brocedes + 6:39 am
It's 6.39 AM and Lewis can't sleep.
That's not accurate. He hasn't been able to sleep throughout the whole night. He dozed off last night, a little nap around 10 PM. He was supposed to go out to some club, but when he woke up it was already past one and he didn't feel like moving. His phone showed him too many missed calls and messages, but he didn't feel like dealing with them, so he just - didn't. He got up, went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and he went back to bed to go back sleep.
It didn't happen.
Nothing was bothering him and everythibg was bothering him. The contract extension, the car, the season. His team, his teammate, his boss. Everything was fine and it was all shit and Lewis couldn't sleep because all was fine and all was absolute shit. He tossed and turned. He played music. He lay in silence. He meditated.
None of it helped even a lick.
So it's 6.39 and Lewis is in the elevator in his running gear, because maybe if he goes for a run and sees the sun rising over Monaco he'll feel better and he may finally sleep. Perhaps. He has obligations today, too many messages to answer, and an agreement to go get lunch with Seb, who was also in Monaco for some reason he hasn't yet shared with Lewis.
It's 6.39 and the elevator door opens and before Lewis can take a step forward, Nico is there.
There is a smile on his face and Lewis' stomach does that twisting thing it always does when they stumble upon each other, given that they still live in the same building, no matter that Lewis usually isn't in Monaco.
(He should move. It's somehow never a priority.)
Nico's hair is mussed up and his collar is crooked. It's obvious that he was just coming home from partying. His eyes widen a little when he sees Lewis.
"Oh," he breathes more than says, and Lewis knows he's taken aback. "Lewis. Good morning."
Nico's voice is flat. He rolls his shoulders but doesn't move. Lewis blinks. There is a hickey on the side of Nico's neck, barely visible and half covered by Nico's shirt. It's a nice shirt. Lewis thinks it's Armani.
"Good morning," Lewis says. "Good party last night?"
He doesn't know why he asks. He hadn't slept and he isn't thinking.
There are lines on Nico's face when he smiles now. "Yes," he chuckles. "Very... productive."
That can mean anything. Lewis is too tired to try and figure it out. He's been to tired to try and figure Nico out for a long while.
Nico's eyes fly over Lewis' form. "Sleepless night?" he asks in return, and Lewis wants to punch him.
"Nah, just, you know," Lewis replies with a smile. "Making the most of the day."
He can't be here anymore. The door starts closing and they both reach for it at the same time from opposite sides. Their eyes briefly meet as they exchange places. Lewis can smell the alcohol and the club and sex and pine and cigarettes on Nico as he exits the elevator as Nico takes his place.
"Good night," he says.
"Good day," Nico replies, pushing the button for his floor.
Lewis doesn't look back. He starts running the moment he exits the building and doesn't stop until he's all the way above on the hill. The sun sgines down on him as he pants and teies to catch his breath. He checks his watch.
It's stuck on 6.39 AM. He must have forgotten to charge it last night.
He takes the long way home.
-
"It's good to see you, Lewis," Seb says, smile wide and uneven in the Monte Carlo twilight, his arms open for a hug.
"It's good to see you too," Lewis says sincerely and steps into the hug. "What are you doing here?" he asks, but before he can finish the queation fully, his stomach turns.
Seb smells of pine. He's always smelled of pine, like that deodorant he's been using his whole life.
Seb pulls back from the hug first. "Oh, you know," he says with eyes and smile full of mirth. "Checking up on some investments."
Lewis forces himself to smile.
"Come on, we'll be late for the reservation," he says, checking his watch.
It's still stuck on 6.39 AM.
He forgot to charge it.
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Twinklaren + Oscar winning a race before lando
im not good today so. yeah.
"I mean, it's not like it counts properly," Lando says, and Oscar doesn't have time to react because he goes on, "like what they said to George in Brazil last year, yeah? Untill he won Sunday too," he finishes.
His elbow doesn't dig into Oscar's side because the movement gets aborted, and the grin on Lando's face is still present, and Oscar doesn't know what to think, and isn't that always the fucking case with Lando?
"I guess -" he starts to say, but Lando interrupts, sweaty and grinning, something manic in his eyes. "You just gotta win tomorrow," he says, and Oscar's stomach drops. "But congratulations, that was a wonderful drive, they really did magic with our cars, didn't they?"
Lando doesn't stop talking and Oscar can't catch his breath for long enough to do anything, to say anything. What would he even say, or even better, what can he say without having the whole management of McLaren coming down on him in ways neither he nor Mark can counter?
Fuck you, he can say. I won before you, in my rookie season, he could say. I'm better than you, another option. I wouldn't have fucked up in Sochi, that's a good one. You should be calmer when you drive, maybe you could win something then, that one would hurt.
He looks at Lando properly, looks at the way his hair falls on his face, his curls sweat-stained, making waves that somehow suit him. Oscar thought it was funny when Lando shaved his head that once but he thinks it looks much better now. He looks at the smile that Lando keeps on, tries to see if there's a strain there anywhere. Tries to see if there's somewhere he can press, because that's not fair, he drove the race of his life and he won, and what the fuck does it matter it's a sprint? Why does it matter?
He doesn't ask himself why Lando isn't happy for him. He isn't even sure Lando isn't happy for him, but they're racers and all the want, all they fight for is to win, and the first rule is always that you have to be better than your teammate. Oscar always was, he was always better than his teammates, and objectively, he knows people say he's better than Lando. He knows there's whispers and there's tweets and posts and questions. He knows Mark said You can beat him, but he also knows Mark looks at him and doesn't see Oscar sometimes. He knows Mark looks at Lando and sees someone else.
He looks at Lando and sees a thousand ways he can push. He sees a thousand different conversations and he sees a thousand different paths they can take. Well, maybe not thousands. Three at least. He looks at Lando drinking the water and the way he closes his eyes and the way his chest moves. He looks at the way his neck bobs as he swallows, sweaty and wet, and the way his eyes are tightly shut.
He can't see what Lando is thinking. He never can. Lando changes tactics like he changes clothes, like everything is fleeting in this life and like nothing can ever hold his attention for long enough to become meaningful. Streaming, DJ-ing, music genres, teammates, roommates, friends, girlfriends... none of it stays.
He smiles one moment and frowns the next and he means both of those. He's nice to Oscar and he's funny and makes Oscar laugh, or as close as Oscar ever comes to it and he ignores Oscar's texts most of the time, except when Oscar wakes up to 25+ messages, most of them memes and random thoughts. He bickers with Alex and George and then spends weekends with them. He doesn't speak a word to Carlos in the paddock and the next day there's pictures of them golfing together. He ignores Daniel and then spends an hour on the phone laughing with him. He shit-talkes Charles and then plays PS for nights on end with him.
The only thing that's solid in the flitting, fluid fluttering of Lando's existence is the fact that Lando is locked in with McLaren for years.
Oscar doesn't really care about much in his life. Everything he has, he got, maybe not completely easily, but with ease at least. He's a very good driver. He's driving for a team that won championships and will definitely win them again. He's good looking, and rich, and he has a girlfriend and he has a good manager who knows how to play the game and he has his parents and it's all good. He just won a sprint race, their car is improving, everything is going according to plan. He doesn't really have to care about much.
He cares about the hair that's falling into Lando's eyes, sticking to his brow.
"You have - let me," he says, reaching out before he can think about it. Lando freezes and doesn't move as Oscar pushes his curls back. His eyes are narrowed and whn he laughs, it's not right - it's wrong.
"Thanks," he says. "Congratulations, though. Good points to the team."
Lando grins and Oscar wants to scream. There's traces of Lando's sweat on his fingers cooling down in the air. He wants to lick them.
"Yeah," he says stupidly, staring into Lando's eyes and seeing so much it ends up amounting to nothing. "Time to think about tomorrow, right?"
He isn't sure why he's asking. Lando barks a laugh.
"Sure," he says, and Oscar can't read anything in his voice. "There's always tomorrow."
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do u have any fav fics / writers on here ? pls do recs!! love u
hi<3 love u too!!! i dont read fanfics that much so im just gonna make a list of my favorite work of each member c:
seungcheol - the great war by @amourcheol
jeonghan - titty-shirt by @beefboyandbabygirl
joshua - virgin killer by @wonusite
jun - boobjob virgin by @wonuvs
hoshi - make me feel by @secndlife
wonwoo - meant to be yours by @cheolhub
woozi - the perks of being that guy by @ncteez
seokmin - yuck! by @himbocoups
mingyu - boyfriend chronicles by @euphor1a
minghao - midnight cravings by @onlyhuis
seungkwan - voice by @cheolism
vernon - now you see me by @miraclewoozi
chan - crybaby by @toruro
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