Kimi jumps when he hears the quiet beep of the room key being swiped. Fuck. He’s not sure how he’s going to explain to George why he was in his hotel room.
He’s bracing himself to confess, when he registers that there are two voices in the hallway, not just one.
He panics. The door adjoining his room with George’s is on the other side of the suite–he’d have to walk past the entryway to get there, and there’s no way he can make it without being seen. He feels the closet door against his back, and just as he hears the door click open, he slips in.
literally just 2.3k of kimi perving on george and alex from a literal closet. idk
in which george finds himself stuck in a time loop, reliving the las vegas 2024 race over and over again
George hauled himself out of the car, stalked straight up to Max, drunk on adrenaline and the invincibility of the last ten days. Max looked up at him, the flush of yet another victory high on his cheeks. He made to shake George’s hand, congratulate him, but George swatted his hand away.
The glow on Max’s face faded, ever so slightly, replaced with something strange and raw. He jerked his hand back and stood a little straighter. “What the fuck is your problem, Russell?”
George scoffed. “My problem? I’m not the one with the problem, mate. Where do you get off- why can’t you-“ His head is swimming. This wasn’t right. This was different. He was- “I won! How-“
Max laughed, an abrupt bark, half-interrupted by—something. “Pretty clear that you didn’t,” he said, gesturing to the paddock around them, the LED screens lit up with Max’s face, Las Vegas Grand Prix winner, 4-time world champion.
“But- no, I-“ George was dizzy, now, trying to take back the words, afraid of changing something, of messing things up further. He was suddenly hyper aware of how crowded it was. Like the rest of the world made a difference for the first time in ten days. The people, the cameras.
And Max. Max was staring at him like he’d lost his mind, like George was stealing his moment, and not the other way around. “I meant- pole yesterday, I mean.” He forced himself to breathe deeply, evenly. “I misspoke. Tough race and all. Congrats on the championship, Max.”
He turned and started walking, as quickly as he could without actually running, doing everything he could to ignore the clamoring reporters with their microphones and their questions. He needed to sit down, he needed quiet, he needed to think.
One overzealous reporter stepped directly in front of him, unavoidable. “Well, George, that was quite the race, how are you feeling about P2?”
He smiled tightly, slowing down just enough to answer, duck around her as he spoke, but she just fell in step alongside him. “Well, you never want to settle for P2 when you’re starting from pole, right? Tough race, but we’ll push hard into next week.”
Next week. Next week. What he would give to push hard into next week.
“Tough race, yes, that’s what you said to Max there. Bit of a tense exchange, are you feeling like things should have gone differently in the race today? Maybe Max was a bit aggressive on that overtake in Lap 52?”
“Feeling like things should have gone differently?” You have no idea, he thought. “Well, like I said, it’s tough. Feel like it’s yours until it isn’t anymore. Next week, next week.” He nodded, giving her another tight-lipped smile.
“Thank you, George, good luck next week!”
She fell back as he picked up the pace again, hearing a faint, “That was George Russell, P2 today. He must be feeling the heat over losing that position after leading the race for so many laps. And it seems like tensions are high between him and Max Verstappen, once again…”
Finally, finally, he reached the Mercedes garage, after pushing his way through the clamor and the hustle of the paddock. The lights. The champagne. The celebration. Ignoring everyone—the interviews he was supposed to be doing, the podium he was supposed to be on. He’d have to deal with it tomorrow except—he wouldn’t. There was no tomorrow, just today, again and again and again.
He collapsed, on the floor, a dark corner in the room where he hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights. He wasn’t sure when anyone else would be back. All busy with the media, but his absence wouldn’t go unnoticed. He couldn’t bring himself to care. It didn’t matter anyway.
He curled in on himself, unable to stop the tears any longer, fighting to breathe through it. This had to be just- just some awful, awful nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep doing this. He didn’t know what choice he had in the matter. The careful control he’d kept over the past ten days—really, much longer than that—finally slipped from his fingers.
He’d never felt smaller. Sobs wracked his whole body. It was all too much. He tried to breathe, short, ragged inhalations that left him feeling dizzy and untethered. Time was passing more slowly than he could bear, every choked breath an eternity, every sob leaving him feeling like there was less and less of him left.
There was a sharp knock from somewhere behind him. Short, impatient. He coughed, forcing himself to fully inhale. He held it - one. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. He had all the time in the world.
The knock came again, more aggressive this time. “Russell.”
He exhaled, hastily, pointlessly swiping a sleeve across the tears and snot on his face. That voice. Why—
“George-“ the light snapped on, bright and harsh.
George scrambled to stand, still desperately trying to hide the evidence of his meltdown, as if it mattered.
“George.”
He turned to face Max Verstappen, standing in his doorway like he belonged there, like he had any business being there.
joke me something awful (just like kisses on the necks of best friends)
alex albon/george russell/kimi antonelli | 4.1k
Kimi’s performance had improved significantly over the past several weeks. He’d started the season with 7th, 9th place finishes. Keeping it in the points, but only just. A DNF here, a P16 there. Facing constant headlines speculating on his ability to manage the new car, his ability to compete with the rest of the field. Alex recalls a particularly biting headline he’d seen after Suzuka–Russell fighting to win, Antonelli fighting not to lose.
He’d felt bad for the kid. Their situations weren’t the same, but Alex knew a thing or two about how the media could be, the pressure of being compared to a more successful teammate. But aside from that, he hadn’t really paid Kimi a whole lot of attention, on his own.
His spike in performance, then, came as a surprise to everyone, when he went from one or two points a race to a sudden P2, and kept it going, podium after podium. Alex had seen those headlines too.
Antonelli’s Surging Comeback: What Happened In Miami?
Alex knew what happened in Miami.
i feel like i’m being violently edged every time u post smth with ihm tag
HELPPP i'm so sorry and also i'm in love w u a little bit. ihm my beloved overambitious monster of a wip that i cherish like my own child. you've caught me at a very snowed in writing fic time in my life so just for you have the part of this chapter i've been working on this week <3333
***
Alex wanders into the Mercedes motorhome. He’s not a frequent visitor; usually George is the one poking around Williams, which makes more sense. It was his team too, once. Alex doesn’t have that connection here, and he feels strange about it. Like he’s some kind of intruder. Like everyone is staring at him. Like they know about–
“Alex! Are you looking for George?” Someone has spotted him, and he feels himself jump, startled at the direct address. She’s wearing a team kit, and he feels bad that he doesn’t know her name. He hopes his flinch wasn’t obvious. He feels obvious. He feels like–like an exposed nerve, vulnerable to anything and everything.
“Umm. Yeah. Yeah, seen him around anywhere? He’s not answering my texts, and I needed–well, there’s–” He’s saved from whatever unnecessary lie he was about to tell, because she’s already gesturing further into the building.
“He’s upstairs somewhere, I think. I saw him not too long ago.” She smiles, and then goes back to her conversation, like he’s not even there.
Alex nods, says a quick thanks that dissipates into the air, and continues on, hoping to go unnoticed until he can find George. No such luck, of course. He’s stopped three more times on his way, each time asked the same question–here for George? He knows that it’s a perfectly reasonable assumption to make, but he feels more and more anxious every time. He knows it’s irrational–of course he’s here for George. What other business could he possibly have wandering around the Mercedes motorhome by himself? But he can’t help but feel like he’s breaking some rule, like he’s doing something he shouldn’t be.
After what feels like an eternity, he makes it up to George’s room and finds the door just slightly ajar. He knocks, poking his head in to find George sitting at the small desk in the far corner of the room.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to avoid me.”
George turns around, and his face breaks into a wide smile that makes Alex’s stomach tie itself in knots. Well. That was new.
“Albono! Good to see you,” he stands as he picks up his phone off the desk and waves it in Alex’s direction. I was just about to text you.”
Alex has a vague feeling that that is absolutely not the case, but everything is so wrong right now that he doesn’t think he can trust any feelings he may or may not have. He closes the door behind him, careful to make sure it clicks. He thinks he sees a split second change of expression on George’s face, but he chalks it up to paranoia. “Right, I just–I had some free time and I thought we should talk. In person.”
“Sure,” he says, his grin fading into a slightly more neutral expression. “What’s to talk about?”
Alex blinks. What’s to talk about? For a horrible moment, he has the thought–does he even remember? They had both been drunk but not that drunk, surely. “Well—about—about what happened last weekend—” He sputters, now unsure how to smoothly broach the topic.
“Last weekend, last weekend…come to congratulate me on the win again? You could have done that this afternoon, I would think. Appreciate the initiative though, trekkin’ all the way over,” George quips, giving him a conspiratorial smirk, but Alex notices the way his hand stills, the way he stops tapping his fingers on the desk. He does remember, then. He’s just being intentionally difficult. Alex wants to strangle him.
“I’m pretty sure I–” He turns to triple check that the door really is closed, but lowers his voice anyway. “I’m pretty sure I congratulated you pretty thoroughly already.”
George raises his eyebrows as he stands, turning his back to Alex and making his way over to the window.
Alex follows him, but he maintains a careful distance between the two of them when he reaches the other side of the room. “George. Are you just gonna avoid me forever?”
“I’m not avoiding you, just been busy. So’ve you, yeah?”
“Yeah, okay, but that’s not–we can’t just not talk about it.” Alex would like nothing more than to not talk about it, actually, but the headache he’s developed in the past week demands otherwise. Five days of constant stress and tension is beginning to wear on him physically, and he doesn’t think he can do a whole race weekend like this, let alone the rest of the season. No, it’s better that they address it now, before things get weird. Weirder. “I just think it would be better if we dealt with it sooner rather than later."
“Dealt with–what, that we snogged in a club bathroom?” he says, and Alex can’t tell if it’s accompanied by a laugh or a scoff.
“George!” Alex feels the tips of his ears starting to burn. They’d done a bit more than snog, but he’s not sure he can bring himself to say that out loud. “I just-“
“Look, I just don’t think there’s anything to talk about. We went on a night out, had a few too many, got a bit carried away. We’re mates, it happens. Not anything to make a fuss over, you know?” George is nonchalant about it, splitting his attention between Alex and the scenery outside, hands in his pockets as he gazes out the window. Like they’re having a conversation about the weather.
Alex feels–he doesn’t know what he feels. He’s not sure what he expected, either, but he’s taken aback by how casual George is being. Callous, even. It feels strangely out of character for him. George is one of the most loyal people he knows, and Alex can’t fathom how this isn’t eating him up from the inside like it is him.
“George, I cheated on Lily. On my fiancée. And you–"
“Alex,” George finally turns to look at him. “It didn’t mean anything, alright? That’s why I haven’t brought it up. If you feel like it’s cheating, then I don’t–I just don’t see the point in making a big deal out of it. It was a one-time thing.” He claps Alex on the shoulder and walks back over the desk, folding himself back into the chair.
Alex feels all of the frustration fizzle out of him, leaving an oddly empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. It didn’t mean anything. That was exactly what he’d come here to say, so he isn’t sure why he feels the need to argue the point now. He looks at George, who’s studying him now, a look of gentle concern on his face. Alex suddenly wants nothing more than to smooth it away.
“Yeah. Yeah, no, you’re right. I just–wanted to make sure we were on the same page is all. Communication is key, right?” He gives George a half smile as he echoes back the advice George had given him constantly when he’d first gotten together with Lily, when he would find himself stressing over every little thing. It had become kind of a running joke between the two of them–George, who’d never had a relationship lasting longer than a few months, confidently giving Alex relationship advice that sounded like he’d gotten it straight out of some corny magazine.
George gets a faraway look in his eyes, but before Alex can parse it, he’s smiling again, that endearingly smug grin Alex knows so well. “Taught you well then, haven’t I?”
“Alright, don’t get too full of yourself.” Alex laughs, and so does George, and he feels the tension fall out of his shoulders. George is right. It’s not anything to worry about. Just another inside joke, something for the two of them to laugh about in ten years time. He’s sure that the odd twist in his stomach will go away once he’s slept on it.
***
okay so this is not the very beginning but it is near the beginning and one of the earliest scenes i have actually close to completed. i'm considering redoubling my efforts on the first couple of chapters and just starting to post it on ao3 before it's actually all the way written but that's very daunting to me and also risky. so we shall see. in the meantime enjoy my darling miscommunicating dumbasses <3
“George! I’m glad I ran into you–are you busy on Wednesday?”
George looked up from the coffee pot to find Alex Albon standing across the break room from him, smiling like seeing George was the best part of his day. Yeah right–you wish, George, he thought to himself. If they didn’t happen to be coworkers, Alex probably wouldn’t even give him the time of day.
Except, he would. Because Alex was kind like that. That’s part of why George was so head over heels for him, he supposed. Really, George wished Alex would pay less attention to him. It would make it easier to get over this whole stupid crush.
OR: George has a big dumb crush on his coworker. He's just trying to get through a day at the office.
this got away from me so bad but hiii baby's first fic is up on ao3. i just love putting george in situations so here he is having a crush and spilling coffee and trying to be so so normal about it <3
“Run away with me?”
Alex regrets the words almost as soon as they’re out of his mouth, but he hopes that George will take them for what they are–wishful thinking. Pillow talk. An invitation to dream with him, just for a moment.
George rolls over, draping his arm over Alex’s chest. “What?” His voice is still gravelly with sleep.
“Just think about it. We could leave it all behind, just you and me. Get a house somewhere no one knows us.” He knows that these are usually the conversations that cause George to deflect, look for any way to redirect, but Alex does it anyway. He can’t help it. It’s like picking at a scab–it only makes it worse, in the long run, but there’s a twisted kind of satisfaction in the moment.
tagged by @jetmason for seven sentence sunday monday thank you liz <333
have been unable to stop thinking about burlesque dancer/showgirl george and bartender alex recently so uh. here we are
“Alright then, how was the show tonight? Since you couldn’t seem to look away,” she teased. Alex felt his stomach flip, just a little, at the way the club lights bounced off her costume, exaggerating every line of her form.
He shrugged as he carefully slid her usual drink across the bar. “Easy seven out of ten this time, I’d say. The ending left me feeling a little uninspired.”
She raised an eyebrow as she took the delicate coupe in hand. “Oh, really? That’s not the impression I got from up there. Then again, you are awfully far away back here. I wonder if you’d change your mind,” she paused to take a sip, savoring the cocktail on her tongue. “If things got a little more up close and personal.”
(technically seven sentences if you count dialogue as one sentence each)
no pressure tagging @sanhaoche @littlemartyr @brokenfrontwing if u all want! <3
