR-friendly poker face. Gabriel doesn’t put it past Nico to have a perfectly cordial expression while burning in anger inside.

He stops bouncing his leg, but his mind is still racing.

––––––––––––––––––––

Gabriel also figures that hiding in the bathroom after a crash twice wouldn't give him a very good image within the team, so he sits through the debrief and answers the questions to the best of his ability. It takes him an enormous effort not to sound as miserable as he feels.

Nico's tone is as flat as always. At the same time it feels comforting (he doesn't sound mad!), it also drives Gabriel insane. He thought he had gotten used to not being able to read Nico, but now that it matters, it feels excruciating.

If you were to ask Gabriel about the debrief, he couldn't tell you a single thing anyone — even himself — had said. As he's walking — well, more like striding toward hospitality, the motorhome, anywhere, he feels a hand around his wrist. The touch is light, careful maybe. His breath hitches anyway.

As he turns around, shoulders hunched in anticipation that almost looks like fright, he sees Nico holding his wrist and looking into his eyes.

They're both silent for a beat. Nico is almost smiling.

“Hey, are we still on for dinner tonight?”

Gabriel opens his mouth, but closes it again. He looks down to Nico's hand holding his wrist. Nico notices it and softens his grip, but before actually letting go, he ghosts his thumb lightly on the inside of Gabriel's wrist. Gabriel looks up to see a smile and the same apologetic look he had last time.

Nico pulls away.

“I don’t think I…” Gabriel lets out a shaky breath. He feels Nico’s eyes on him, but doesn’t meet his gaze. “Restaurants are loud. Public. I don’t…”

Nico takes a step forward. Gabriel realizes it’s so that he doesn’t have to speak as loudly. He almost smiles despite everything, thankful.

“I don’t really want to be in public today.”

The silence that follows is loud, uncomfortable, but it doesn’t last much.

“Come to my room. We’ll get room service.”

Gabriel blinks. He finally looks up. Nico’s eyes look softer than usual.

“I don’t… Think I’ll be good company today,” he half-whispers.

“We don’t have to talk much. We can just… Eat.” Nico tilts his head ever so slightly, studying Gabriel, who suddenly feels very aware of how awful his posture must look, given he tends to curl within himself whenever he feels miserable enough. He straightens his back. Nico raises his eyebrow, expectant, but he’s smiling. It draws a soft laugh out of Gabriel. Nico’s smile widens.

“Yeah, room service sounds nice.”

“Great, see you at 6 then?” Gabriel nods. Nico takes another step forward and places a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. The Brazilian holds his breath. “105.” Nico says, his voice low.

“What?” He stutters, half-whispering.

“My room number.” Nico squeezes his shoulder lightly, smiling. Gabriel sees it then, the tenderness in his smile that now reaches his eyes. He smiles back.

“See you, Nico.”

––––––––––––––––––––

Gabriel hesitates before knocking on door 105. He knows how annoyingly insecure he gets whenever he feels as miserable as he does right now. The shower didn’t help, the two-hour nap he took before that surely didn’t do shit either because he woke up with his heart racing and his palms sweaty. He wonders if Nico will kick him out as soon as he realizes Gabriel didn’t lie when he said he wouldn’t be good company. He also considers the possibility of Nico lashing out on him. God, even the idea of Nico mentioning the crash makes him a little ill. Yeah, he ruined both their races because he was distracted and he doesn’t even know how he let that happen — both the ‘being distracted during a race’ thing and the crash itself. He still doesn’t know what he did wrong.

The minute he starts seriously considering turning his back and leaving, he hears the soft click of the door opening in front of him. He unconsciously braces for impact.

“Gabi? Come in.” Nico fully opens the door and waves him in. Gabriel hesitantly walks in, arms still wrapped around his body, chasing comfort that doesn’t come.

“How did you know I was at the door?”

“Don’t know. Had a… Feeling.” Nico closes the door behind him. They're standing, facing each other. “Have a seat,” he motions toward the bed. Gabriel kicks his shoes off before sitting down on the edge of the bed. “You fancy Chinese?” Nico asks, reading the menu on the tablet by the bedside table, standing with his back turned to Gabriel.

Gabriel chokes on his words. Although he opens his mouth, nothing but a trembling sigh comes out.

Nico doesn't say anything at first, just puts the tablet down and walks toward Gabriel, slow enough to gauge his reaction. He comes to a stop right by Gabriel’s knees, not quite touching.

“Does Italian sound better?” Gabriel knows he doesn't say what he's thinking.

He nods, barely. “Yeah,” he manages, voice small. Then again, more certain this time, “Yeah, Italian sounds nice.” He doesn't look up once.

“Okay.” Nico's voice is so soft it startles Gabriel. He imagines his eyes are, too. He looks up to confirm his suspicions, but Nico has already turned toward the tablet on the bedside table. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Nico says over his shoulder, still standing while taping the tablet. Gabriel silently moves up on the bed, resting his back against the headboard and bringing his knees to his chest.

It takes a few seconds before Nico sets the tablet on the bedside table again, moving to sit by Gabriel's side on the bed. Their shoulders almost brush. Nico looks down at Gabriel's hand tracing invisible patterns on the sheets.

“It'll take twenty minutes, apparently,” he says. Gabriel just nods without looking up. “Fast, eh? Do you think it's frozen food?”

Gabriel looks at him, then smiles. “I hope not.” Nico smiles back.

They're silent for a beat. Then…

“Hey,” Nico starts.

Oh no. No no no no…

“How often do you think they change the sheets?” Nico says, conversational. Gabriel looks at him, puzzled. “Like, not just change it and clean them. Actually discard the old sheets and buy new ones?” He continues, and Gabriel slowly starts smiling despite himself. He's listening very attentively. “I mean, I'm very meticulous myself with my sheets, but I don't wash them every day like they- well, hopefully, do here. And surely it gets to a point, right? Where washing them everyday makes them- I don't know, worn? Do you reckon they last what, a month? Two?”

Gabriel looks at him, a little wide-eyed. “Nico-?” He smiles, something between incredulous and amused. Nico's otherwise serious expression is betrayed by the softness in his eyes.

“And, obviously, there's the unwashable ones, right? Like, make-up stained, or… I don't think I want to think about things that could get hotel bedsheets dirty. Forget I said anything.”

Gabriel is stunned. Then he starts laughing.

“What? Did I say something wrong?” Nico laughs too.

“What the hell was that?” They're looking at each other.

“It's a genuine concern! Have you seriously never wondered this?”

Gabriel pauses, then exaggerates an incredulous expression. “No?? Why have you?”

“Well, of course not, you're twenty. Have you ever done laundry?” Nico teases.

“Of course I have! I haven’t lived with my mom in ten years!” Gabriel gestures wildly with his hands — because of course he does.

“Yeah, sure you have. You're telling me 12-year-old Gabi was washing bedsheets in Italy. Sure.” He rolls his eyes playfully.

“Well, not at 12 but at 16 I was! I'm a very resourceful and independent young man.” Gabriel places a hand over his chest before absolutely cringing at himself. They both laugh harder.

Their shoulders touch. Neither of them moves away.

Room service arrives earlier than they expected with a knock to the door. They look at each other. “That’s definitely frozen food,” Nico says as he stands up and walks toward the door. He hears Gabriel laugh behind him.

Nico picks up the trays, tips the room attendant and very kindly asks them to close the door as both his hands are busy. As he’s walking toward the bed, Gabriel says, “Shouldn't we eat on the floor?”
Nico blinks. “Why?”

“I mean, there’s a lot of sauce… The white sheets…” Gabriel is looking in the general direction of Nico, but not quite at him. Fuck, he’s being insecure and miserable and avoiding eye contact again. His joke doesn’t even sound funny because of the way he delivers it.

A smile creeps up to Nico’s face. Tender, Gabriel thinks. He chuckles low. Gabriel tries, but he chokes on it. “Good call,” Nico says, setting the trays on the floor by the bed.

Gabriel climbs out of the bed and sits with his legs crossed, back against the bed. Nico sits in front of him, trays between them. He ordered pasta for Gabriel and Lasagna for himself.
Nico picks up his fork. “I wonder if every hotel we’ve stayed at so far had frozen food for room service. I mean, if they have a restaurant in the building, why wouldn’t they just…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, just gestures roughly with the silver cutlery. Gabriel smiles and picks up his own fork.

Nico starts eating. Gabriel just picks at his food, moves it around the plate.

“Are you okay?” Nico asks, voice small. ‘You’re not eating’ goes unsaid here. Gabriel had figured it wouldn’t take long for Nico to address the elephant in the room. The elephant being that Gabriel has been absolutely miserable for the past… 7 hours? Probably more. He also doesn’t blame Nico for mentioning it — in fact, he thinks Nico is an angel for taking this long to do it. Aguentou muito e ainda foi simpático*. “If you don’t like your pasta, we can switch.” Nico’s voice gets him out of his head. “I kind of ordered two different dishes thinking this could happen.” Gabriel tries to meet his gaze, but he manages it for maybe half a second. Nico’s eyes wander from Gabriel’s own, to his hand, to his tray, then settle on his eyes again.

“No, it’s… Not the food.” Gabriel brings a forkful to his mouth, but hesitates before eating. A second goes by. Then two. Gabriel lowers the fork and sighs. Suddenly, his eyes are burning and he feels a very familiar knot forming in his throat.

Nico puts his own fork down and eyes Gabriel for a moment. Then, ever so slowly, he extends his hand forward. Gabriel looks at it and, matching his speed (or lack thereof), he takes Nico’s hand.

They stay like that for a moment, fingers not even interlocked. Then, against his better judgment, Gabriel brings Nico’s hand to his cheek, holding it against his face. As much as it feels grounding, it also makes Gabriel’s heart race in his chest. He closes his eyes, maybe bracing for rejection, maybe waiting for the moment Nico realizes this is so weird and pulls away. It doesn’t come. Instead, Nico’s thumb brushes lightly against his cheek. Careful. Tender. A touch so innocent and yet so intimate.

Gabriel opens his eyes. Nico’s smiling. “Can you… Come closer?” his voice is barely louder than a whisper. It takes Nico a full second before he can actually process what was said. When he does, he carefully scoots over and around the trays using his free hand as support — it's hard, but Gabriel notices he makes an effort as to not need the hand Gabriel's holding. Nico really is endlessly considerate.

Nico sits beside Gabriel, his back also against the bed. He carefully studies Gabriel’s face, tilting his head as he does so. Gabriel wonders what is going on inside his head. He wonders if Nico’s thoughts feel like a mess as much as his do. If he also thinks this is such a bad idea.

And yet, he moves Nico’s hand so the inside of his wrist sits just in front of his mouth. He opens it and just breathes it in, then slowly breathes out, the hot air hitting Nico’s skin. Gabriel could swear he sees the blond hair in Nico’s arm stand up.

He kisses the inside of Nico’s wrist. It’s soft, innocent. He thinks he hears Nico’s breath hitch. He looks at Nico by his side, just making sure he isn’t making a disgusted expression at him. He sees nothing but affection there. So he continues placing kisses there, caressing the back of Nico’s hand with his own.

He could spend a lifetime in this moment.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he meets Nico’s gaze — he hopes Nico doesn’t notice the uncertainty in Gabriel’s eyes — and pulls lightly at his arm, bringing Nico closer. Nico complies, their shoulders touching. Gabriel turns his body toward Nico and the German mirrors it. They’re face to face. Gabriel places his free hand on Nico’s shoulder, interlocks their fingers with his other hand.

Their breathing is the loudest thing in the room.

Gabriel closes his eyes and breathes in slowly before moving forward. He comes close, so close, then he stops. It takes him a second before he opens his eyes, and he sees Nico staring into them. Then at his lips. Then back into his eyes. Gabriel tilts his head, pleading. The ghost of a smile appears on Nico’s face.

Nico’s free hand comes up to cup Gabriel’s cheek, and he slowly crosses the distance between them. He seals the kiss and it feels so innocent, bordering on careful. Not hesitant, though. It’s like Nico is asking a question with his mouth, and it takes Gabriel a moment before he answers. He eventually exhales into it, not even realizing he had been holding his breath. His hand comes down from his shoulder and he places his open palm on Nico’s chest, just over his heart. Nico’s heartbeat isn’t nearly as fast as Gabriel’s own.

Gabriel is the first to pull away, and he opens his eyes as he does. He can barely look at Nico before burying his face on the crook of Nico’s neck, his hand fisting Nico’s hoodie. He’s suddenly breathing very fast.

Nico’s hand comes up to his hair, petting it lightly. “You okay?” His voice is small, as if speaking too loudly would shatter this fragile moment.

Gabriel can’t quite name what he’s feeling.

“Yeah,” he whispers.

The tears he’d held back all day start to spill.

“I’m sorry.” He’d been holding it back all day, but it’s out there now. His voice is strained, barely conceiving how painful it all feels.

Nico doesn’t say anything at first, just kisses the top of Gabriel’s head.

“You’ve barely eaten all day, no?”

Gabriel breathes in once, then twice, before replying, “It’s… Hard, today.”

“Is it okay if I get you something lighter? Chocolate, or a sandwich. How does that sound?”

Gabriel lifts his head as the tears start to slow, his eyes still pained and glassy. He looks for something, anything in Nico’s expression that looks like I’m very annoyed at you or you ruined my race or even what the hell have we done? He doesn’t find it. Instead, he sees worry, affection and the same tenderness he has learned to recognize in Nico’s eyes.

“Chocolate sounds nice,” Gabriel whispers.

Chapter Text

Silverstone, July 6th. Race day.

Gabriel is P7 when he crosses the finish line. He kind of screams inside his helmet when he does it, because this time he isn’t just barely in the points. He deserves to be happy!

His engineer agrees. “Congrats mate, P7! Awesome, really awesome. Amazing drive from you today.” Gabi hears the excitement in López’s voice and feels validated in it.

“Thank you, man. Thanks everyone, great strategy today. Woo!!” He doesn’t even care if anyone thinks screaming over a P7 is silly. Anyone in his position, in the shitbox he’s driving, would do the same.

The radio cuts through his happy daze as he starts to slow down the car. “And Gabi, Nico is P3. That's his first ever F1 podium.”

Gabriel's breath catches in his throat. P3? In this green tractor? He would like to say he isn't surprised: he knows what Nico Hülkenberg is capable of. He'd be lying though. Nico milked a P19 start into a podium???? He's so happy for Nico it doesn't quite fit inside his chest. Without thinking too much, he presses the radio button. “Nico, it's Gabi. Man, you don't know how happy I am for you. You are a fucking legend! Absolutely insane what you did today.” Gabriel can hear how stupidly happy he sounds even if no one's seeing the wide smile on his face. Probably because he is stupidly, incredibly, immeasurably happy. 

“Thank you buddy, appreciate that from you,” he hears back. And hearing Nico's voice is everything he wanted right now.

“I'll wait for you at the podium,” he promises.

––––––––––––––––––––

Nico is the first to step on the podium, his smile wide and proud. He waves down at the crowd and his eyes land on Gabriel's. It's less than a second that their gaze meets, but Gabriel could swear he sees it in his eyes: just for a moment, they're softer. Nico doesn't look at Gabriel the same way he looks at everyone else. Gabriel's heart does stupid things in his chest at the realization.

The other drivers step on the podium and they start receiving their trophies. Nico's grip on his trophy is awkward and it takes him about two seconds before he can find a comfortable position to lift it. Gabriel laughs, something between amusement and fondness coiling in his chest.

They're given the champagne bottles and Lewis Hamilton, who has just won his home grand prix for the tenth time, doesn't even try to make this podium ceremony be about himself. He showers Nico with all the attention and champagne he can manage. Nico retributes the favor, his smile wide.

Gabriel doesn't have time to wonder if people around him notice how lovestruck he looks right now.

He finds Nico as soon as the ceremony is over, and he just runs to him. Again, not really caring if anyone thinks it's weird. This is not about anyone else, they can go to hell with their opinions on Gabriel. Today is about Nico Hülkenberg and he's going to make sure Nico knows it.

“Nico!” He shouts as he runs to hug the German driver. Nico seems surprised, but he hugs Gabriel back. “How the fuck did you do that?” He pulls back. They're both smiling and looking into each other's eyes.

“Honestly, I completely ignored my engineer's strategy. That's pretty much it.” Nico doesn't sound as casual as he intends. He's too happy for that.

Gabriel laughs, but he notices something. Nico's blond hair is wet (therefore darker), clinging to his forehead and ruining his formerly-perfect hairdo. As his eyes wander down, he realizes Nico's suit is unzipped, the upper half tied at his waist. His fireproof is soaked in champagne, clinging to his chest and arms. He looks stronger like this.

Nico clears his throat.

Gabriel shoots up straight. Oh, he was staring. He looks back up to Nico’s eyes and sees a smirk. He smiles, shy.

“Meet you in hospitality?” Nico asks with a playful edge to his tone.

“Sure, old man.” They exchange a knowing look, both smiling.

––––––––––––––––––––

Gabriel doesn’t think it’s very smart for hospitality to have only one shower when the team obviously has two drivers. But he doesn’t question that the driver who just got his first podium after 15 years should have dibs on it. He’s scrolling on his phone, lying down on the couch with his feet up and crossed, when he hears a weird commotion. People are clapping — obviously at Nico — but they’re also laughing? He stands up, walking toward the sound and snaking his way into the circle of people.

When he sees it, it hits him like a fucking train.

Nico has just come out of the shower, hair still damp and clinging to his forehead, and for some godforsaken reason he has nothing on but a towel wrapped around his waist.

Gabriel takes in the way Nico’s muscles are still glistening from the residual moisture from the shower, and — god, he really shouldn't, but he notices how the vertical lines of his abdomen disappear under the towel, outlining a thin, blond happy trail. The sight punches the air right out of his lungs.

This time, he actually hopes no one’s noticed the… Admiration in his expression.

Before he does something stupid, like continue staring at Nico’s half-naked body in public, he takes a step forward and laughs it out.

“What- what’s this all about?” He motions at Nico’s whole body, and Nico’s just smiling confidently.

“What, you don’t like it?”

Gabriel opens his mouth, but he can’t seem to find any words. He just laughs louder. Nico pulls him in for a hug, and Gabriel can feel his own cheeks become increasingly flustered. He hopes the team members around them attribute it to his laughing fit.

As they part, Gabriel notices Sauber’s media admin recording them, because of course she is. And if that isn't enough, she hints at the fact that they should take a picture like this. They position themselves side to side, Gabriel's hand over Nico's shoulder and Nico's hand around Gabriel’s waist. Which would've been fine, if Nico didn't pull him closer and squeeze his waist while doing so.

Such a small gesture. Such a short touch. It still sends an electric jolt through Gabriel's spine.

As they notice the picture’s already been taken, Nico pulls him in again. An innocent hug from afar. But Nico whispers something in his ear. “Meet me in the motorhome.”

Gabriel's breath hitches. They part from the hug and Nico has a stupidly sly smile that also manages to pass as casual for anyone who isn't in on their little secret. Gabriel internally cusses Nico, but he's smiling.

––––––––––––––––––––

Gabriel starts to wonder.

First, he wonders what the fuck he's doing. If he's really about to meet his older teammate Nico Hülkenberg inside the motorhome and kiss the taste of champagne right out of his pretty-but-very-smug mouth. Then he wonders if that's actually what Nico had in mind. Because it would be very embarrassing if he walked in thinking of kissing Nico's lips and cheeks and neck and… Focus, Gabi. If he walked in and realized, no, that's not what Nico fucking meant by that.

Then he wonders if that's what he really wants. Yeah, obviously. But should he? Is he allowed to want this? He knows how that ended last time. He doesn't know Nico enough to be sure he wouldn't turn his back on Gabriel as soon as things got serious. Does Gabriel want things to get serious? Their kiss wasn't a point of no return. Sure, they crossed a line, but the line is still there, somewhere. Safe. Certain. If they forgot it ever happened, maybe they could go back to Nico and Gabriel, having post-race dinners and mocking each other every five minutes.

The thing is, he can’t lie to himself; he knows things are not the same. They haven't been the same since Miami. They sure as hell haven't been the same since Imola. Gabriel doesn't think he could ever pretend he doesn’t now know just how considerate and careful and loving Nico could be when Gabriel had needed it most.

Finally, he wonders what would be of him, of his career, if it got out that he and Nico were… He doesn’t want to get ahead of himself. If it got out that they kissed. Or that they continued kissing afterwards. Would the internet eat him alive? Would he lose his seat? Or worse, would he lose all the respect from the world which he worked so hard his whole life to earn? Maybe… Maybe Luka was right, four years ago. Maybe the stupidest thing you could do as a racing driver is fall in love with your teammate. And Gabriel has done it twice at just twenty years of age. Way to go, idiot.

He doesn’t realize when he’s made it to the door of the motorhome.

He breathes in slowly. Because if he crosses this line, then there’s no turning back. He’s opening Pandora’s box.

His hand hovers over the handle for a beat before he actually turns it.

He enters the motorhome as stealthily as someone trying to rob a bank. He scans the entryway and, when he doesn't find Nico, walks straight to the German's room. He doesn't knock, just opens the door as quietly as he can.

Upon entering the room, he spots Nico propped up on a wall. He walks to the middle of the tiny room so they're facing each other. The air between them is heavy with something neither is quite ready to name.

“You were staring,” Nico starts. “A lot,” he says, almost grinning.

Gabriel laughs under his breath. Doesn't answer. Not yet.

“Want me to do something about it?” Nico takes a step forward. Gabriel's breath hitches audibly. “I won't do anything you don't want me to. Just tell me, and I'll stop.” He comes even closer. They're breathing each other in, gaze locked.

Gabriel nods, uncertain.

“I need more than that, Gabi. I need to be sure.” Nico's voice is soft. Gabriel recognizes his tone all too well. He knows just how genuine Nico's concern is.

“I want it, Nico,” he whispers. “Please.” Because he does. He wants it more than he’d care to admit, and he’s so glad Nico didn’t make him ask for it, because it would be hell trying to get any of these words out without saying something stupid like ‘I love you’.

Nico comes impossibly closer and cups his cheek. Gabriel closes his eyes. He waits for contact — a kiss? Anything — that doesn't come.

“Not here.”

Nico caresses his cheek. Gabriel opens his eyes, surprised. Then he notices, Nico looks all soft and careful and like he’s also considering something very stupid.

Nico wants him, clearly. But above it all, he also wants to do this the right way. A smile creeps up to Gabriel's lips at the realization.

He does feel like leaving the motorhome with nothing but a promise would be unfair, though.

“Can I at least get a kiss?” He tries.

Nico pretends to consider it. He hums, faking contemplation. Stalling.

When the answer just doesn't come, Gabriel starts laughing and shoves his shoulder playfully. “Alright, fuck y-” He doesn't get to finish his sentence before Nico's mouth is on his. He freezes before easing into it. Nico moves slowly, deliberately, and Gabriel matches his pace. The Brazilian hadn't even noticed when Nico's hand had moved to the back of his head, but Nico tugs lightly at his hair, making Gabriel gasp in response. Nico takes this opportunity to lick into his mouth, tongue exploring slowly. Gabriel sighs dreamily into it.

Suddenly, Nico pulls away. Gabriel opens his mouth to say something, but Nico beats him to it. “You didn't lock the door, did you?”

Gabriel blinks, then curses in Portuguese under his breath. Nico holds him by the waist again and pulls him close, hiding absolutely nothing this time.

“And you don't really care, do you?” Gabriel says, playful. Nico shuts him up by kissing his neck. Gabriel gasps softly.

“No one's coming into my room uninvited,” Nico whispers against skin. Gabriel feels a little breathless now.

It isn't even about the kiss (or kisses, plural). It's about how Gabriel can still joke and mock and cuss without it ever breaking the tension between them. It's thrilling, exciting, but above everything else, it's natural. Almost domestic. Careful, Gabi. Not quite there yet, he thinks to himself. Nico gets him out of his head by biting lightly at his neck. God. He feels his legs tremble, dangerously close to faltering.

“We should go,” Gabriel manages. Nico licks where he bit before pulling away, hand still wrapped lazily around Gabriel. 

“You liked what you saw, didn't you? In hospitality,” Nico teases. 

“You really are fucking bold, aren't you?” He's smiling despite himself. Nico pecks his lips, fast and sweet. “You don't want to let go,” Gabriel observes. Nico hums something close to a ‘no’. “Well, the longer we stay here, the longer we have to wait for…” He doesn't think Nico needs him to finish his sentence, so he trails off. “So, shall we?” Gabriel is proud of the assertiveness in his voice. When had he become so certain? He surely feels very certain of what he's getting himself into. 

“Aight, let's go,” Nico moves toward the door, too fast. Gabriel grins.

“You're fast. Eager much?” He teases.

“Shut up,” Nico shoots over his shoulder, not looking back at Gabriel, who follows him out of the motorhome and into the team shuttle.

––––––––––––––––––––

The ride back to the hotel could’ve given Gabriel to think. In those 20 precious minutes, he could’ve mentally gone through every reason why this is a bad idea. He could’ve figured out there was still an opportunity to walk away.

Could have, being the key word.

Because he's left his hand sprawled out on the middle seat, not thinking much of it — a lie, really. It’s a clear, unspoken invitation. Gabriel hopes Nico will take it.

And Nico does, first  placing his own hand just inches away. Then closer. Until they eventually touch. It's barely there, pinky on pinky. It brings a very stupid smile to Gabriel's lips.

The touch is innocent for about 60 seconds before Nico, ever-bold, moves his hand up to Gabriel's thigh in one, smooth movement. Gabriel gasps and tries to hide it with a cough. He doesn't think he sounds convincing at all, but the chauffeur doesn't divert his eyes from the road to check, which Gabriel is thankful for.

The Brazilian shoots Nico a… Shocked? Surprised? Incredulous look. Nico fakes innocence so blatantly it should be illegal. Gabriel almost laughs despite himself. He holds Nico's gaze for a beat before the German turns to look at the window. Gabriel does the same, still smiling at the audacity.

What Gabriel also didn't expect is that Nico’s ability to tease him goes way past making fun of his colorful drinks or saying he's too young to have ever worried about laundry, because being inside a team shuttle with a stranger behind the wheel — probably hearing even the smallest shift in their breathing — doesn't stop Nico from rubbing his hand up and down Gabriel's thigh, sometimes riding up dangerously close to his crotch.

Gabriel bites back a few curse words before turning his head in Nico's direction so violently he almost gets whiplash. Nico, who's obviously looking out the window as if he doesn't know what he’s doing to Gabriel. But he does know. Of course he does.

It's torture. They're going to be inside this car for at least ten more minutes, and Gabriel can't do shit about the growing problem in his pants.

Somehow, he’s not the littlest bit mad about it.

––––––––––––––––––––

They climb out of the shuttle and into the hotel with enviable composure given the circumstances they were just in.

Gabriel can feel Nico's piercing gaze on him as he stares at the floor numbers going down on the panel just above the lift’s door. He doesn't meet his gaze. 

The doors open and they both step inside at the same time, shoulders brushing. Gabriel feels like he's been electrocuted.

They notice the elevator has a camera, because of course it does. They automatically stand on opposite sides of the crammed space, though their gaze is fixed on each other.

“Well, now you're the one staring,” Gabriel breaks the silence. “You really are eager, huh?” His voice is slightly shaky despite his best efforts.

“I’ve waited 15 years. I can wait an elevator ride’s time,” Nico says, trying to sound neutral but his gritted teeth betray him.

Gabriel breathes in, gathering bravery he doesn't necessarily feel, before walking slowly toward Nico and coming to a stop just inches away from Nico’s face. Far enough that it looks casual from the camera's angle (probably). Close enough that they feel each other’s breathing.

“You sure?” He tilts his head with a grin that's too crooked to pass as innocent.

Nico mutters something in German which Gabriel obviously doesn't understand, but the smirk on Nico's lips tells Gabriel he's enjoying it all just as much as the Brazilian is. Teasing really is their thing. 

As they hear the doors slide open, Nico walks past Gabriel, deliberately brushing his fingers against Gabriel’s own. The Brazilian’s breath hitches before he follows Nico out of the lift and into the corridor.

Gabriel realizes Nico’s walked them to his own room, and he's thankful Nico’s figured out the logistics of their encounter by himself — Gabriel is too horny for that.

The click of the door opening is louder than it should, snapping Gabriel out of his own thoughts. Nico opens the door and waves Gabriel in before walking in himself. Gabriel takes a few steps forward and into the room. Nico follows, closing the door behind him.

They're standing face to face. Too close. Not close enough. The room is silent except for their loud breathing.

Nico starts, “Gabi, I know I've already asked this, but are you sure this is what you wan-”

Gabriel doesn't let him finish before he kisses the German driver with the urgency of a starving man. Nico freezes for a millisecond before exhaling into the kiss and following the eagerness Gabriel's mouth has.

The kiss is more teeth than tongue at first, and Nico could have been surprised by that, had he not noticed the hunger in Gabriel's eyes the moment their gaze locked after his (very deliberate) towel appearance in hospitality. Nico effortlessly matches his energy.

Gabriel, on the other hand, cannot think straight for the life of him. His right hand goes up and tangles in Nico's blonde hair while his left grabs very fiercely at Nico's waist under his shirt, bringing their bodies closer.  He feels their covered torsos pressed together, Nico's hand on his hip dangerously close to his ass, Nico's knee slotting just between Gabriel's leg and rubbing at his painfully covered erection. Gabriel's got tunnel vision, all he can see is Nico, all he can feel is Nico, Nico, Nico…

Nico, who parts the kiss just to murmur against Gabriel's lips, “Can I get you to bed?”

Gabriel answers before Nico can even finish, “You can do anything you want old man, please.” He didn't mean to beg, but fuck it, he's already here, might as well.

Nico could've found Gabriel's eagerness funny if he wasn't just as horny.

“Take your shoes off, Gabriela.” Gabriel blinks as he tries to process the nickname, watching Nico kick his own shoes off. “Gabi?” It snaps him back. He decides he definitely doesn't hate the nickname and kicks his own shoes off, grinning as he holds Nico's gaze. The German's own lips are curved into a sly smirk.

Nico holds Gabriel's waist and guides him with backward steps until the back of Gabriel's knees reach the edge of the bed. Nico pushes Gabriel on his back and crawls on top of him, legs straddling Gabriel's hips.

Nico grabs the hem of Gabriel's shirt and pulls it over the Brazilian's head, not really looking where he throws it on the floor. As Nico starts removing his own shirt, he hears a sound of protest come out of Gabriel's lips. He stares, waiting.

“I want to do that,” Gabriel says, too fast.

Nico blinks. “Go ahead,” he smirks, letting go of his own shirt.

Gabriel’s hands are careful as they pull the fabric over Nico’s head, and he holds onto the shirt as he stares at Nico, eyes darting from his pecks to his arms to his lower stomach.

“Like what you see?” Nico’s voice cuts through Gabriel’s horny daze, and the Brazilian mutters a ‘yes’ as he discards the shirt onto the floor. “Didn’t you see enough in hospitality? You were staring pretty hard,” Nico teases, both his hands resting on either side of Gabriel’s waist.

Gabriel groans, but he’s laughing. “Just shut up and kiss me, Nico,” Gabriel slaps Nico’s chest and pretends he doesn’t feel the heat pooling on his lower stomach at the touch.

Nico complies and lowers his torso over Gabriel and hovers his lips over Gabriel’s for a beat before diving lower. Gabriel opens his mouth to complain just as he feels Nico placing open-mouthed kisses on his neck, so all that comes out is a low moan. Nico’s kisses trail lower and he starts sucking at Gabriel’s collarbones.

Gabriel is thankful Nico has the decency of not leaving hickeys on his neck. The thing is, he almost wishes he would.

Gabriel’s been reduced to heavy breathing and wandering hands as he bucks his hips upwards and into Nico’s in search of friction. He’s done waiting.

“Nico, please,” he whispers, maybe afraid to ask.

“Please what, Gabi?” Nico whispers against his chest, kisses trailing toward his lower stomach as Gabriel struggles to answer between his shallow breaths.

Nico bites the waistband of Gabriel’s sweats and looks up through his lashes. Gabriel gets impossibly harder at the sight.

“P-porra…” Gabriel mutters, suddenly unable to find English words. He breathes in once, not really believing he’s about to say this. “Fuck me, Nico. Please…” He brings his hand to Nico’s cheek, and the German driver turns his head to kiss the inside of Gabriel’s wrist. Funny.

Nico stands up and off the bed and starts taking off his pants and boxer briefs. Gabriel is absolutely mesmerized, mouth gaping and everything. Nico laughs as he climbs back on the bed, pulling Gabriel’s pants and underwear down not as slowly as he intended — a meager attempt at teasing the Brazilian, who really wasn't wrong when calling him eager just moments before this.

When all of their clothes are discarded somewhere on the floor, Nico is left staring at Gabriel's hardness for maybe two seconds before he hears, “Stop staring, you pervert,” followed by a pillow being thrown at his face. They both laugh as Nico snaps out of his trance.

He walks over to a bag lying by the small desk to the side of the bed before turning back around holding a condom and what Gabriel assumes is a small bottle of lube. Gabriel ponders for a second if he should say something before asking, “Why do you have that in your bag?”

“Why else would I have it? Are there any other uses for lube and condoms?” Nico says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. “Does Brazil not have Sex Ed classes?” He says with mock bewilderment. Gabriel isn't sure if he misses that the real question is whether he was expecting this to happen, or if he simply chooses not to acknowledge it. If he were a little less desperate to get Nico's dick in him, he might've been inclined to ask. But he isn't, so he drops the subject.

The soft click of the bottle opening brings Gabriel back to the present moment, and he still can't really believe Nico Hülkenberg is about to fuck him in a random hotel room in England. His dick twitches in anticipation. 

Gabriel blinks to see Nico has slicked his fingers with lube before kneeling down between Gabriel's legs. Nico’s clean hand comes up to hold the inside of the Brazilian’s thigh as he says, “Open up for me, yeah?”, his voice so soft it makes Gabriel's heart ache a bit. He complies, spreading his legs apart.

Nico circles his rim with a slick finger ever so slowly. “Can I?” His gaze is fixed on Gabriel’s face, looking for any signs of discomfort. He doesn't see any, but he’s attentive.

Gabriel mutters a breathy ‘yeah’ just as he feels a single, careful finger pressing in. It punches the air right out of his lungs.

It takes a few seconds to get used to the feeling and when he does, he feels a second finger coming in. He lets out a high-pitched squeal.

“You okay, buddy?” Nico stops moving his fingers. 

“Do n-not call me ‘buddy’, you're about to fuck me.” Gabriel's tone almost sounds assertive, except he's a little breathless. 

“Sorry. Everything okay, baby?” Nico asks before placing a kiss on the inside of Gabriel's upper thigh. Gabriel wonders if Nico has any idea of what this pet name has just done to him. 

“Yeah, Nico. More than okay,” he whimpers, and Nico starts moving his fingers slowly inside Gabriel, drawing low gasps from his mouth.

Gabriel has his head thrown back and his eyes closed when he feels Nico retrieve his fingers, so he hears before he sees Nico opening the condom wrap. It takes him a second or two before he peeks at Nico rolling the condom over his length. He assumes his cheeks are a bright shade of pink, but then, they probably have been like that since the motorhome anyway.

Nico lines himself while he holds Gabriel’s legs open with hands that are too careful. He leans in so he’s towering over Gabriel’s body. The Brazilian notices it's been getting really hard to think straight.

“Can I?” Nico asks, his voice small and careful. Gabriel nods, and this time, Nico doesn’t press for a verbal answer. He slides inside of Gabriel slowly. Gabriel closes his eyes and his hands shoot up to Nico’s shoulders, his nails digging at his skin. His breathing is shallow.

Nico lets him get used to the pressure before he starts moving, and Gabriel’s suddenly reduced to small whimpers, his eyes shut tight.

“Tell me if it’s too much, yeah baby?” Nico asks amidst panting. Gabriel’s dick twitches at the use of the pet name. He nods before opening his eyes, immediately gauging Nico’s expression: his eyes are lidded and his mouth is parted to let out a stream of heavy breaths, and he looks so pretty like this.

“Can you…” Gabriel hesitates. But then, fuck it, he’s already here, might as well. “ Can you go faster?”

Nico breathes in sharply before he can actually answer, but it still comes out choked. “Yeah, I will.” He starts picking up the pace, escalating his movements little by little, until the contact between their hips makes loud, slapping sounds. Both of them are full-on moaning now.

Their gaze meets. Both their eyes are just barely open, but Gabriel’s pupils are dark and blown. Gabriel is not sure if it’s stupid to smile in a moment like this, but he can’t stop himself when Nico looks so fucking good towering over him. Nico’s own lips curve upwards slightly so he assumes it isn’t all that stupid.

The German’s hands, which had been resting comfortably on Gabriel’s thighs, now move to his waist and aching cock. The pressure punches the air right out of Gabriel’s lungs, and his slow movements up and down almost throw him over the edge. He moans a little louder — if that’s even possible.

Gabriel feels it, then. He thinks of every lingering touch between them ever since the day they met, and how it always felt like they were toeing a line both of them were dangerously close to crossing, how it felt wrong, how it felt like too much. But things have changed, now. Gabriel wishes he could have Nico’s body everywhere on him, his hands on his waist, his heaving torso over his own, their legs tangled, and he’d still greedily wish for more. Hell, they could fuse together and Gabriel would still think it wasn’t enough.

“I’m close, Gabi,” Nico breathes out, his voice a little strained through his efforts at keeping a steady pace. He sounds impossibly hotter, all breathless like this.

It’s like every nerve in Gabriel’s body lights up. He tenses around Nico as his orgasm hits him, spilling white streaks all over his own stomach and Nico’s hand. He doesn’t really hear himself, but he’s sure nothing but Nico’s name comes out of his mouth except for a stream of unrestrained moans. Nico mutters an ‘oh fuck’ before he reaches his own orgasm, still inside Gabriel.

Both of them are panting before Nico’s body goes limp beside Gabriel on the bed.

Gabriel’s eyes are closed until he feels Nico’s burning gaze on him. He opens them to find the German turned on his side, looking into his eyes. He smiles shyly.

“You know,” Nico starts, his hand coming to hug Gabriel’s waist. “You look so pretty when you’re so certain.”

Gabriel laughs low. “It’s a weird compliment.”

“Learned that with you.” Nico smiles back.

They stay like that for a few moments, neither of them really noticing the time passing. Nico squeezes Gabriel’s waist lightly before standing up. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”
“Ugh,” Gabriel groans as he’s reminded of the mess he made of his own stomach, but he’s smiling. “Please.”

Nico enters the bathroom to discard the used condom and dampens a towel before coming out. When he does, he notices Gabriel standing on the edge of the bed, head between his hands. He’s immediately alarmed.

The German sits by his side. “Everything okay?” He half-whispers. Gabriel sighs, and it takes a few seconds before he can muster up the courage to answer.

“I like you, Nico.” It sounds more like an admission of guilt than a love confession. “I think I like you more than I'm allowed to,” Gabriel breathes out, his voice shaky.

Gabriel is spiraling, because he realizes this was all so stupid and he should have actually thought about what the fuck he was doing before sleeping with his teammate and he should’ve considered that getting to bed with Nico would cost a lot more of Gabriel’s sanity since he’s, you know, in love with Nico. Nico, who probably sees this as nothing but meaningless fun. He doesn’t realize when he starts breathing in rapid, shallow bursts, until he feels a hand holding his own.

“We don’t have to talk about this today,” Nico says with tranquility that eases the burning in his chest the tiniest bit. “Just breathe, okay? And let me clean you up.” Gabriel can feel Nico’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t meet his gaze. “Please,” he adds, his voice as soft as Gabriel knows it becomes whenever he’s spiraling like this.

“Thank you,” Gabriel whispers back.

Nico cleans him up in silence, but he deposits a kiss on Gabriel’s temple when he’s done.

Chapter Text

Belgium, July 26th. Qualifying day.

Nico has just climbed out of the car and probably hasn't realized that staring at his destroyed front wing won't magically fix it. End of qualifying for him, and the Q1 clock hasn't even hit the 6 minute mark.

It's even worse that the car whose rear he hit belongs to Gabriel Bortoleto — who, you may remember, is his teammate.

It's still fairly early in the season, but he finds himself reflecting on his races so far. He knows the car is… Not the best would be too generous, but absolutely useless feels ungrateful. It's already hard to even fight for points on most days, not to mention the weekends when it feels simply undriveable. One thing he knows, though, is that crashing out of Q1 along with his teammate surely won't help their championship standing look less pitiful.

The hum of the engine coming from the approaching safety car makes him realize he’s been staring emptily at his destroyed car. He notices Gabriel in the corner of his eye, but his gaze doesn’t linger on the Brazilian.

Sharing a ride with the marshals is certainly never enjoyable, because every reason for it to happen is a shitty one, so they're both silent until they reach the garage.
They climb out of the car and distribute a few short apologies to the team members before reaching hospitality, Gabriel walking a few steps behind Nico. They sit farther apart than they usually would.

“Hey old man, you were jealous my lap was better than yours?” Gabriel teases after a long silence, brushing Nico's shoulder. Nico moves away from the touch.

Nico shouldn't be mad. Not when Gabriel has that stupidly gorgeous smile on his lips. But stupidly gorgeous smiles on even more beautiful drivers have never helped anyone in a constructors championship battle for P8 — which is humiliating enough for them, Nico thinks.

“It's not funny. Did you see the Constructor's Championship standings? We're almost last. This just ruined both our races and possibly cost us a position in the WCC.”

“Well, yeah. Obviously.” Gabriel looks down.

For a moment, they’re both quiet.

“You moved under braking,” Nico whispers.

“What?” Gabriel looks up, incredulous.

“We wouldn't have collided if you didn't.”

“Nico, I didn't. Why the hell would I move under braking in qualifying? I'm not insane. You just didn't see me, because apparently a fucking neon green car is very easy to miss.” Gabriel shakes his head and hands in a way only a Brazilian with an Italian last name would.

“Yeah, sure. Doesn't really matter now, does it? We're P19 and P17. Ruined weekend.”

“Yeah. Goodbye, Nico.” Gabriel looks him in the eyes. Nico doesn't meet his gaze.

“Goodbye, Gabriel.” He walks away to the team shuttle. Gabriel doesn’t follow him. Nico doesn’t look back.

––––––––––––––––––––

Something most people don’t know about Nico Hülkenberg is that he isn’t nearly as calm and collected as he seems. In fact, he’s grateful most people don’t remember what a nervous wreck he used to be when he first joined the Formula 1 grid. He’d actually hide in the bathroom to cry after a mediocre race result more often than he’d be willing to admit even a decade later. But at some point, you kind of realize you’re being pathetic and you figure everyone must be judging you and thinking you don’t even deserve that seat if you can’t handle the pressure that comes with it. So he started to protect himself. Guarding his heart behind polite smiles and his best poker face. It took him a while before he actually felt he was doing a good job at conceiving his emotions, and at some point he wasn’t even sure how much of it was actually pretending, or if he had been so successful at bottling up his emotions that it had just become second nature. The second option feels more likely — he can’t even remember when was the last time he let himself cry, even in private. Nowadays, it’s nearly impossible to read through Nico. He’s distant enough not to hurt himself.

But things have changed ever since he met Gabriel Bortoleto. The boy has managed to see right through him, working so hard to tear through his walls. It’s endearing, really. But it’s also scary. Because, while Nico has been feeling things — good things — he hadn’t felt in, like, forever, he also knows it makes space for that same insecurity and explosiveness to creep its way back into his life. You can’t open a dam and expect just half the water to come out.

He hadn't noticed he had been pacing around the hotel room, hands tangled in his own, disheveled hair.

He grabs a glass of water in a futile attempt to stop his thoughts from racing, sitting on the edge of the bed. He chugs the water so fast he almost chokes on it.

After a long, sharp sigh, he grabs his phone and texts Gabriel, what's your room number?

The reply takes a while, and for a moment Nico thinks it might not come. He's already started pacing around again when his phone screen lights up. 198. It's almost embarrassing how fast he leaves his room.

––––––––––––––––––––

Nico's hand hovers over the door numbered 198 for a beat before he actually knocks. A few long seconds go by before he hears the door unlocking. He's greeted by a silent Gabriel.

“May I come in?” Nico asks. Not how are you, or are you okay. He doesn't dwell on the thought that he might’ve said the wrong thing.

“Yeah,” Gabriel half-whispers, stepping to the side and waving him in. Nico walks in and sits on the edge of the bed, waiting for Gabriel to do the same. He does.

It's right then that Nico realizes he hadn't thought of what to say.

“We can still fight for points tomorrow. You're P17, it's not last row. It's not all lost.”

Nico is very good at ignoring the elephant in the room, and someday it might've worked in his favor. Right now, he isn't sure it does.

“Seriously, Nico?” Gabriel sounds incredulous. Offended, even. But his voice is still low.

“What? I mean it. We're both good- great drivers, and I know the car is shit but we can do this-” he's about to call him Gabi, but the nickname catches in his throat before he manages to say it. He's pretty sure Gabriel notices, because there's a sharp flicker of pain in his eyes the moment Nico closes his mouth.

“Is that what you think the problem is? That you ruined my race?”

“I didn't-”

“You see?!” Gabriel stands up and spreads his arms like a football player complaining after his team concedes a goal. “You still think the problem is the crash! I couldn't care less that we crashed out of Q1. It could've been me who crashed into you. Shit happens, Nico.” He's pacing nervously in front of Nico, flailing arms and all. “The problem is that you're blaming me when you're the one who crashed into me, and not only that, you're accusing me of breaking the rules, of racing dirty. You really think I'm that type of driver?” Gabriel’s raised his tone, but he doesn’t sound accusatory. He sounds fucking hurt. Nico recognizes this feeling all too well. “Say something, Nico,” Gabriel pleads, his voice cracking at the name.

Nico looks him in the eye for the first time today. “I don’t think you’re that type of driver. I know you’re not.” He can hear how flat his tone sounds, and he hates himself for it.

“That’s all?” Gabriel asks, voice small. Nico doesn’t reply. The Brazilian exhales a shaky breath and walks towards the door, opening it in silence. Nico takes the hint and walks toward the corridor.

“Good night, Gabi.” He looks back just in time to see Gabriel wince as the nickname hits him like a physical blow.

“Good night.” Gabriel’s voice is barely louder than a whisper. Nico lingers for a beat too long before turning around, hearing the soft click of the door closing behind him. He exhales before walking down the corridor.

At some point on the walk back to his room, Nico realizes the right thing to say would’ve been I’m sorry. And the worst part is that he might’ve known it from the moment he walked in, and he still didn’t say it.

––––––––––––––––––––

Race day goes as well as you could expect given their starting positions — which is to say, awful. They don't have their post-race dinner together for the first time since the season started. Hell, they don't even look at each other during the debrief. Mattia Binotto’s stern look doesn’t go unnoticed by Nico. The German wonders how much of it all Mattia has already figured out. Not the ‘fucking’ part, he hopes.

They don’t even share the ride to the hotel — again.

Nico actually walks through the corridor where Gabriel’s room is located twice, and he stands by the door both times. But he doesn’t knock.

He doesn’t text, either. He’s not big on texting in general, so texting while they’re not even talking in person seems ridiculous.
Nico used to have this stupid habit of picking at the skin around his nails when he was nervous, and it only got worse when he made it to Formula 1. It used to get especially bad before qualifying, to the point his fingers would often bleed inside his gloves.

Fifteen years later, he finds himself doing it again, sitting on the hotel bed in the dark, unable to fall asleep, with the image of a very pretty, curly-haired driver playing time and time again in his mind. Except even in this fabricated image, he looks all sad and offended and Nico knows it’s his fault.

Chapter Text

Singapore, October 3rd. Free Practice day.

The weekends had begun to blur together.

After the absolute fiasco that was the Belgium Grand Prix, Gabriel hadn't been all that excited for Hungary. It had been, in fact, very hard to drive with a lump in his throat and an all too familiar stinging in his eyes. The reason was very simple: Hungary would be the last race before summer break.

He had let himself wonder. Maybe, if they had set things straight right then, summer break could’ve looked so different. Maybe they could’ve continued their sacred habit of having dinner together in hotel restaurants on Sunday evenings. Maybe they could’ve taken a short trip together somewhere. Maybe Nico could’ve spent a week with him in Brazil.

Of course, Nico didn’t reach out. And Gabriel didn’t, either.

Gabriel still thought Nico had been unfair. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to apologize first. He isn’t even sure if he should apologize at all. He couldn’t forget about how hurt he was and how practical (read as, insensitive) Nico had been when they could’ve just… Talked it out. They could’ve discussed why Nico had been so defensive and harsh about the crash. Nico could’ve apologized, even. They could’ve handled things like two adult men.

Does Gabriel never get tired of thinking about what could’ve happened?

Because they didn’t talk in Hungary.

Summer break felt like the longest three weeks of his life.

In Zandvoort, they finally saw each other again, and it was as weird as he’d expected. They exchanged pleasantries and talked enough not to make it obvious to everyone in the garage that the stakes of their relationship were much higher than they should be. But whenever they were left alone in hospitality, the silence was sharp enough to cut glass. It made his heartbeat spike.

It’s in Monza, though, where it all hit Gabriel the hardest. He managed to finish the race P6. It was his best result of the season, and all he wanted to do was celebrate with Nico, the way they had done in Miami and Silverstone. It had felt so familiar then. Now, it felt so distant. He wanted to hug Nico and drink with him and kiss him and fuck him and just have him by his side — forever, if he may.
Instead, he was met with a ‘congrats, buddy’ and a one-armed hug.

So he went to his hotel room and cried. Because what do you mean this was the same Nico who fucked him out of his mind a few weeks ago? Who kissed his temple while ordering chocolate because Gabriel couldn’t eat dinner due to his anxiety? Who flirted with him in a very public hotel bar?

There seemed to be a whole brick wall between them now.

––––––––––––––––––––

He manages to get out of his own head during Free Practice in Singapore. It’s hot, really hot, so the physical toll of being inside a car at fuck-hundred miles per hour makes it hard to think about anything else.

Street circuits are hard. It’s even harder because Gabriel has never raced in Singapore, sim racing aside. As always, the first hour in a new circuit feels like an uphill battle, so FP1 feels like hell on earth — it might as well be literal, with how much he’s sweating. He comes out of the car a little dizzy, so he takes a quick shower in hospitality before FP2.

He’s still quite shaky as he puts on the race suit again. He needs help from a team member to fasten his gloves.

The first twenty minutes on track are okay. He’s not doing terribly, but he’s definitely lower on the timetable than he’d like. It’s as he starts pushing for faster laps that things change.

The cockpit becomes hotter by the second.
He mentions it to his engineer, and they start checking the temperature of the car. He’s told it’s no higher than what’s expected in Singapore. Gabriel thanks them and continues driving.

His hands are shakier than they were when he climbed into the car. He oversteers on a slow corner.

He hears his pulse thumping in his ears, louder than the roar of the engine.

He tries to warn someone at the pitwall over the radio, but is that really his voice, so distant and shaky?

He thinks he’s told to drive into the pitlane. Well, he hopes that’s it, because he really thinks that's all he can manage.

Then, he gets tunnel vision. He drives into the pit entry (hopefully) and… He doesn’t remember much after that.

Just silence.

––––––––––––––––––––

He’s still disoriented as his eyes slowly flutter open. He’s met with white lights so bright they  startle him fully awake.

He's eventually able to make out that he's in the medical center.

“Gabi,” he hears from his side. The voice is low, almost a whisper, but it sounds urgent. More importantly, it sounds familiar.

“Nico?” Gabriel asks, his voice hoarse. His throat feels dry.

As his eyes adjust to the sharp lights, he looks over to his side and sees Nico. The fuzziness in his mind hardly makes him forget all the reasons why he shouldn’t want Nico here right now. But he smiles at him despite them all. A weak smile, but a genuine one. First one in weeks, probably.

“I was worried about you,” Nico says, looking him in the eyes. Gabriel notices him fidgeting with his hands in his lap.

“I… Don't remember much,” Gabriel confesses, adjusting himself so he's sitting up on the hospital bed. “Did I crash? I don't remember crashing,” he isn't sure if he's asking Nico or himself.

“No,” Nico says, too fast. He clears his throat before continuing, “No, you didn't crash. You managed to drive into the pit lane, but you didn't come out of the car.” Nico's voice is careful, like he's scared. Scared of what?

Gabriel doesn't know what to make of it all. His throat feels really dry.

“Can I have water?”

A nurse responds with a quick ‘yes’ as she starts filling up a plastic cup. Nico walks up to her and whispers something Gabriel can't quite catch, but he notices she hands Nico the cup.

Nico comes to a stop by the side of the bed and hands him the cup. Gabriel mouths a ‘thank you’ before downing it. Nico smiles weakly before retrieving the empty cup and placing it on a nearby table.

The room falls silent but for the low hum of the air conditioner.

Gabriel sees it almost in slow motion: Nico's hand coming up so, so slowly. Hesitant. Then placing itself on top of Gabriel's.

The Brazilian meets Nico's gaze. The German is asking a question with his eyes. Smiling softly at him is the best answer he can muster.

Gabriel could swear he sees Nico sighing in relief. But that could also be his disoriented mind playing tricks on him.

Nico squeezes his hand gently, as if to say I'm here. Or at least that's what Gabriel makes of it. What he wants to make of it.

He's relieved. They're talking! He's missed this. There's so much he wants to talk about. So many other things he's not exactly looking forward to talking about, but knows he should. He doesn't say any of it, though. “How was your summer break?” He manages instead.

Nico laughs weakly. “Can you give us a moment?” He asks the nurse. She looks at them, and then at their hands together — at this point, Nico's brought his other hand up, holding Gabriel's hand between his own — and if she finds it weird, she has the discretion of not commenting on it. She nods before leaving the unsettlingly white and sterile room.

“We should talk,” Nico says almost before the nurse closes the door. Gabriel can't blame him — he wants this stupid fight to be over just as much.

“Over dinner,” Gabriel says, barely audible. “Please,” he adds weakly. It might be the most honest plea of his life.

“Sure. Over dinner, that's better,” Nico whispers back, squeezing his hand once more. Gabriel lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and rests his head back on the pillow, closing his eyes in relief.

He feels Nico slowly moving toward him, and his whole body stiffens. He squeezes his eyes shut, not sure what he's expecting.

Surely not this.

A soft kiss to his forehead.

Nico's lips linger over his skin for a heartbeat. Then two.

Then he draws back. Gabriel opens his eyes. Nico's own are soft with worry and affection and maybe something else entirely.

––––––––––––––––––––

Formula 1 teams usually have a very efficient logistics team; Gabriel hasn't worried about fights or hotel bookings or food (or anything, really) since the season started.

One thing they're especially good at is picking hotels where drivers can exist anonymously.

So they don't have to worry if anyone's listening in on their dinner, slash conversation, slash long-overdue discussion. The booth is very private, anyway.

Nico had met him by his room, but they didn't talk much on the walk to the restaurant, both of them too tense to even engage in small talk about the weather. What would they even say, Singapore is hot as fuck?

A waiter guides them to their booth. Nico, the gentleman that he is, pulls Gabriel’s chair before taking his seat across from him at the table.

It seems neither of them wants to start.

But Gabriel does.

“I'm not mad about the crash. I never was.” He's drumming his fingers on the table. Nico's gaze on him feels piercing. “What happened, Nico? Why were you so mad?” He asks, his voice small like he's not sure he's allowed to ask it.

Nico takes a deep breath. “I shouldn't have said that. Shouldn't have lashed out on you.” He pauses. “You… Probably don't know this — I mean, most people don't, anyway — but I used to be a lot like you. Insecure; scared to take up space; a nervous wreck, to be honest.”

“Yeah, it is pretty hard to believe,” Gabriel jokes, but there's an edge of honesty to his words. It really is hard to imagine Nico and a nervous wreck in the same sentence. 

“Well, yeah. At some point, I realized I needed to change. Wearing your heart on your sleeve does you no good in Formula 1.”

Something in Gabriel’s heart breaks a little.

“But you…” Nico pauses again. Gabriel looks at him, expectant. “You changed something. I didn't want to hide behind fake neutrality all the time. Or rather, I didn't feel like I had to, around you.”

Gabriel is smiling softly. Looking at him, one would never guess his heart is doing somersaults in his chest.

“But when you allow yourself to feel good things, the bad things also creep up to the surface. And I guess being in a shitty car and having a shitty season time and time again had been eating at my heart for too long. So I… I let frustration get the best of me.”

Gabriel isn't smiling anymore. Nico grabs his hand and brushes his thumb against his knuckles.

“I'm sorry, Gabi. You didn't deserve that.” His eyes look so, so soft and apologetic. Gabriel breathes in slowly.

“Why didn't you reach out? It's been two months since Belgium.” His tone isn't accusatory, just… Genuinely confused and hurt. “I've missed you, Nico,” he adds, half-whispering.

“I was scared I'd be stupid enough to do it again.” Nico kisses the back of Gabriel's hand.

They're silent for a moment.

The waiter stops by, placing their plates on the table. It takes them a second before they start eating, but their gaze is locked. 

“We have to be smart about this,” Nico starts. Gabriel looks at him, curious. “People who like each other are always going to hurt each other.”

The way Nico avoids the words love each other isn’t lost on Gabriel. It stings.

“I feel like I’m doing most of the talking here,” Nico jokes, but he doesn’t smile until Gabriel does first.

“I like hearing you talk,” Gabriel says, voice low and enamored. “I missed hearing you talk,” he reiterates.

“I missed you,” Nico says, smiling. Gabriel's breath hitches.

“Say that again.”

“I missed you, Gabi.”

They're both smiling stupidly at each other.

The rest of the dinner feels warm, comfortable. They talk about summer break, mostly. Gabriel talks about something he wished they had done together. Nico mentions something that had reminded him of Gabriel.

The confusion and pain that had been coiling in Gabriel's heart has mostly untangled by the time they finish dinner. He's breathing easier now.

––––––––––––––––––––

As it so happens, it's (not so shockingly) easier to race after you pick up the pieces from your broken heart.

Gabriel manages to finish the Singapore Grand Prix P5, and this time, he isn't left wishing for Nico. They hug each other so tightly you wouldn't even guess that every single camera in the paddock is on them. It doesn't matter, does it? They're together. Maybe not together in the way Gabriel wishes they were — they haven't promised anything, no big love declarations, not even an I love you. But at this moment, it's just Gabriel and Nico, hugging each other. Even if the whole world is watching.

Chapter Text

Austin, October 16th. Media day.

Most drivers would tell you Austin media day is one of the most fun ones. Nico wouldn’t go as far as saying that. To him, most of them were the same: not really the highlight of the weekend. He feels media duties are a bit over-the-top — especially in recent years, with the rise of social media. He doesn’t think much of it as he begins the day, though. He'll get through it as he always does.

The first half of media day is uneventful. He takes some photos with a cowboy hat, records a video with Gabriel about weird Texas city names for Sauber’s media admin, whatever the day throws at him. At some point though, when they have their well deserved lunch break, he and Gabriel get separated.

Nico is sitting at the paddock cafeteria eating whatever Texan dish they offered that looked appetizing enough when he thinks, well, let's see what the fuss is all about. He opens the Formula 1 Instagram account.

They are fast. There are already at least a dozen videos of the drivers doing many of the different activities Nico himself noticed they have available at the paddock, as well as whatever crazy ideas their own teams’ media admins had come up with beforehand. He sees a video of Franco riding a horse, Yuki tasting Texan dishes, Liam teaching Isack how to play guitar, Lewis and Charles playing trivia, whatever.

He scrolls lazily through the videos until his precious Gabi pops up on screen, wearing a black cowboy hat and the biggest, corniest silver buckle Nico has ever seen. Gabriel is stopped by the media admin in the middle of going up hospitality stairs to be asked a question on camera, and the thought of Gabriel’s precious lunch time being interrupted by media duties makes Nico's skin crawl. Pretty quickly, though, he realizes Gabriel probably didn't mind: it’s his debut season, everything is new to him. He’s probably having fun, Nico figures.

Lost in thought, Nico hasn't heard a single word they said on the first watch, so he waits for the video to replay. And God, nothing could have prepared him for what he sees.

“Which driver do you think would be the best at rodeo? Like, bull riding,” the voice behind the camera asks. Gabriel stopped mid stride and looked at the camera: weird, unreadable expression on his face.

“I think,” he considers it, “Nico, because he's… Strong.” Nico raises an eyebrow. “Nico would take the bull and… Put it in his place,” Gabriel speaks through gritted teeth, moving his hands as if mimicking Nico's supposed bull riding skills.

Nico loses it.

He chokes on his food so loudly it makes a McLaren engineer shoot him a judgmental look from across the cafeteria. He’s too busy getting up and finding Gabriel to care about that though, barely remembering to discard his half-eaten food before striding out.

––––––––––––––––––––

The paddock is big. Bigger even when you’re trying to find the awfully pretty rookie who has just left your mind clouded with lust.

When Nico spots Gabriel from afar, he instantly gets tunnel vision. All he can see is this pretty smile and bouncy curly hair. He walks straight toward Gabriel.

“Hey Nico, eaten anything yet?” He asks, turning his body toward the German.

Nico doesn’t answer at first, just grabs Gabriel’s arm lightly, catching his gaze. Nico’s eyes are dark and his pupils are blown. Gabriel laughs.

“I was just about to do something really fun,” Gabriel drags his vowels, mouth closer to Nico’s ear than strictly natural. “Did you know there’s a mechanical bull here?” He draws back, smiling innocently, maybe.

Gabriel uses his other hand to pull Nico by the arm toward the mechanical bull. As they arrive, someone with a media coverage badge points a camera at them as someone with a microphone inches closer. Well, shit.

“Nico, Gabriel! Are you two having fun?” The reporter has a thick Texan accent that makes Gabriel giggle, though he’s so effortlessly charming it passes off as pure excitement.

“I’m loving it. People were right, Austin really is fun!”

“And which one of you will be the best at riding the mechanical bull?”

Gabriel looks at Nico, which makes him realize his silence might’ve seemed impolite.

“I don’t think I’m as good as he’s expecting,” Nico answers with an unreadable smile.

“You think I’m better at riding than you, old man?” Gabriel elbows him.

Nico’s breath catches in his throat.

“I think,” Nico starts slowly, “that Gabriel just likes to put me in uncomfortable situations,” he tells the camera.

“It's the truth!”

“It's absolutely not.”

“It's true that you're strong,” Gabriel says, looking straight at Nico. The little shit.

“Being strong doesn't mean being good at rodeo,” Nico deadpans, not sure how he's hiding how impure his thoughts sound.

“Well, let's put it to the test then?” Gabriel inches closer so their shoulders brush. Is he even aware that they're being recorded? Does he simply not care?

Nico notices an alarming amount of very amused eyes on them. An even more alarming amount of cameras capturing every touch that seems too natural, every lingering look and every word that sounds way too low and intimate.

He also notices the Sauber PR girl — Nina, Nico believes is her name — staring at them from afar with an expression that looks suspiciously like worry — like she's weighing the pros and cons of allowing this conversation to continue.

He breathes in sharply before answering, but the reporter beats him to it.

“So, who's going first?” She asks excitedly, obliviously.

Gabriel takes a step forward. “Well, since Nico is scared, I'll go first.”

Nico has no time to object before Gabriel is stepping up onto the small, padded stage. As he starts mounting the bull, Nico feels before he sees Nina coming to a halt beside him, looking between Gabriel on the bull and Nico with his arms crossed and brows furrowed.

“He's going to hurt himself,” Nico says through gritted teeth.

“He's going to be fine,” Nina replies calmly.

The bull starts moving slowly, warming Gabriel up.

“He's just showing off.”

“He's having fun, Nico. I bet fifteen years ago you would have, too.” Her tone is sweet. It’s clear she’s very fond of both of them.

“Well, fifteen years ago we focused on driving cars, not recording challenges for TikTok.” Nico's words could've sounded harsh if not for the small smile on his lips — though whether it comes from amusement or affection, it's hard to tell. “This is going to be a disaster,” he adds as the bull starts picking up the pace.

It is, in fact, not a disaster.

At first, Gabriel has one of his hands raised, waving at the small crowd that surrounds the stage. He even winks at Nico when their eyes meet, which Nico notices makes Nina’s head turn toward him with a puzzled, but surely amused expression.

Then, as the bull’s movements get faster and the turns get erratic, he grips the small handle with both hands and steadies his hips using more strength on his legs.

Maybe Nico should've looked away.

Because he can't help but notice the way Gabriel’s hips bounce up and down, his back slightly arched as to steady him, the muscles of his legs twitching, visible even through the fabric of his skinny jeans — or was Nico’s imagination really that sharp?

When Nico manages to look up from Gabriel’s lower body, it isn’t any easier on his heart — or, down there. Gabriel’s cheeks are flushed bright red and he has his mouth slightly parted, tongue poking out like it always does when Gabriel is focused. God, those lips. Nico remembers Silverstone, how those lips had been just his to kiss and bite and draw obscene sounds out of. Then he imagines they would look so pretty around his—

Gabriel falls off the bull.

He’s sitting with his legs sprawled out, chest heaving and pink lips parted, laughing amidst heavy breathing: his hair is disheveled, sweaty curls clinging to his forehead in a mess that has absolutely no business being this attractive. Nico has to remind himself to breathe properly. The small crowd is cheering Gabriel on, which Nico notices makes him very happy. He likes to feel seen, Nico is reminded.

Gabriel finally walks toward Nico and Nina, his breathing still labored from exertion.

“So, how did I do?” He looks between them, expectant.

“You did amazing, Gabi!” Nina offers him a warm smile. Gabriel retributes with one of his own before looking at Nico, expecting an answer.

“Better than I expected,” Nico says, grinning, before pulling Gabriel into a one-armed hug. “Let’s go back to the hotel, yeah?” Nico whispers so close to his ear the hairs on his neck stand up. Nico draws back, smiling innocently. Gabriel is frozen in place, an almost-smile on his lips that’s too surprised to look normal. It’s Nina’s turn to look between them, confusion plastered on her face.

“I think I’ll head back to hospitality,” Nico says casually. Except the implications are absolutely not casual and both of them know it. Gabriel grins in response.

“Yeah, we probably should,” Gabriel replies. “I’m done proving my point,” he adds, grinning wider now.

Nina doesn’t comment on it, but Nico thinks she realizes they’re not actually saying what they’re thinking. If he were a little less horny, he might’ve been more worried. Still, in the back of his mind, there’s a tiny voice telling him, you fucked up. He decides to ignore it for now.

––––––––––––––––––––

They reach hospitality together, Gabriel walking a step behind Nico — he does tend to walk really fast when he wants to fuck Gabriel this bad.

As they reach the entrance, Nico holds Gabriel by the wrist, his grip soft and careful, and whispers in his ear again, “Wait for me in the motorhome. My room.”

He hears Gabriel’s breath hitch, which makes Nico smile, amused, before Gabriel nods eagerly.

Nico ghosts a thumb on the inside of his wrist before letting go and walking into hospitality. They go separate ways.

Nico spends what could be a minute or an hour in hospitality before he walks out and toward the motorhome.

––––––––––––––––––––

Inside the motorhome, Nico opens the door to his room and notices Gabriel had been pacing around. He locks the door behind him and enters the small room.

“Do you know how long you left me waiting?” Gabriel whisper-shouts, waving his hands around. Nico walks slowly toward him, cornering him into a wall as he takes a few steps backward. “Did you really have to take that long?” His voice isn’t nearly as steady now.

Nico hums low. “I'm here now, aren't I?” He places one hand on the wall behind Gabriel and the other on his jaw, tilting his head slightly. Gabriel breathes in sharply as his back meets the wall. “You knew what you were doing,” Nico states, looking at him with lidded eyes.

Gabriel grins, bringing a hand to Nico's waist and pulling him closer. “I had an idea, yeah.”

“The hotel is closer this time,” Nico says, his mouth finding Gabriel's neck and placing open mouthed kisses all over it, making the younger gasp.

“Media day-” Nico bites him softly, which makes him choke on his words. “Media day isn't over yet,” he manages somehow.

“Don't care,” Nico whispers against skin.

“You,” he starts, “also know what you're doing,” his other hand comes up to tug lightly at Nico's hair, keeping him close.

“I have an idea,” Nico jokes, pulling Gabriel's collar to the side so he can have access to the Brazilian’s collarbone. He can bite all he wants there. He smiles at the thought.

And suddenly, his mind is filled with the images of earlier today. The cameras, the people, Nina’s knowing look. He’s hit with a scary realization. He draws back just enough so their gaze meets, Gabriel's hand still tangled in his hair.

“You're gonna get us in trouble one day,” he says, not quite smiling. Not ‘we're gonna get in trouble’. ‘You're gonna get us in trouble’. He realizes he fucked up when Gabriel tenses up under his touch. He sees the tiniest flicker of… dread, in Gabriel’s eyes. He breathes in, his mind racing faster than his Kick Sauber ever could.

He kisses Gabriel. Hard.

––––––––––––––––––––

He doesn’t know how they make it to his hotel room without swallowing each other whole on their way there. Without someone noticing. Without someone asking questions to which they aren’t entitled the answers.

The door barely shuts before Gabriel pushes Nico’s back against it. His eyes are dark, pupils blown, as he stares down into Nico’s own. His expression is unreadable, his breaths coming out in shallow bursts.

Before Nico knows it, Gabriel’s mouth is on his, in a kiss that’s more teeth than tongue, Gabriel’s hands wandering around his body and never settling in just one place.

Their shoes are kicked off to the side. They fumble with jackets and zippers and buttons like they’ll die if either of them is still clothed by the next minute. Gabriel manages to push Nico’s naked body on the bed, his back caught by the mattress, before he climbs on top of him and starts kissing his neck.

“Gabi,” he tries, but Gabriel shushes him, his breath hot against the skin of his neck, trailing lower until it reaches his collarbones.

“My turn,” Gabriel whispers as he starts sucking a bruise there. Nico breathes in sharply, closing his eyes, he’s not used to being on the receiving end of pain like this. It feels surprisingly good. His dick twitches against Gabriel’s belly.

Nico feels the slow, cold drag of Gabriel’s tongue against his chest, then his stomach, until it reaches his erection. Nico dares shoot him a look, and the sight punches the air right out of his lungs: Gabriel looking up through his lashes, eyes hooded and dark and hungry, his tongue poking out, just barely touching the tip of his cock. Good lord.
Nico has no time to react before Gabriel takes him in his mouth, eager and certain. It draws a low groan from his throat as his hand comes up to tangle in the younger’s hair.

His rhythm is steady and whatever length he can’t take in his mouth, he strokes with his right hand, the left clawing at Nico’s inner thigh almost painfully.

As much as Nico’s enjoying the sight before him, he eventually tips his head back, eyes shut tight, gasps and strangled moans falling from his lips.

He feels before he sees Gabriel’s lips part from his cock, the tip of his tongue lingering over the leaking slit. “Where’s your bag?” He hears from between his legs, the voice a little breathless.

“Bedside table,” he half-whispers back, untangling his hand from Gabriel’s hair without lifting his head or opening his eyes.

He hears what he can only assume is Gabriel opening the bag and retrieving a condom and the same bottle of lube they’d used a few weeks back. The same bag he’s been carrying through every race weekend since their first dinner. Sometimes, wishful thinking does work, Nico has found.

As he hears the package being torn open, he opens his eyes and tries to sit up to grab the condom before he feels a warm hand spread over his chest, pushing him back down. “Shh, I’ll do it,” Gabriel whispers, and Nico wonders if he knows how fucking hot he sounds right now, so breathless and yet so assertive. He can’t help but oblige, lying propped up on his elbows — he wants to see it all.

Gabriel slides the condom down his length slowly, and Nico could swear he sees him drooling while doing so. He mutters something insignificant in German, probably a curse word — Gabriel won’t understand it anyway, but the way the syllables roll off his tongue, vowels dragged, speech slurred, probably conveys the message.

Gabriel then climbs over his lap, knees on either side of his legs, his hip held high above Nico’s erection, and for a moment Nico almost thinks he’ll line himself and—

He doesn't. Gabriel slicks his fingers with the lube before closing the cap with a loud ‘click’ and throwing it somewhere on the bed, Nico doesn't really care where — you couldn’t pay him to tear his eyes off Gabriel right now.

Their gaze locks for a moment, both of them grinning wide.

Gabriel then presses a finger in slowly, a breathy gasp tearing out from his throat as he closes his eyes. Nico watches as he works himself open first with one finger before inserting a second, making his breathing ragged and his thighs shaky. It’s Nico’s turn to drool at the sight.

Gabriel opens his eyes slowly as he removes his fingers. It’s time.

“You promised,” Nico starts, “you were very good at riding.” He places his hands on Gabriel’s waist, teasing as he pulls him closer. “I want you to prove it,” he whispers. Gabriel grins and winks in response.

Nico is in a daze. Gabriel  starts riding him like his life depends on it, and he can’t focus on anything, but he tries: he feels his hands on the soft skin of Gabriel's waist, he drinks in the broken sounds coming out of Gabriel's mouth, and especially the way Gabriel clenches around him. Gabriel is everything he sees, feels, hears.

Gabriel lowers his body and their mouths clash with urgency, both of them moaning into the kiss as their movements become erratic.

“Nico,” he cries out amidst heavy panting.

“I know, Gabi, baby, I know,” Nico breathes out, helping Gabriel up and wrapping a strong hand around Gabriel's aching cock, making him moan loudly.

Nico is amazed by the way Gabriel manages to ride him and still fuck himself into Nico’s hand before he realizes, Gabriel isn’t managing shit, because he seems completely gone, every single thought fucked right out of him.

As soon as Nico notices Gabriel is so close, he grabs his waist with strength he hadn’t imagined he still had and fucks into him in earnest. Neither of them is going to last much at this pace.

And they don’t. Nico comes with a low grunt. Gabriel’s hip halt, but his dick isn’t abandoned a second too long before Nico wraps his hand around Gabriel’s length again, stroking him with urgency and lust and something he isn’t sure he wants to think about right now.

It doesn’t take long before Gabriel comes undone between them, a breathy cry escaping his throat as he rests his head on the crook of Nico’s neck.

They lay silent for a moment, their breathing still laboured.

“Don’t go back to your room,” Nico whispers in Gabriel’s hair. “Stay here tonight.”

Nico knows he should mention the unfortunate comment he’d made in hospitality. Clarify things. Apologize.

He also knows he won’t.

Chapter Text

Mexico, October 22nd. The day before media day.
Gabriel sits with his back against the headboard, fidgeting with the comforter between his fingers as he hits the call button.

The phone rings three times before he hears Nico’s voice saying, “Gabi?”

He smiles stupidly. “So,” he starts, shifting against the pillows. “I’ve been thinking. Do you remember what you told me last week, after media day?”

“You might have to be more specific,” Nico says, sounding suspicious.

Gabriel rolls his eyes, even though Nico can’t see him. “After we… You know. You asked me to stay.”

“Yeah.” Nico’s tone shifts. Certain now.

“And I did.” He twists the edge of the comforter a little tighter. “My point is,” he resumes, “maybe we should… just do it?”

There’s a pause on the other side of the line. “Do what?”

“I mean, just share a room. Why would we pretend like we need two hotel rooms if we-” he chokes on his words. “If we’ll just end up in the same bed at the end of the day?” he finishes, his voice quieter but unable to hide the grin growing on his lips.

He hears a low laugh through the phone, but the line falls silent for a beat. Gabriel is suddenly made aware of the way he’s gripping the comforter so tight his knuckles have turned white — like he’s bracing for the answer. He shuts his eyes and breathes in.

“You’ve been thinking about this a lot, haven’t you?” Nico asks.

Gabriel breathes out. “Yeah.”

Then again, a pause. Gabriel can picture Nico’s face, weighing in the situation, oh so clearly. Like he does with everything.

“Alright,” Nico says simply.

Gabriel blinks. “Alright?” he repeats back.

“Yes. Alright.”

“That’s your answer?”

“You were expecting a speech?” Nico jokes, and the mental image of his brows raised makes Gabriel chuckle.

“I was expecting a little more resistance,” Gabriel says, shifting so he’s laying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, kicking his feet like a fucking schoolgirl.

“You’ve made a pretty convincing argument,” he laughs low.

“So, should we tell the team we don’t need two rooms?”

“No,” Nico answers too fast. “We keep the two rooms. But we’ll use just one. Less people involved, less questions asked.”

“That’s a lot of strategy for sleeping with someone,” Gabriel jokes, voice lower like someone could hear him, even though he’s alone in his room.

“I’m a racing driver, strategy is part of the job.”
“Well, sleeping with your teammate isn’t part of the job, but here we are.”

Nico laughs. Gabriel does, too.

The line falls silent.

“Are you busy?” Nico breaks the silence.

“Not really,” Gabriel replies, rolling on the bed so he’s staring at the ceiling. “Why?”
“Come over to my room?” Nico’s voice sounds so soft. Gabriel’s heart does something stupid and painfully delicate in his chest.

He stands up instantly and, ever-clumsy, fucking kicks the bedframe, cursing in an uncharacteristically high-pitched voice. He hears an unrestrained laugh through the phone, followed by, “And you call me eager.”
“Fuck you!” Gabriel curses him, but there’s no real edge to it; he’s laughing as he sits down on the floor to hold his toes, as if that could ease the pain.

“Are you still coming or did you just break your foot?” Nico teases.

“Of course I’m coming, just give me a goddamn minute,” he says, laughing.

“Wear something nice,” Nico says when he decides he’s done teasing Gabriel, having stopped laughing.

“What?”

“I’m taking you out.”

Gabriel smiles, resting his head back. “I will.”

––––––––––––––––––––

The first person Gabriel sees as he enters the paddock for media day is Oliver Bearman, who bumps his shoulder with his own, laughing.

“Why are you laughing?” Gabriel asks, smiling suspiciously.

“Sorry, I've just been thinking,” Oliver manages.

“Woah, dangerous,” Gabriel teases.

“Shut up!” He flicks Gabriel's temple with his fingers, hearing a very Brazilian ‘ai!’ in response. “Anyway, was Nico lost?”

“What?” Gabriel furrows his brows.

“You know, when you were guiding him into the hotel last night. Holding his hand. Very kind of you, by the way. Very gentleman-esque.” He’s laughing harder now.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Gabriel tries to play it cool, but he's sure his face has turned a very bright shade of pink. How does Ollie know that, anyway?

“Mate, you seriously haven't seen it?” Oliver says as he pulls his phone from his pocket, unlocking it and opening an Instagram video.

It's a short video, filmed from across the street outside the hotel. The footage is dark, shaky, clearly recorded by someone who didn't want to be seen.

Nico steps out of the lift first, walks around the car and opens the door for Gabriel, who has a black leather jacket draped loosely over his shoulders 

It's normal. Natural. 

Until Gabriel grabs Nico's hand, fingers fully laced like they're sixteen years old sneaking out of school during lunchtime.

They're giggling like idiots at something the camera doesn't pick up. Nico covers his mouth with his hand and whispers something closer to Gabriel's ears than strictly natural. Gabriel laughs, touching his forehead to Nico's shoulder.

The video cuts as they enter the hotel lobby.

Gabriel just stares at the screen for a moment. Oliver locks the screen and pockets the phone.

“Well,” Gabriel starts after a while, “this looks… bad, right?”

Something in Oliver’s expression shifts, like Gabriel’s reaction is as good as confirmation to whatever conclusions the Brit had already taken beforehand.

“I mean, it’s nothing, right?” Oliver asks. Gabriel doesn’t reply. “I mean, it surely looks… I didn't know you two were-”

“We're friends,” Gabriel cuts Oliver off, and he's not sure why he does it. Oliver is his best friend inside the paddock, he should know about him and Nico. He can’t bring himself to admit it, though; not before he knows Nico is okay with it. Come to think of it, his inner voice had started to sound suspiciously like Nico's lately.

“Yeah,” Oliver answers, his tone flat, but his eyes are prying Gabriel’s own for answers. “Two hundred thousand likes in twelve hours, by the way.”

Gabriel’s breath hitches.

But then, it really is nothing, right? People hold hands. People laugh together. Lying to Oliver does leave a bitter taste in his mouth, though.

“People are just bored,” he shrugs. “Nothing happens on Wednesdays anyway.” He attempts a smile.

“Yeah. I’m sure there have been worse scandals this year than two teammates entering a hotel together, no?” Oliver laughs low, holding his shoulder. “Call me if you need anything, yeah?”

Gabriel breathes in before smiling timidly. “Yeah, thanks mate. I will.”

––––––––––––––––––––

Gabriel is ecstatic as he enters the media pen. He has his race suit tied at his waist, fireproof and hair completely drenched in sweat and whatever the hell his team had poured over his head after he had parked his car in parc fermé.

P4 in Mexico and fighting for the podium until the last lap, right on the last race before his home GP.

As he stops before the first reporter, Nico passes behind him, grabbing his shoulder and whispering in his ear, “Congrats, baby.” Gabriel laughs and punches his shoulder before turning his attention back to the reporter.

“So!” the reporter starts, and Gabriel’s beaming with happiness. “What was that about?”

Gabriel is a bit confused by the phrasing, but the reporter is young, maybe inexperienced, so he attributes it to that. He starts, “Yeah, right? Q3 is always a great start to the weekend, but overtaking five people during the race has surely been a great surprise! We had a rough start to the season, so the results we’ve been delivering in the past two months come as a pleasant surprise. Yeah, the car is evolving, but I’m sure the efforts me and Nico have put into all of this have played a huge part in us scoring points in every race after the summer break. We’re P6 in the Constructors Championship, with the chance of fighting for P5, which is something no one could’ve expected from Sauber in March. I think so much has changed in the garage since Nico’s podium, too. We trust ourselves and the car more, which I’m sure has helped a ton." His cheeks hurt from the smile he’s had on his lips since he climbed out of the car.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s why you and Nico had been so giddy walking into the hotel on Wednesday, right?”

Gabriel’s heart sinks to his stomach. He mutters a weak ‘what?’ he’s sure the microphone doesn’t pick up.

The rest of the interviews are a blur. He excuses himself from the media pen when he realizes none of these reporters fucking care about his Q3, five overtakes and P4 finish, just that he was holding his teammate’s hand leaving a lift.

Imagine if they knew that the jacket draped over his shoulder was Nico's. He's thankful that secret is just theirs to keep.

He finds Nico inside the garage right as he feels his heart is about to come out of his throat. He grabs Nico's wrist lightly and the German turns to him. Nico's smile falters when he realizes Gabriel's sad eyes. “Italian this time?”

He realizes his pleading look conveys the message, because Nico's expression softens as he nods, pulling Gabriel into a quick hug.

––––––––––––––––––––

Even though they get ready in the same hotel room, Gabriel refuses to tell Nico what's wrong before they're sat at the restaurant booth. He orders fettuccine while Nico orders the bolognese lasagna.

“You've seen the video,” Gabriel states more than asks.

“I have.” Nico's tone is flat and doesn't tell Gabriel much.

“And…?” he presses.

Nico breathes in. “We were reckless.”

Gabriel blinks. “Reckless?” he says quietly. “We were holding hands.”

Nico seems to reconsider it then. “It's… background noise. Media loves to make a spectacle out of our lives. They'll bite at anything we give them. It's always been the same. Last year, I…” Nico struggles to get the words out. “You know why I left Haas?”

“Oh… Because of Ollie?”

Nico scoffs. “Not really, no. Well… One of the mechanics saw- well…. Something very similar.”

Nico is clearly uncomfortable.

“You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to,” Gabriel breathes out.

“No, but I do. I left Haas because a mechanic saw me and my teammate… We were too close. We were reckless. And I thought it would cost me my career. I don't want you to feel the same way I did, not on your rookie year, not ever.” He stops, then… “Not because of me.”

Gabriel just stares at him for a moment.

Something twists in his chest then, not jealousy exactly, but something adjacent to it. A strange, bitter realization that Nico had done this before. That someone else had held Nico's hand, laughed with him like this, maybe even shared a hotel room with him in the same way Gabriel had taken more than half a season to feel like he was allowed to ask.

And maybe, knowing who this person is just makes things ten times worse.

He hates the thought instantly.

Of course Nico has a past. He does, too. Nico's older, why would Gabriel assume a 38-year-old had never slept with a man before him?

Last year, he said.

But then, that's not the point here, is it? The point is, Nico has seen firsthand what a dating scandal does to a Formula 1 driver — and hell, his hadn't even had a million views on Instagram. He recognizes, then, that Nico's wariness comes from a place of care, of worry for his, for their future. He also realizes, with horror, that Luka had done the same for them four years ago. And it had worked, hadn't it? He's made it to Formula 1. God only knows if it still would've happened had their relationship come public at the time.

He traces the condensation on his water glass with a trembling fingertip.

“So that's why you're so careful,” he murmurs eventually.

Nico nods once. “I want you to know that, in Formula 1, people will pick at the tiniest things in your personal life to try and forget all the other shit you do as a racing driver. So, sometimes, we have to preserve our peace. Not give them anything that they can turn against us.”

“They didn't even ask me about the race.” Suddenly, Gabriel's eyes are watering as he lowers them toward his glass.

“What do you mean?” Nico grabs his hand, so he looks back up at him.

“In the media pen. No one really cared about my P4, or the overtakes, or the Q3, or that next race weekend I'll be racing at my home GP. Just that I fucking held your hand when no one should've even seen that.” His hands are shaking and tears have started spilling. Nico caresses the back of his hand, shushing him quietly.

“We'll be more careful, okay? This isn't our fault, but we should play by their rules. They won't change.” Nico kisses the back of his hand. 

Their food arrives as Nico lets go of his hand, and Nico gives him the opportunity he hadn't been given earlier to talk about his race. Gabriel smiles, easy and charming, through the whole retelling, from the race start to the very last lap, where he almost overtook a Ferrari and he's sure he would've if he had had two more laps.

Nico pays the bill and as they leave the hotel restaurant, Gabriel grabs Nico's hand instinctively. For a second, Nico freezes in his tracks. Just as Gabriel's breathing starts to become shallow, Nico squeezes his hand back, stroking his thumb on the back of Gabriel's hands. Their gaze locks and Nico looks very certain. Gabriel smiles shyly, and he really wants to kiss Nico right now. But he'll take it one step at a time. For now, holding his hand is enough.

Chapter Text

Brasil, November 6th. Media day.

Nico thinks it should be illegal for someone to look this good wearing Sauber’s sickeningly green team kit hoodie. But suddenly, as Gabriel lay on the hospitality couch, back slightly arched off the cushions, hands raised above his head making the hem of the hoodie run just the tiniest bit short, exposing the faintest hint of his happy trail leading down to the waistband of his sweats, Nico feels a rush of adrenaline shoot up his body.

“You're staring,” Gabriel states, almost bored.

“Hard not to,” Nico shoots back. “It’s… Distracting.”

“What exactly is distracting, old man?” Gabriel teases. He drops his hands, but — almost deliberately, Nico feels — brushes his fingers so his hoodie runs up again. He smirks.

“Well… All of it,” Nico gestures at Gabriel’s body from the couch across from him.

“It?” He raises an eyebrow.

“All of you,” Nico whispers, barely audible. Only for Gabriel’s ears.

“That’s better.” Gabriel sits up, covering up his lower stomach. Nico’s eyes have a glint of disappointment just for a second. It doesn’t go unnoticed. “You know you can do something about it, right?” Gabriel nudges him with his foot.

“Right now? Don't think so.” Nico fidgets.

“I'm sure we can stop by the hotel room real quick. Doubt anyone will notice if we're gone for thirty minutes.” Gabriel stands up and walks up to Nico, settling just between his knees. “Or an hour. You know, depends on you.” He looks down to meet Nico's gaze, smirk so sly it makes heat shoot up the German’s body instantly.

Nico doesn't say a word before standing up, making Gabriel take a step back, satisfied look on his face. “Come,” he mutters before walking toward the exit. Gabriel follows, almost giddy.

“You're fast.” Gabriel manages to walk just behind Nico, who's basically striding through hospitality with maybe-too-fast steps if they truly wanted to go unnoticed. “You're that eager?” He brushes Nico's hand from behind. Almost holds his pinky. Thinks again. Doesn't.

“Shut up,” Nico says under his breath.

Gabriel grabs him by the wrist. Nico stops and turns to him. They're face to face — too close.

“Make me.” Gabriel's eyes are dark, pupils blown. It makes something inside Nico snap. It takes every ounce of self control not to grab Gabriel by the waist in the middle of hospitality and—

“Ah, finally found you two!” Nina comes to a stop in front of them. They jump apart like a coiled spring being released. She probably notices she’s interrupted something, her eyes the tiniest bit wide. She has the decency of not commenting on it, though. “The media crew is looking for you two. Something for Netflix. You know, Gabi’s home race and all.”

Nico clears his throat. “Yeah, sure, where should we go?”

“I'll guide you both there,” Nina smiles as she turns her back to them, expecting them to follow her.

Behind her, they look at each other, almost laughing at the absurd timing.

––––––––––––––––––––

Nico had known this would happen eventually. It's a pleasant surprise that it happened in Gabriel's home GP.

He's looking up at Gabriel being soaked in champagne by Charles Leclerc, standing on the podium for the first time in his Formula 1 career. Nico doesn't think he has ever seen Gabriel so radiant, waving to his home crowd with his eyes absolutely red and wet, not sure if it's because of the champagne (which he himself had very recently found out stings like a motherfucker when it hits your eyes) or because of how much Gabriel has cried ever since he'd climbed out of his car.

P2 for the home hero.

Nico can't stop smiling at the most beautiful boy he's ever seen, having what is probably the best day of his life.

He never wants to see that smile go away, if he can help it.

––––––––––––––––––––

The hotel door closes behind them with a quiet click. Nico is sure he can hear Gabriel's rapid heartbeat even louder than his excited giggles.

“You did it,” he whispers as he corners Gabriel against the wall.

“Yeah,” Gabriel laughs low, grabbing Nico's waist and pulling him closer. “Maiden podium on my first home race,” he grins. “In a Kick Sauber,” he adds with raised eyebrows, making them both chuckle.

“We should celebrate,” Nico whispers against his lips. “You know what I wanna do?”

Gabriel's breath hitches. “Tell me.” He grips Nico's shirt.

“First, I wanna kiss the champagne right out of your mouth,” he says before placing a kiss on the corner of Gabriel's lips. “Then, I want to undress you and kiss every inch of that pretty body of yours.” He drags a finger along Gabriel's abdomen under his shirt until he reaches his nipple, pinching it slightly and dragging a low gasp from the Brazilian's mouth. “Then, I'm going to suck you off. Feel the taste of your come on my mouth like I've wanted to do for a long time,” he drags his vowels before biting lightly at Gabriel's jaw. “Wanna hear your pretty whimpers as you come, will you do that for me, baby?” Nico’s words are muffled by the kisses he trails down Gabriel’s jaw.

Gabriel just whimpers as he melts under Nico’s touch. If it wasn’t for Nico’s hand gripping his waist firmly, or Nico’s knee slotted between his legs, the German is sure the poor boy would’ve already melted into a puddle on the ground.

Nico then pulls Gabriel’s legs up and on either side of his waist, holding him up and carrying him to bed. He places Gabriel’s back on the mattress carefully and, for a moment, he just looks at him with lust and adoration and what he's probably ready to call love by now.

Nico starts undressing Gabriel slowly, reverently. Taking his time like this could be their last, even knowing he could spend the rest of his life doing exactly this. He undresses himself, too, after a pleading look from Gabriel.

When all their clothes lay discarded somewhere, Nico starts exploring his body with adoration reserved for gods only. He starts on his mouth, then when Gabriel is all breathless, lips red and swollen and thoroughly kissed and bitten, he trails lower to his throat, licking at his Adam's apple and making Gabriel tremble.

He reaches Gabriel’s collarbones, where he starts the bruising. He bites and sucks all over his chest and abdomen, so that Gabriel is reminded of this, of them, of him, during every moment they’ll spend apart during the next week. He’s sure, though, he doesn’t want to imprint himself on Gabriel’s body any more than he wants to in his life, in his mind, in his heart.

Nico reaches Gabriel’s thighs and acts like a man possessed. As he licks and kisses and bites the skin on his inner thigh, he starts whispering the sweetest of nothings between Gabriel’s legs.

You’re mine, I need you, this is all I want, all I need, I’ll give you everything, make you feel so good, so, so good baby, you’re mine.

Mine.

He knows Gabriel’s ready when a desperate hand comes to tangle in his hair, bringing him closer. If there’s anything louder than Gabriel’s breathy whimpers in the room, Nico’s mind has completely blocked it out.

He takes Gabriel in his mouth, both eager and careful, and the Brazilian moans low at the contact.

Nico closes his eyes for a moment, moving slowly and drawing low gasps from Gabriel’s throat. As he hears his name being whispered, too soft, too undone, he hums low in satisfaction, the vibrations shooting right up Gabriel’s spine.

He takes his time, like the moment deserves. Like Gabriel deserves.

Nico loses any perception of time, too lost in the sounds of Gabriel’s heavy panting and the strong hand tugging at his hair, although clearly trying — uselessly — not to be too desperate. Lost, too, in the realization of how much all of this makes sense. Of how much he had wanted this and how unreal it feels that he has it. That he has Gabriel.

He notices Gabriel’s thighs shaking as his breathing becomes ragged and, somehow, even more desperate.
And as if he were insane, too focused on Gabriel to care about anything else, he picks up the pace.

It doesn’t take long before Gabriel comes undone right down his throat, spilling a stream of incoherent Portuguese along with Nico’s name. Nico swallows it right down before slowly removing Gabriel’s length from his mouth, a small line of spit still connecting his lips to the Brazilian’s tip.

He looks up through his lashes and a low ‘fuck’ is everything Gabriel manages to mutter before Nico finds his mouth in a kiss that’s messy and breathless and desperate, like he’s trying to say something without quite using the words for it.

He hopes Gabriel gets the message anyway.

Gabriel is the first to pull away and, before Nico can protest, his hand is on the German’s abandoned dick, stroking him with the same urgency they’d felt since the door had closed behind them. Their foreheads touch as their breaths mix between them, hot and ragged.

Nico tries to say something, then. 

He opens his mouth before he can manage to choose his words, so nothing but a low groan comes out as Gabriel strokes him even faster. He mutters weakly, though he’s not sure of what he’s saying, the bridge between his brain and mouth completely burnt.

He doesn’t notice when he starts bucking his hips against Gabriel’s hand until he comes with a breathy groan, biting Gabriel’s shoulder so hard it makes the Brazilian whine loudly.

They’re both coming down from their orgasms, laying back on the bed, legs tangled and bodies close.

Nico could swear he’s seeing stars all around Gabriel, a dazzling aura around his body and, especially, smile.

His smile is so bright it could cure every one of Nico’s deepest aches.

“Did you mean it?” Gabriel whispers eventually, drawing invisible circles on Nico’s chest.

“What?” he asks, voice low.

“That I’m yours.”

“Yeah,” Nico answers without hesitating. “If you want to.”

“I do,” Gabriel answers too fast. “I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours, too,” Nico whispers before placing a chaste kiss to Gabriel’s lips. Forever, he wants to add. Maybe one day he will.

Chapter Text

Las Vegas, November 19th. The day before media day.

They had landed a day earlier in Vegas because Gabriel had insisted they watch a light show that would happen on Wednesday. It wasn’t disappointing exactly, but it wasn’t all that different from any firework show he had seen every Christmas’ Eve in his hometown growing up. Now, Gabriel is sitting on the floor of the hotel room with his back to the bed and repeatedly throwing a tennis ball against the wall, which he’s sure will earn them a knock to the door in about 5 minutes. Nico is sitting on the bed, reading a Thai cookbook, and Gabriel had already made sure to tease him for that, given his — already proven — laughable spice tolerance. Nico had just thrown a pillow at him, the smile in his face betraying such a “violent” act.

The lights from The Strip cast a colorful, flashing glow against the hotel room’s glass windows, peeking through and occasionally casting wavering tones of pink and purple on their faces. The constant traffic noises of the never-sleeping city create a buzzing of excitement and inertia that doesn’t quite leave.

Maybe that’s why he says it.

“Nico,” Gabriel starts, fidgeting with the tennis ball in his hands, “I want to tell them.”

Nico is silent for a moment.

“Tell what to whom?” His tone is serious. Gabriel scrambles to sit on the bed to meet Nico’s gaze. He notices Nico has put the book down.

“About us. Just the people we’re close with.” No answer. “Ollie, especially. He’s my closest friend inside the paddock. He should know,” Gabriel feels the need to fill the silence, “I want to tell him.”

“Gabi,” Nico starts, and there’s no hint of a smile anymore, “we shouldn’t.”

Gabriel winces.

“Why?” he asks, barely louder than a whisper. When Nico doesn’t reply, he repeats himself, “Why, Nico?” his voice cracking.

“This is… this is just ours, Gabi. And if we tell people, then it doesn’t belong to us anymore.” 

“Then what doesn’t belong to us? Our,” he makes invisible quotation marks with his hands “secret? That’s not fair, Nico.” Gabriel stops holding Nico’s gaze to stare down at his own trembling hands on his lap. Nico hops off the bed quietly, standing before Gabriel.

Luka paced back and forth, his bare feet probably wearing down the carpeted floor.

“We can’t keep doing this,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

“You mean, you can’t,” Gabriel retorted, voice low.

“Don’t do this to me, Biel.” He turned toward Gabriel sharply. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“I don’t understand. It works, Luka. It worked so far. What changed?” As hard as it was, Gabriel looked him in the eyes.

“What changed,” Luka’s voice trembled, “is that my father started to notice. And if he did, then other people at the paddock have probably noticed it as well.”

“And?”

“Please, Biel,” Luka pleaded, half-whispering as he came closer, standing between Gabriel’s legs as the Brazilian sat on the edge of the bed. “You know both of us have worked our whole lives to become racing drivers. I’m not willing to risk that, and neither should you.”

It landed like a punch to the gut.

“So,” Gabriel started eventually, tears welling up in his eyes, “it’s over.” It barely sounded like a question.

Luka breathed out a trembling sigh. “I don’t feel any better than you do right now.” He cupped both Gabriel’s hands between his own, bringing them to his mouth and gently placing a kiss over them. “I'm sorry.”

“I don’t want to be your secret, Nico.”

“Gabi, listen to me, baby.” Gabriel flinches at the petname as though it physically hurt him. “This isn't about being a secret. We need to protect ourselves. I need to protect you.”

“You don't need to protect me, Nico,” Gabriel cuts him off, “because I don't think being with you will ruin my life!” he… shouts, though he didn’t intend to. “Not the way you think being with me will ruin yours,” he adds quietly, barely holding back the tears that threaten to spill.

“Being with you will not ruin my life, Gabi.” Nico holds his hands — out of pity, Gabriel assumes. “But as soon as people know it — not assume it, the way they did with the video —then we have no control over what happens. And I don’t want either of us to suffer because of this.”

Gabriel breathes in shakily.

He knew it would happen eventually. That any promises Nico had made him had an expiration date. That Nico would eventually protect his career at the cost of their relationship. And still, very stupidly, he let himself believe every second of it, and worst of all, let himself believe it could last.

He doesn’t really want to face Nico, no. Suddenly, the condensation threatening to drip from the air conditioning vent looks like the most interesting thing in the world. Yeah, better than staring at those stupid blue eyes. Surely better.

“You’re not listening,” Nico says quietly.

“I am,” Gabriel replies, his throat suddenly very dry.

“Well, you’re not looking at me,” Nico tries.

“Well,” he mocks, “maybe I don’t want to.”

“Gabi, just… say something. Tell me you understand, or tell me you don't, and we'll figure it out.”

“Okay, Nico, I'll tell you.” Gabriel stands up, making Nico take a step back. “I'll tell you that you're not the first person to do this to me, or treat me like their dirty little secret, or tell me that we can't be seen together or else their fucking career will be over!” Gabriel gestures angrily with trembling hands. “Fine, don't tell anyone, protect yourself, but I'm leaving.” Gabriel turns toward the door before feeling a careful hand wrap around his wrist.

“Don't go. We'll fix this today, now.” Nico's voice is soft and Gabriel could swear he hears it cracking, too. He turns around to check and sees Nico's eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Tell me something, Nico. Anything. Just… don't let me believe I'm not worth it,” Gabriel pleads.

“I love you, Gabi.”

Woah.

“I really, really love you. And I won't lose you just because I'm afraid.” He watches a single tear roll on Nico's cheek. “I can't lose you.”

Gabriel stares at him for a moment. 

“Tell me, then. Tell me we’ll do it. That we'll face it together.” Gabriel almost manages to sound assertive, but his voice cracks at the end.

Nico starts properly crying. “I'm sorry,” he says, voice cracking and barely audible. 

I'm sorry. Again. And it still doesn't fucking fix anything. 

“I'm leaving, Nico.” He stares at Nico's teary eyes — his own are probably as wet as Nico's — waiting, looking for something, anything. He just sees pain.

But that's not enough.

He looks down at Nico's hand holding his wrist, and Nico lets him go. Gabriel grabs his bags as he hears Nico’s breathing become shallow and irregular behind him.

He walks toward the door and opens it, but turns back around before he leaves.

Nico is staring at him, helpless look in his eyes, tears still rolling down his cheeks freely.

Gabriel realizes it's the first time he has ever seen Nico cry. It really hurts.

“You,” he starts, and he thinks he’ll regret it. Still, “You held my hand. Leaving the restaurant in Mexico.”

Nico nods, barely.

“Do you regret it?” Gabriel somehow finds the courage to ask.

“No,” Nico half-whispers. “No, I don’t regret it,” he reiterates, the tiniest bit louder.

“Then what changed?” Gabriel asks, and in his head, he hears his own voice as a teenager, when he had asked someone else the exact same thing.

Funny how easy it is to feel 16 again.

He can see Nico’s pupils trembling, as if he’s scanning his mind for an answer.

He doesn’t find one, it seems.

“Goodbye, Nico,” Gabriel whispers, turning his back and closing the door behind him.

He leans against the corridor wall with a heavy sigh, and before he starts fucking sobbing in the middle of a hotel in Vegas, he strides toward his own room, his vision hot and blurry and his heart pounding.

––––––––––––––––––––

Gabriel tries to look like he wants to be here. It’s not an easy task, because, clearly, he doesn’t. When the ever-smiley, easy-going, gets-along-with-everyone Gabriel Bortoleto suddenly starts  giving people around the garage clipped answers, starts walking just the tiniest bit too fast so that no one will stop him to make conversation, and — most importantly — has the saddest, puffiest eyes anyone has ever seen from him, yeah, people notice something’s wrong. Gabriel hates himself for it.

He hasn’t shown up for the media since Interlagos. And everyone knows how harsh and utterly unforgiving motorsport media is. His radiant smile and tear-streaked face after a well-deserved home race podium, his words filled with excitement and gratitude in the media pen, still absolutely wet from the champagne, such a touching scene for any motorsport fan — they’re all a distant memory now.

Free practice goes as well as he could have expected — which is to say, absolutely awful. He has already proven to himself, time and time again, that having his heart so close to coming out of his throat always makes driving at fuck-hundred miles per hour unimaginably harder.

And still, he manages to place P7 in qualifying.

Racing distracts him. Overtaking a Red Bull surely distracts him. Therefore, finishing P5 should feel good.

As soon as he climbs out of the cockpit, though, he feels like throwing up.

He sees Nico, who has DNF’ed, talking to a mechanic by a pile of tyres, and his mind is instantly flooded with memories of the day they first met. In that split second where he's staring at Nico from afar, the past 10 months play like a movie tape right before his eyes.

Their first dinner. The Miami bar. Their dinner on the hotel floor after the Imola crash.
Silverstone. Texas. Brazil.

The kisses to the inside of his wrist.

Gabriel is spiraling. He has to leave right now or he’ll actually have a breakdown in the middle of a fucking Formula 1 garage. And bawling his eyes out over a failed relationship is bad enough without fifty pairs of eyes on him.

He just has to get to the team shuttle. He can manage that.

He starts striding toward the garage’s back exit, looking down so no one notices his glistening eyes and trembling lips.
He almost makes it out the exit before he feels a hand holding his wrist carefully. He doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is.

“Gabi,” he hears Nico whisper. He freezes. “Gabi, turn around, please,” Nico pleads.

Despite every single nerve in his body lighting up and telling him, leave, run, get away, Gabriel still turns toward Nico. He tries to say something like, not now, not here, but his voice fails him.

The sounds coming from the garage sound so distant from the bubble they’ve gotten themselves into.

Gabriel meets Nico’s gaze and it doesn’t take a genius to see the flicker of regret in his eyes. Or hesitation, maybe.
Or it could be fright.
Gabriel is about to free his wrist, step back, turn around and get the hell out of there when Nico closes the distance between them.
With a kiss.

He knows what Nico means by this. He knows Nico is trying to make it up to him, to show him that he’s not afraid to love him.
But that’s not what Gabriel fucking asked for, is it? He wanted to tell Ollie. His parents. Franco, maybe. He never wanted the mechanics and engineers and whoever the fuck might have a camera pointed at them right now to know.

Gabriel’s whole body stiffens as though he was just tased. He feels his eyes burning as the tears start to spill, his hands shaking and his legs coming so close to faltering.

Nico finally seems to notice what a horrible decision this was, because he steps back and there’s… despair, in his eyes. He knows he fucked up.

Gabriel doesn’t want to look around, no, because he’s pretty fucking sure every living being inside the Sauber garage right now is looking at them. He can picture, oh so clearly, the surprised faces. The disapproving ones. And the horrified ones, too. His vision has gone blurry enough, though, to save him from the terrible fate of actually seeing them.

He hears Nico say something, but it sounds so distant he doesn’t quite catch it. He stumbles back, but he’s not sure which direction is the exit anymore.

He feels a hand lightly grab his arm, followed by a very familiar voice saying something that Gabriel thinks sounds like come with me, but at this point he’s not too sure.

––––––––––––––––––––

The sound of the door slamming shut seems to bring him back. He’s sitting on the passenger seat of López’s car when he comes back to it. He looks down to his hands and sees he’s been curling them into fists, making his knuckles turn white and leaving crescent-shaped marks on his palms. He rests both hands open on his lap as López sits on the driver’s seat.

His throat is still burning.

“How are you feeling?” his engineer asks, starting the car and driving out of the parking spot.

Gabriel breathes in. He’s feeling a hell of a lot of different things, and he’s not sure he wants to talk about any of them.

“Cold,” he whispers.

“Right, sorry.” López turns off the air conditioning.

The silence is heavy for a few moments, filled only by the muted hum of the engine and the low ticking of the turn signal.

“You,” López starts eventually, “don’t have to tell me anything. But… I don’t like seeing you like this.” He taps the steering wheel twice. “I’m here if you need anything.”

And what is he to do, tell López that he has been fucking his teammate and that Nico had implied they were together — or, fuck, maybe he was in the wrong for assuming that “I’m yours” meant anything other than horny dirty talk — and that Nico apparently preferred to tell a whole Formula 1 garage about their relationship rather than their closest friends? No, López is his race engineer, for goodness’ sake.

He starts sobbing quietly, his face buried in his hands.

His mind is still foggy and he’s not really able to form coherent thoughts, but…

He should say something, right? He shouldn’t leave López in the dark. It’s not like he’d be surprised after… after that.

“I wanted to tell Ollie that we were together,” he starts, albeit hesitantly. “Ollie knew something was happening when that stupid video of the Mexico hotel went viral, and I lied to him. But it felt awful, lying to him about it. So I asked Nico if I could tell Ollie, and he said no. And then he said he loved me, but he still wasn’t willing to tell anyone. Except apparently,” he gestures vaguely with trembling hands, “telling every single Sauber team member was better than telling Ollie fucking  Bearman!” he speaks through his sobs, his voice hoarse and his words rough around the edges.

His breathing is loud in the heavy silence of the car.

“I’m sorry,” López half-whispers. “I… don’t think anything I say will make you feel better. But thank you for trusting me.”
Gabriel is somewhat relieved. There’s still a pit in his stomach and a constant burning in his throat, but he’s glad to have told someone, and relieved that this someone didn’t immediately start to hate him or decide to fire him. Funny, right?

“Do you have water?” he asks quietly.

“Yes, I brought you a bottle from the garage,” López replies, apparently not minding the change of subject. Gabriel is thankful for that. “It’s on the door panel.”

Gabriel reaches for the bottle, his hands steadier now, and sips on it slowly.

––––––––––––––––––––

“We’re here,” López announces as he stops the car by the hotel entrance.

Gabriel blinks before answering, “Um, yeah. I-” Gabriel scrambles to unfasten his seatbelt before opening the door. As he steps out of the car, he calls back quietly, “Hey.”
López looks at him expectantly.
“Thank you. And… sorry.”
López gives him a warm smile. “Nothing to be sorry about, Gabi. You’ll be okay. Just make sure to rest before the trip back home, yeah?”
Gabriel nods, smiling subtly.
He closes the car door and watches as López drives away. It takes him a moment before he walks into the hotel.

––––––––––––––––––––

Ever since he was younger, he really liked cats. He dreamed of having one when he was younger, but by the time he was old enough, he was already traveling through Europe every other weekend to compete in the junior categories. He knew it would be too cruel on the poor thing to shove it in a pet carrier and into an airplane every ten days, so he never had the opportunity.
Something else he’s loved since then is math and physics. So, naturally, when he was introduced to Schrödinger’s cat problem, he was charmed. He didn’t find it cruel, not like his classmates would often tell him it was. He thought it was cute how the cat had been used to illustrate such an interesting quantum paradox.

As a young teenager, the equation followed him like a common thread. He’d apply it to the most simple things in his life, such as horrible race results: the telemetry couldn’t prove itself to be irrefutably daunting if he never looked at it — though he always did, and often surprised himself when it wasn’t.

The people closer to him knew this about him. That, sometimes, when he would spend five hours in front of a screen and start to go cross-eyed with the amount of graphs and numbers and apex stats he’d been looking at, he’d grab a piece of paper and start writing the equation, replacing the wavefunction symbols with little drawings of cats.

Luka used to think it was the cutest thing in the world.

For his 16th birthday, Luka gave him a black shirt with the equation, illustrated with cat faces, stamped onto its chest. It was slightly large back then, which they both laughed about when Gabriel first tried it on. “Sorry, I may have forgotten you weigh 40kg,” Luka teased him, and Gabriel punched his shoulder in response.

He’s twenty one now, laying on a hotel bed, wearing the shirt.

If you were to ask him, he probably couldn’t answer why on earth he still brought it with him to race weekends. But it had been there, shoved deep inside his suitcase, for the past few years. And after a long, hot shower — through which he had completely dissociated — he knew exactly in which hidden pocket to find it.

He fiddles with the hem of the shirt anxiously.

Because he doesn’t want to open the box anymore. He doesn’t want to open Instagram and find out whether someone had a camera pointed at them. He doesn’t want to look through his e-mails and find out whether he has been fired from Sauber because of… well, that.

If he had any energy left in him to cry, he would. But he’s exhausted, his eyelids heavy and puffy.

He feels himself start drifting into sleep before hearing a knock to the door that springs him awake. He rakes a hand through his wet hair, then rubs his palm on his face. He mutters a low “Fuck” dragging the vowel sound.

He breathes in sharply before walking to the door. He hesitates with his hand on the handle before opening it.

He sees Nico, standing in silence.

He wonders, then, if he should just close the door again.

“May I come in?” Nico asks, voice small and broken.

Gabriel doesn’t answer, but stands to the side and waves Nico in.

They walk inside in silence before both of them sit on the edge of the bed, almost looking at each other but not quite.

“Gabi,” Nico starts.

“Be very careful,” Gabriel mutters bitterly.

Nico breathes in. “I will.” He reaches for Gabriel’s hand, but doesn’t lace their fingers. Just lays his palm over Gabriel’s. “I’m sorry. I was… afraid. Afraid people would treat us differently. Afraid it would leak. Afraid the team would think we couldn’t be objective around each other.” He squeezes Gabriel’s hand lightly, prompting him to meet his gaze. “And then… I was afraid to lose you. I was afraid you thought I didn’t love you enough to show people. So I thought…” The words die down in his throat.

“You love me,” Gabriel echoes.

“I do. I love you so much and I know I’ve been shitty to you and I know I’ll never be able to take it back,” he says in a single breath. “Just… let me be better from now on.”

“Nico, I- it’s… too much and my head hurts,” Gabriel says honestly. So much has happened in the span of four days that he doesn’t really know how the fuck to get over any of it. Though he desperately wants to.

“I’m sorry Gabi, but we- I,” he emphasizes the pronoun, “have to fix this today.” He hesitates for a moment before pulling Gabriel into a tight hug.
Gabriel hugs him back, albeit hesitantly.

Nico pulls away before continuing. “The end of the calendar is brutal. We have, what, three days before we have to fly again? And…” Nico fidgets anxiously. “The next race is Qatar, Gabi. You know we won’t be able to…” Gabriel closes his eyes and breathes in. “We can’t share a room there. Or in Abu Dhabi. And I know it sucks and I know it’s wrong but it’s… dangerous. Who knows what might happen if we’re-”

“Caught?” Gabriel snaps back.

“We can’t be caught if we’re not doing anything wrong,” Nico reassures him, ever-diplomatic. “But if we’re seen together, then…” he trails off.
Gabriel feels a lump begin to form in his throat.

“It hurts, Nico. It really, really hurts that you weren’t willing to face it with me, until you decided you were, and didn’t think to… talk to me, maybe? Did it occur to you that I didn’t have a say in it?”

Nico exhales slowly. “I’m sorry.”

“Did anyone talk to you after I left?” Gabriel asks, unsure if he wants to hear the answer. Unsure if he’s ready to see the cat lying dead inside the box.

“Yes. People were confused. But… it’s going to be okay.” Nico laces their fingers on his lap. “But they told us to be careful in Qatar and Abu Dhabi.”

Obviously.

“Gabi, we’ll be okay. Two weeks, that’s all. And I want you to promise me something.”

Gabriel raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“We’ll talk, okay? During those two weekends. I’ll call you every night from my room. And when we fly home after Abu Dhabi…” Nico breathes in. “Come to Venice with me.”

Gabriel blinks, confused.

“Venice?” he manages.

“Yes, Venice.” Nico looks at him, expectant.

Gabriel opens his mouth and closes it again before letting out a short, genuine laugh. Nico smiles gently, hiding his face briefly on the crook of Gabriel’s neck.

“Why Venice?” he asks, his hand on the back of Nico’s neck. Absolutely relieved.

“I don’t know,” Nico raises his back to meet his gaze, “seemed romantic. And I like hearing you speak Italian,” he adds, touching his forehead to Gabriel’s own, smiling.

“Wow. You really are a gentleman like they say,” the Brazilian jokes, fisting his hand in Nico’s shirt, bringing him closer.

“Only because I love you,” Nico whispers against his lips before pecking them rapidly.

Gabriel smiles. “I love you too, old man.” Nico smiles so wide at the words that Gabriel wonders if his cheeks won’t hurt.

He pushes Nico’s back on the bed and climbs over him, hands cupping his cheeks.

“I could repeat this forever, you know that? I love you, I love you, I love you,” he kisses Gabriel between each repetition, making the other laugh and eventually gasp for air.

Gabriel then rests his head on Nico’s chest, fingers tracing invisible patterns on his arms.

“So, we’re going to Venice,” Gabriel states more than asks, smiling warmly.

“Yes,” Nico drapes an arm around him, bringing him impossibly closer. “And I’m sorry. I know I won’t fix anything, but I want to be better from now on,” he whispers in Gabriel’s hair.

“You already are.”