Author's Note: This is very different compared to what I would normally write. In my head it seems like a good idea, and I think you guys would love it but idk. I'm thinking of making a part two called the unspoken words, and it just this again with all the inner monologue to go along with it. idk, let me know what you guys think. honestly if this doesn't get like a 150 notes, I'm just gonna delete it and pretend it never existed.
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The spoken words of an almost relationship;
“Just to be clear, we’re…”
“Friends,” you said calmly, with an all too knowing smile.
Lewis smirked at you. “Hmm, you weren’t saying that last night,” he says before walking away. Lewis was many things, but above all he knew how to be discrete. A quality that you were ever so grateful for.
-
“Just stay for the night,”
“We both know I shouldn’t do that.”
“No one will know,” Lewis says, as he pulls you closely to him in the bed. You can’t help but allow your eyes to close. Just for one more night, you’ll stay.
-
“Congratulations on the podium,” you say, as you and him walk side by side towards the hotel elevators.
Lewis smirked, “Do you want to help me celebrate tonight?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” you say as you begin to unbutton the blouse you were wearing.
-
“Lewis look at this,” you say, shoving your phone in his direction. At the worst timing ever you get a text notification from your partner back home.
“y/n,” Lewis says with a tone you can’t place.
“I’m sorry.”
-
“I told you before, this is not something serious Lewis.”
“Why can’t we change it to be serious?”
-
“I don’t want to fight anymore,” Lewis said, a few days after the initial fight.
“It wasn’t a fight,” you offer him a smile, “it was a heated conversation”
“If that’s what you want to call it,” he says with a smile as well.
“It is what I want to call it.” It’s time to let him go, but you’re not ready.
-
“Oh just like that,” you can’t help but moan out. You can hear Lewis scoff at you.
-
“I have to go,” you say to Lewis as he watches you pack your things. “Toto is sending me back to the factory.”
“For how long?”
“Just a couple weeks,” you smirk at Lewis, “I’ll be back.”
“Good.”
-
“I’m gonna extend my time at the factory,” you speak into the phone to Lewis.
“You said you were going to come back,”
“I am going to come back, just not as soon as I thought.”
-
“God, I missed you,” Lewis says, as he sees you waiting outside his hotel room. “When did you get here?”
“A few hours ago,” you say, revealing the luggage behind you.
“Let’s get inside,” Lewis opens the hotel room door for you.
-
“Oh this is perfect,” you praise.
“Just for you.”
-
“y/n, you’re getting a call,” Lewis calls to you, while you’re in the shower.
“Who is it?”
“It’s them.” He says it with the same tone that you can’t place.
“Oh,” you stop for a second, “just leave it. I’ll take care of it.”
-
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Lewis says, as the two of you sit across from each other in the hotel room, half-dressed.
“I know,” you say truthfully, “you want something serious.”
“And you’re trying to get away from something serious.”
“It was fun though.”
“If you change your mind about something serious, you can call me,” Lewis offers.
“Don’t wait around for me, Lewis.”
-
“Now we’re just…” Lewis speaks up, when he sees you leaving the hotel.
“We’re just people that used to know each other,” you say, as the taxi to take you to the airport pulls up. “Goodbye Lewis.”
Let Me in Your Life (and I Swear I'll Never Leave It)
As one of Lewis Hamilton's oldest friends, you're sure he'll be nothing but happy for you when you're finally offered a Formula One contract. Lewis, however, remembers what competition like that can do to a friendship, and his reaction isn't what you expect.
masterlist
You don’t know it’s over until you see him.
That shouldn’t have been enough. It wouldn’t have been enough for anyone else. They would have seen his smile and thought that he was genuinely happy for you when you told him that all of your wildest dreams were finally coming true. So much of you wanted to believe him when he told you that he couldn’t be more proud that you almost convinced yourself of it.
Almost. Unfortunately, the part of you that has known Lewis Hamilton since you were a kid also knows his tells, and you watched the way his fingers twisted in front of him until you couldn’t take it any longer. Until you knew what he wouldn’t say to you on a perfectly good night like this, which is that Lewis was not pleased that you were finally entering Formula One, and no amount of wanting will fix that.
It cuts to the bone. This had been a lovely evening. You only get so many chances to spend time with Lewis outside of the media circus of a Formula One or Two paddock, so you really wanted to make this one count. You had even kept your good news to yourself just in case he wasn’t as thrilled about it as you were, feeling the secret burn against you all through the dinner at the nice restaurant whose menu you double, triple, and quadruple-checked to ensure that there were good vegan options. You withheld the news through wine, through pleasant laughter, even through the check, but you couldn’t keep it back afterwards.
The restaurant was nice enough. Lewis always looked good in expensive places. He fit in quite well in any scenario, but his smile was practiced and he never missed a social cue so long as he could help it. That’s what years of constant scrutiny does to you, you suppose; never again will the two of you be thirteen years old and utterly ignorant of the difference between salad and dessert forks. You miss the boy who could mess up around you. You haven’t seen him in a while, even ignoring both of your hectic travel schedules.
Lewis tends to get antsy after a heavy meal, the product of too much time spent around Mercedes-grade nutritionists and personal trainers, so the two of you went on a walk outside after leaving the restaurant. The air was crisp and cool, and dark enough that you could walk freely without being recognized. You had looked up at the stars overhead and made a wish that nothing would hurt you tonight.
Maybe you whispered the wish aloud as you said it, or maybe Lewis has always been able to read your mind and ruined the magic that way, because it wasn’t even half an hour before that desperate plea to the heavens was shattered along with your peace of mind.
You couldn’t keep it in any longer. All your life, you’ve wanted to make it to the Formula One circuit. Lewis has known this just about as long as you. You met him while karting, and you’ve been best friends ever since. You used to race everywhere– on the track, down the hall, whoever could make it to the door of their hotel room wins bragging rights for the next night at least– but over time, Lewis was able to make it up the Formula One ladder faster than you, and then you weren’t racing together any more but watching each other race in different circuits.
You did your best not to let it sting. Lewis has faced far more than his fair share of roadblocks. Maybe he always wanted it a little more than you, then, because no matter how hard you tried to follow in his path, your feet keep dragging in his dust. It took forever to get to F3, and you never thought you’d ever see the day when you made it to F2.
Now you’re just one good finish away from winning the Formula Two driver’s championship, and better still, you’re about to sign a contract with a Formula One team. After all this time, it’s finally yours. You’re still in talks about the nuances of the legal binding, but it’s basically in the bag.
Your family is aware, but you knew you needed to tell Lewis as well, even before the signing, because he’s basically your other half. You had always assumed that he would take it well, that he’d be just as thrilled for you as Nico was for Lewis when he first signed. When you bring up the subject, though, you can tell from the delicate shuttering of Lewis’ face that you were, for the first time in a long time, completely wrong about him.
The two of you are walking down a moonlit bridge when you finally say it. “I was meeting with an F1 team yesterday,” you tell him, “I think they’re going to sign me. We’ve been going over the contract for a while now and it’s basically all ironed out. The only thing left is to actually shake on it.”
You pause, waiting for the hearty congratulations he doled out when you made it to F3, then F2, but for F1, you’re only greeted with silence. You look at him, heart in your throat, but when you finally bring yourself to meet his eyes, you’re only greeted with– disappointment.
When the silence gets painful, Lewis coughs and looks away. “That’s– that’s great, Y/N. Really.”
You stare at him in disbelief. “Really?”
Lewis has the grace to look ashamed. “I know I might not sound– it’s a fantastic accomplishment. You should be proud of yourself.”
“I am,” you say slowly, “but are you proud of me? Because you certainly don’t look it right now. And it’s not just an accomplishment, Lew, this has been my dream for years. You know that.”
“I do,” Lewis answers you, but his voice is distant and he hasn’t looked you in the eyes since you first brought up the news.
It makes your blood run cold in your veins. In all the scenarios you’d imagined of how he’d react, you pictured his jaw dropping with surprise, his face immediately lighting up, him immediately texting his brother and the rest of his family the news. You never expected that he would actually be unhappy about it.
“Then why are you acting like this?” You gesture at him. “At least fake a smile, Lewis, I know you can.”
He looks at you at last, and you wince at the genuine hurt blinking back at you. “Don’t do it, Y/N,” he says suddenly.
You feel as if the breath has been stolen out of your lungs. “What?”
“Don’t do it,” he repeats, “Go to Indycar or Le Mans or Race of Champions. Do something crazy, something fun. Hell, try them all. Don’t let this be the end-all, be-all of your racing aspirations.”
There’s no way you’re hearing him properly. “You think I shouldn’t join Formula One? After all this time practically killing myself to get in, you want me to just walk away?” You shake your head slowly. “You had better have a good reason for this, because you’re my oldest friend and I know that friends wouldn’t do this to each other. You could have just said you were happy for me.”
Lewis’ gaze turns pleading. “You don’t know what it’s like in there. We go for each other’s throats all the time. I can’t let it destroy us.”
The night is silent. You watch the water lapping at the shores below as if in a dream. All is dark. Even the stars seem burned out overhead. Nothing good has happened here. Nothing worth the light of the moon above.
He says, “I don’t want to lose you. Not like everybody else.”
You say, “If you don’t let me do this, you will have lost me before I even start.”
You give him one last chance to change his mind. When he stays silent, you turn on your heel and leave. The sound of your shoes clicking against the cobblestones is maddeningly loud, drowning out all but the tumultuous beat of your heart. He doesn’t try to stop you. He does not do anything at all.
You call a taxi. The ride is quiet. You have half a mind to direct the driver to a club or something instead so you don’t have to live with that engulfing silence any longer, but instead you just have him drive you to your door and leave you there. You barely make it inside before breaking down in loud sobs that wrack your entire body. He should have told you how much he wanted you there. He should have told you how much he wanted you.
You wait until your tears dry, then call up the team principal of the F1 team and tell him you’re interested in signing the contract as soon as possible. They’re glad to hear it, and pleased enough that they don’t hear the wobble of your voice on the other end.
The rest of the season passes without a hitch. You win the F2 championship and are able to announce your contract not soon afterwards. All of the F1 drivers who cross your path make sure to congratulate you, and every one of their declarations of praise only hurts twice as much when you remember the one man who hasn’t said a word to you yet.
Winter break is eventful, even more than you were expecting. There are a hundred forms to sign and a thousand videos to film, countless mechanics to meet and endless trainings to complete. You’re given enough team kits to clothe a small nation. You officially meet your teammate on your first tour of the team facilities, and he is perfectly civil to you, even kind. He isn’t Lewis, though, and that’s enough for you to be disappointed.
At last, you reach the week before testing starts for the new season. You’re in a hotel room booked under your new team. It’s strange being here now after wanting this for so long. For years, you’ve dreamed of what it would be like to finally be here, and now you’re flopped on your hotel bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering if it’ll look different when you’ve raced in a Formula One car for the first time.
Truth be told, it’s terrifying. You thought you would know what to do by now, having repeated this process in the previous two series, but everything feels different now that you’re at the top. No one expects championships from a rookie in her first season, but you can’t help but feel that eyes are on you.
A knock on your door, and you’re immediately grateful to whoever it is for interrupting your relentless panicked musing on the infinite ways that tomorrow could go wrong. You pad over the door and open it without checking, expecting to be greeted by your teammate or your trainer or any one of the staff of your new team.
Instead, you swing open the door to find Lewis staring at you, hands in his pockets. You immediately jerk to a stop, so surprised that you even forget usual pleasantries like saying hello or asking how he’s been.
Lewis forgets too. The two of you stare at each other for what feels like centuries but could just be a few moments until he coughs, looks briefly at his feet and then back at you, and says, “I remember that you always overthink things the night before a big change. I wanted to see how you were doing.”
You nod a little too quickly. “I’m fine. Just, yeah, overthinking.”
A ghost of a smile flickers over Lewis’ lips, then disappears just as quickly. “Thought so. Do you mind if I come in? There’s actually a lot I need to say.”
An ugly, cruel part of your brain immediately whispers oh, now you have a lot to say? But you manage to shut it up before you say it and wordlessly gesture for him to enter the hotel room. You check the hallway before shutting the door, but no one’s there, no cameras. This isn’t a trap. It’s just a friend visiting a friend, something he used to do all the time before he decided that he would not be able to live with himself if he didn’t stop you from trying to reach your biggest dream.
When you head back inside, Lewis is leaning against the windows, idly peering outside. “You have a good view,” he notes.
You fold your arms across your chest. “You’re not here to discuss the perks of my hotel room.”
“No, I’m not,” Lewis agrees. “I’m here to apologize.”
This takes you by surprise. “You are?”
He nods. “I shouldn’t have tried to stop you. God knows I would have hated it if you had said something like that to me before I joined McLaren.”
Your brow furrows. “Then why did you say it to me?”
Lewis lets out a quiet, horror-struck sigh. “Because I meant part of it. I am terrified of losing you, Y/N. I know how competition can get in between friends. You know how well I know that. Nico’s already– we’re different now, and I can’t take it if I lose you, too.”
He breaks off, lost in thought, and you feel a pang in your heart as if struck by a blade. You and Nico were friends separate from the great doing and undoing of Lewis and Nico, but that was sort of inevitable. It feels as if every kid who was good at karting in your area eventually became friends, but all that did was give you a front row ticket to the so-called Silver War. What a terrible thing, to know someone like a brother and then only be able to speak to them through corporate meetups and scheduled interviews. What a horrific end to something that had once been, well, everything.
Your hands tense at your sides. “I’m not Nico.”
“I know that,” he says, almost frustrated, “I know. Trust me, I know. I have always known you. I know that we’ll be able to make it through anything, but I’m afraid of risking it. I knew at some point you’d get called up here, you’re too fast for them to ignore you, but I was hoping to have at least a little more time.”
You tilt your head to the side, frowning. “I thought you guessed already. Isn’t that why we scheduled that dinner?”
“No,” Lewis murmurs, “I scheduled that dinner because I wanted to tell you that I loved you.”
The ground has been pulled out beneath your feet. No, not just the ground– the very earth itself, every star in the sky and every heavenly body in the cosmos. You are abruptly removed from everything you have ever believed, because you know Lewis better than anyone and so you would have known if he loved you, you would have figured it out a long time ago. There is no way you wouldn’t have been able to tell. No way he could take you by surprise like this.
“No,” you whisper.
“Yes,” Lewis says simply. “I was going to do it after keeping it a secret for so long. And then you told me that we were going to be competitors, and I thought it was all going to be over. And I panicked and told you to leave, and you hated me, and it turns out I didn’t even need us crashing into each other on track to kill our friendship. I did that all by myself.”
“It isn’t dead,” you tell him fiercely. “Not in the slightest.”
He doesn’t seem to believe you. “We fought. We never do that.”
“That’s unrealistic,” you point out. “Everyone fights. Even married couples.”
“We’re not married, and you don’t even love me back,” Lewis argues.
You arch a brow. “How do you know that?”
“I would know,” he says without a trace of suspicion.
God, he’s just as stubborn as you. Just as set in his own ways. Maybe that’s why it has always been the two of you, even after everything. Maybe that’s why you always chose him in every friend group, in every issue, in every race. No one understands you like Lewis, and no one ever will. No one will stand by your side no matter what, no one will say what you need to hear because no one knows exactly how you work like Lewis does.
Still, you can surprise him from time to time. He certainly doesn’t expect it when you cross the room in a few brisk strides, when you reach across the chasm of one fight and one great misunderstanding to kiss him. It takes him a moment to realize what you’re doing and what this means, and then his hands are on your hips, pulling you closer, because Lewis will never give up an advantage when it is offered to him and right now Lewis wants this more than anything. He wants you, more than anything.
“You’re never going to let me hear the end of it when you finish ahead of me in a race, are you?” He asks in a half-mumble against your lips.
You smile, and you can feel his returning grin when he kisses you again. “Absolutely not. You never let me off that easily when we were kids.”
“We’re not kids anymore,” Lewis points out.
“No,” you say slowly, “We’re not, are we?”
It is not a bad thing. In fact, looking at all the years you have, all the races together, all the plane tickets you’ll book side by side, all the hotel rooms you’ll share, you think you like this new era of your life quite a bit better than anything. Lewis would have to agree, if the shine in his eyes means anything at all. Both of you will never be the same, but you will never be like this again, either. We are all different, all the time, but the one thing that will never change is how you do it: together, always together.
Lewis is sitting on the sofa overlooking the kitchen. He is wearing only black shorts and his hair is up. The TV is on but there is something that attracts Lewis attention more than the TV, and that's you. A song plays on the phone in a language he doesn't understand. You accompany the song by humming. Your feet are bare. Roscoe lies at your feet. You add the fruits on the counter to small bowls. Your hair is up and few bangs fall on your forehead. The big t-shirt you are wearing and the pearl necklace around your neck, belong to Lewis. The expensive and beautiful bracelets on your wrist, which he bought for you when he returned from Spain, swing as you move. Lewis enjoying watching you move around his kitchen and the little smile on his face, shows it. "What? Stop looking at me like that or I'll think you are in love with me.", "Oh, already I am."
