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"Daniel, I really don't mind."
"Are you sure? I can reschedule. It's a worthless meeting."
Lewis chuckles. He can't help it; biting back the action seems dishonest. Of course the meeting is worthless. Most of them are, honestly, but--
"Daniel, go. I've got it."
"You're a god." Daniel insists, relief clear all over his face.
"I'm your friend."
They're interrupted by a car horn. Daniel whips around to look at his Mégane parked in Lewis's driveway. Even through the tinted windows they can see Lando squeezing through the front seats to lean over the center console, twisted about so he can honk the horn. Being spotted only gives him brief pause before the horn is wailing again.
"Cheeky thing." Lewis says, maybe questioning his favor just a bit. Daniel's already hurrying away and opening the car door. Lando slides out, body nearly limp in what Lewis thinks may be the most impressive pout he's seen in a long time. The younger driver is clearly dressed for comfort, and Lewis is certain the baggy hoodie drowning Lando's frame is Daniel's. The sleeves hang long over the boy's hands, just his fingertips peeking out as he spots Lewis and gives a short wave before side-stepping behind Daniel. He's used to the bashfulness whenever he was to watch a regressed Lando.
What he's less used to is the person hopping out of the car behind Lando.
"George?"
Daniel at least has it in him to look sheepish when he flashes Lewis that winning smile. Begging in its way.
"Ah, yeah. I've got the pair. George is sweet though, right bub?"
His new teammate says nothing, busy looking literally anywhere besides Lewis. Part of him is worried he wasn't supposed to see this. That maybe this wasn't a side of himself George had been planning on sharing with him. But he's here now, and he has some faith that Daniel spoke with him before he brought the pair over. Lewis schools his surprise back down and offers his usual calm smile.
"I'm sure they'll be lovely. Now get out of here, Daniel, before you get yourself chewed out."
The boys are led to where he's waiting in his doorway. He almost feels like he's intruding when Daniel presses a kiss into Lando's messy curls and whispers something into his ear, then gives George a quick hug.
"Have fun, boys. Behave, Lando."
It doesn't escape Lewis how only one of them is reminded to behave. Rather than letting the two watch Daniel drive away, he gently herds them inside and shuts the door. He's really trying not to stare at George, but it's hard. The boy's dressed in his normal questionably fashionable style, which contrasts pretty aggressively with Lando. He's also got a backpack on. One of the expensive ones from McLaren, which makes the stuffed dog hanging out of the half zipped pocket feel just a bit absurd. All of this might be, but Lewis is pretty sure he doesn't mind that possibility. He feels fingers brush his own and turns to Lando.
"Hi Lewis." The young driver greets, voice airy and nervous. His tan isn't enough to hide all the red dusting his face.
"Hey, rabbit. Roscoe's in the living room if you want to go see him."
Lando lights up immediately, a grin splitting his face. Lewis has to hold in his laughter as the boy frantically slides out of his shoes before taking off into the home in search of the bulldog.
George doesn't move.
His statue impression is actually rather convincing.
"George? You okay?"
No eye contact, and certainly no answer. All he gets is shuffling feet and the way George's hands wind fists into his own coat. The anxiety is pouring off the boy in waves that Lewis swears are making the air around them heavier.
Slowly, carefully, he takes hold of one of George's elbows. He breathes a sigh of relief when some light pressure is all it takes to have the younger man follow his lead, easily moving with the pressure. Lewis guides them down the same route Lando had taken, albeit at a much more casual pace. He takes the time to try and think of how to handle his clearly nervous charge. The high pitched suffering of a squeaky toy greets them as they join Lando and Roscoe, the latter of which is winning a game of tug quite handily. George finally moves of his own accord, pulling away from Lewis to sit on the sofa.
"George, could you please take off the shoes before you get comfy?"
Rather than silence, he at least gets a mumble this time. Asking the boy to repeat himself however backtracks them to the quiet, and he can see the way George's shoulders tense with anxiety. Lewis gives the kid a good look over and is pretty sure he spots the issue. It's worth the gamble, at least.
"Ah, don't worry, I've got 'em." He reassures George as he kneels in front of him and lifts one of his legs. The shoelaces are pretty tight, honestly. Daniel must've tied them, because it's clear this version of George could not have managed it. Regardless, Lewis makes quick work of the knots and has the fancy trainers off George and set aside in short order. The boy raises his legs to the sofa and curls into himself almost immediately, having apparently slid the backpack off and set it aside during the untying.
Lewis feels that uncertainty rise in him again. This whole regression and headspace thing is still all new to him, but he's pretty sure the point of it is to relax. George looks about as far from relaxed as one can while curled up on an absurdly expensive plush sofa. Sighing, Lewis gets off the floor and joins the skittish boy. He's careful to keep just a bit of space between them.
"Lewis?"
He nearly jumps out of his skin. George had taken up so much of his focus that he'd hardly remembered Lando was there on the carpet, giving Roscoe every ounce of attention the needy bulldog could possibly desire.
"What's up?"
"He's got a puppy."
Lewis's brow furrows.
"Sweetheart, Roscoe's never had any puppies."
"No." Lando sighs the word, and the unimpressed look on his face is almost wounding. "George. His puppy."
Oh.
He looks over at the backpack. Sure enough, that little stuffed dog is still there, its head and one front paw haphazardly peeking out. A look to George makes is very clear that he's pointedly ignoring the two of them, instead chewing at the collar of what Lewis is sure is a very pricey shirt. Lewis hums before reaching out and gently plucking the soft toy from its burrow.
The fur is silky. It glides under his touch, plush and luxurious. All except the very ends of the dog's long floppy ears, which are a bit crinkled and slightly discolored. He's pretty sure given the dog's sausage shaped body and short legs that it's a Basset Hound. The eyes are plain black beads, detailed underneath with deep wrinkles and a drooping snout. It's not a horribly large toy, Lewis thinks, but the beads in it's little legs adds some weight to it. Long ears, perfectly sized for a clutched but careful fist.
"George, Lew has your puppy. You like your puppy." Lando sounds almost tired with his reasoning, as though he's used to having to pull the other boy out of his shell like this. "Puppy Alex got you. Good puppy, George."
"Thank you, Lando." Lewis placates the boy, hoping to prevent any rising irritability. It must work, given how Lando turns his attention back to the much more alive dog laid out on the carpet.
"Here, George."
He's careful in how he tucks the little hound into his teammate's arms. One of George's hands comes up almost immediately to gently pull the clearly beloved plush closer. In a swift motion, George trades his abused shirt collar for one of the pup's worn ears. Lewis has to hold back a wince at whatever might be on the fur that's now in his charge's mouth and being lightly chewed. Tolerating the move is worth the sudden calm that overtakes him. The tension that bleeds out moves in fast flow, nearly drowning Lewis in the surprise of just how effective this was.
"Better, yeah?"
A nod.
He gets a nod.
It almost feels like being on podium.
Though suddenly even the podium seems small in comparison when he hears;
"Have you got snacks?"
It's muffled around the puppy ear, but Lewis hangs onto every word. He thinks his grin might rival Daniel's.
"Yeah, mate, I've got snacks."
---
Lewis Hamilton is a professional. He's a champion. Top of the game. A literal knight. He prides himself on being cool and collected, but unapologetically outspoken about issues that matter to him. He's fought hard for everything he has. Every day for him is lived with the staunch commitment to never hiding himself. To facing challenges head-on.
But this is a hell of a challenge.
"Sweetheart, please. Daniel's got your things back at their place. Don't you wanna get home?" He tries to reason with George, who's seemingly glued himself to the sofa.
"No."
He sighs.
Daniel's little chuckle from the doorway isn't his definition of helpful either.
"Can't he just stay?" Lando whines. The boy's already clung to Daniel, clearly tired. "Wanna go home already."
And, well.
That's an idea, isn't it? An absurd one. A very silly one. But Lewis doesn't miss the way George perks up at the suggestion, as much as he can from where's he's sunk into the hoodie Lewis had let him borrow. Extra baggy on him, less so on George given the height difference. But the younger driver still seems lost in it, chin tucked down inside the collar. Their eyes meet, and Lewis isn't stupid. He swallows hard around a newly formed lump in his throat.
"George," he starts, tone serious, "do you want to stay?"
A jerky, singular nod. Resolute. But still--
"You're sure? I need to know you actually want to be here, not that you're just too relaxed in your headspace to say no."
At that, his teammate shrinks further. The Basset puppy in his hands is taking the brunt of the anxiety through twisted up ears and some rough petting. Lewis sort of wants to take a picture, but that's a whole other boundary. Instead, he reaches out and places his hands over George's. He doesn't pull or squeeze. Just keeps his own hands there, a solid weight and a gentle reminder. But that move is all George needs to let one of his hands slip from the soft toy and wind their fingers together instead, puppy still secure in his other grip.
"I want to stay here. If, um," the younger man swallows, "if that's okay."
"Of course."
Daniel and Lando make their exit quickly after that, with the former grinning and giving Lewis two thumbs up and a "you got this" as they head out the door.
He looks back to George. His wide eyes. So clearly nervous, but putting trust in Lewis anyway. Trust in Lewis to take care of him. To be kind. And he's pretty sure he's screwed, because God damn if this kid doesn't already have him in a vice grip. There's about a million other places he could be, but Lewis is certain this is exactly the right one.
He might be in deeper than he thought.