Chapter Text
Something was bothering George. Something was bothering him and he didn't know why. It hadn't been a great night for him. The season's halfway over, he's accomplished nothing new, and, once again, he's all alone. The plush fabric of the hotel comforter beneath his clenched fists do nothing to help soothe him as some random show plays on the television. Of course, it wasn't that he was incapable of spending time with his friends. Plenty of them were out partying. He just didn't want to anymore. The thought of picking himself up off the bed, of which he is not even under the sheets of, sounds exhausting at best.
The laugh track from the TV rings in his ears, and George asks himself again, 'God, what is wrong with me tonight?', it's not as if his season had been completely awful so far. It just wasn't anything noteworthy. Just another season of 3rd places, and articles about whether or not he could’ve won if he tried a bit harder. In any case, he normally tries not to get into his head about it. Knows that's a one way street to an evening spent alone with Spotify and a playlist Alex had sent him with the saddest songs known to mankind.
Maybe it's the thought that he is missing Lewis. Well, not just the thought. He is missing Lewis. Right now, they were both supposed to be at a ridiculously high-end restaurant, with candles lit and neatly placed in the centre of the table, and enough cutlery to make someone go insane trying to figure it all out. However, he is stuck here instead. Of course, after a difficult first half of the season, it's understandable Lewis would want to take a night to re-evaluate where he is, and what his next moves are.
But yes, it's disappointing. They'd started doing post-race dinners a month or so into their relationship. After their first real fight. They mutually agreed it would be best for everyone if they had talked things out over a nice steak, rather than scream at each other first thing. Well, it wasn't always a nice steak. Sometimes it was just a pack of grapes picked up from somewhere in hospitality. With Lewis, it didn't really matter. All of that to say, it wasn't the dinner, but the action of putting the race behind them, and moving on.
This was the first time Lewis had cancelled on him. And not to say it wasn't for a valid reason, however, it's still strange. He can understand where Lewis is coming from, this is his worst season by a long shot, but everyone knew it was coming. It's not like it's just him doing awfully either. Everyone knows it's the car. Even if people say it's not the car, they still know deep down, it's the car. It'd be a different story if George was thriving, and Lewis was not, but they were both in the same boat - or car, ha. - here.
George isn't going to lie to himself and say it isn't at the very least a little hurtful. They'd always said they could get through anything together. Misery loves company and all that jazz. So for Lewis to blow him off, and so last minute as well, was a little insulting.
Before this, they'd always found comfort in each other. "Yeah, the car's not looking too great [again], what a shame. Guess we'll just have to hope for some upgrades! [no upgrades were coming.]"
"Yeah, that left rear braking was awful on that turn today [it's been awful for months], hopefully they can fix that [they've had time to fix it.]"
"Damn, shame about being in the midfield today [everyday], chin up, Toto said we're getting new upgrades [they're not going to do anything]"
"I'm about to just crash the car into the barrier so I don't have to suffer through another race in this shitbox [nothing to add here.]"
Then again, maybe George was looking too far into it. It's not like it wasn't bound to happen sooner or later. They can spend one night apart without it being an issue. In fact, it's healthy. Maybe it's just the fact something about it rubs George the wrong way. Lewis was always extremely punctual, and even when not, he gave plenty of notice. Today, however, it was a rushed call he made from inside his car heading back to the hotel (George heard the honking of the cars around him, if either of them had been in a better mood he would've made a joke about Lewis terrorising the drivers of the world again) simply saying he wouldn't be able to make it.
Because that’s the thing. They were at a point in their relationship where everything was starting to become fragile. And hey, maybe it’d been coming for a while. But in all honesty that’s probably why George felt like this. He knew that for the past few weeks, maybe even months, he’d been walking on eggshells around Lewis. It’s not like Lewis had said anything, but sometimes you don’t have to. He had seen it in the way Lewis looked at the younger drivers. Envy present even when he tried his best to hide it. He’s at a point in his career where if he doesn’t start winning again, it might not happen. This sport was Lewis’ greatest love in life. And for him to be so near the end of his career, everyone can tell it's weighing on him.
And then there’s the issue of this being the last year he and Lewis are together at Mercedes. Next year. Lewis moves to bigger (and perhaps better) things. A hundred-million dollar contract and the opportunity of a lifetime. George knew it wasn’t personal, but he couldn’t help but feel left behind. It’s strange, because George doesn’t want to leave Mercedes right now, wouldn’t even if he was given the chance. So it’s strange he feels so abandoned.
It’s not like it was quite unexpected either. Everyone knew it was coming. Some people were in denial, but everyone knew Lewis couldn’t stay at Mercedes forever. Toto was probably the only one surprised. It’s every driver’s dream to race for Ferrari. In a few years, after a few more good seasons with Mercedes, even George might consider it. That is, if he’s still any good. With the way his career is going, he doubts it right now. Maybe that’s the issue. Maybe it’s not Lewis, but George. The insecurity nestled deep in his bones, that will continue to be nestled there. Realistically, he knows he doesn’t usually project, but there had to be some reason for this sudden change in behaviour.
Maybe it really was the distance getting to him. A bit of codependency, mayhaps? George never thought of himself as someone who had to rely on others. That being said, a lot of things had changed for George when he and Lewis had started dating. Some for better, some for worse.
However, no matter how he put it, there was still something settled in his stomach. A sinking feeling that had been there for weeks. The same weeks Lewis had been distant from him. A voice in the back of his head screaming that something is wrong. The lack of evidence was what was really bothering him. George had never been one for gut feelings. He tried bringing it up with Alex once when they were drunk and at some party thrown by some D-rate DJ he couldn’t care to learn the name of. Alex, being of similar soberness to George, told him he was being quote unquote “silly” again. Then he proceeded to order another round of shots, but that was a story for another time. Maybe he should try talking about it again, just to someone who’s, you know. Sober.
The issue is, normally he would talk about everything with Lewis. But neither of them had been doing much of that lately. It’s not like they didn’t talk at all, they were still together most of every day, but it was different. Maybe that was to be expected. Maybe this is the end of the so-called “honeymoon” phase.
Even just thinking that made him consider the fact that maybe he has gone crazy. He'd never even believed in the honeymoon phase before, much less the end of it. If you're not as in love with each other anymore, why bother staying? He’s still head over heels for Lewis, but maybe Lewis is done with him. Maybe Lewis can explain it on the way out.
What is he even thinking? Lewis loves him. No one night spent apart is going to change that.
This was driving him insane. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe this, maybe that. Hm, yes perhaps. It’s official. He’s going crazy. Lock him up in a white padded room. At least time with Lewis won’t be an issue if he can’t spend time with anyone. How would everyone react to that, he wondered.
Back to wondering. Same thing. Over and over.
George needed a new hobby, he decided. Something to get his mind off of all this. However, right now, at almost 1:30am in a foreign country, he can’t imagine there’s many hobbies he can pick up right now. Towel-folding was always an option. But he had tried that once as a kid, when his mom had bought him a book on it after he’d ranted and raved about how cool the folded elephant was in his hotel room. He was on a cruise, the only official cruise he’s ever been on, actually (yachts don't count.) (gosh, he's a piece of shit.) He wants to say Mediterranean, but it was so long ago he doesn’t even remember that. He can’t even remember what ship it was. All he knows is that there was a towel folded into an elephant, and it inspired him to find out he was absolutely god-awful at folding towels into various animals.
So, that left him with one other option to get his mind off of things. Pay attention to the TV. Credits were rolling now. George opened to see what was on next and was pleasantly surprised to see an avengers movie scheduled for 1:30. All that was left to do was root around his hotel room for a bag of popcorn.
He peeled himself off of the top of his bed, with great effort he may add. The race had taken a lot out of him today. The only reason he hadn’t gone to sleep at 8pm was simply the metaphorical giant hole of anxiety currently brewing in his stomach. The scratchy carpet felt wrong underneath his feet. Even with socks on he was imagining the various liquids left over from previous stays. It had a strange pattern. Reminded him a little of the carpet from the Shining. Suddenly he was a whole lot happier he wasn’t about to watch a horror movie. Looking around at the clothes scattered across his floor he realised maybe this was a bigger issue than he thought. He was usually an extremely clean person. For him to not even see this deviation in behaviour until this late was extremely strange.
He finally reaches the counter-TV stand - thing - in his room and starts looking at the selection of assorted snacks set out for him on a sleek, black, tray. He prepared himself for the outrageous price he would get charged while he reached for the bag of popcorn, before realising he didn’t check for a microwave. He slowly put the popcorn back, and started opening every single cabinet there was. Now, George couldn’t imagine they’d give him microwaveable popcorn and not a microwave, but he didn’t want to open it just to be left disappointed.
Thankfully, in the closet, right above the safe, was a nice, clean, microwave. Clearly not used very often, as it was in great shape. Now, after that slight delay, he picked up the popcorn, opened the plastic surrounding it, and put it in the microwave for three minutes. He normally didn’t leave it in for three minutes, but he didn’t want to put it in for two and then have to press the microwave buttons again.
So, he stood there, watching the intro to the movie from out of the corner of his eyes. He heard the first few kernels popping, and he could feel his mouth water in anticipation. Normally he wasn’t allowed to indulge himself like this, and he was suddenly extremely grateful that it had been a race day. Finally, when he counted five seconds after the last pop, he turned the microwave off. There were still 40 seconds left on the clock, which he had to clear away, but he grabbed the bag by the corner, trying his very best not to burn himself, and set it down on the counter.
Taking a quick look back at the tv, he saw that the intro to the movie had started, and he, in fact, did not recognize this one. It looked newer, and he hadn’t bothered to watch any of the newer ones. He quickly ran into the bathroom and grabbed a hand towel that was neatly folded off of the shelf, took a second to ponder when people had stopped folding his towels into little animals, and ran back to the counter. He took the bag, moved it to the bedside table, and made himself comfortable in the bed, as he finally displaced the carefully folded sheets to tuck himself in. He placed the hand towel carefully over the blankets on his lap, he’d be damned if he was sleeping in greasy sheets tonight, and turned off the lamp next to him.
The only thing illuminating the room was the faint glow of the TV, which wasn’t much, considering the newest trend in cinematography was to turn the brightness down to about 1%, and grabbed the bag of popcorn, placing it neatly in his lap, on top of the towel. The last thing he did was make sure his phone was plugged in beside him, before finally, finally, settling in.
It wasn’t a bad movie, per se, but now, as the clock read 2:43am, he realised he probably should’ve watched the other ones. The movie didn’t make much sense to him, his popcorn was almost gone. And he was plain bored. And now that he was bored, he was back to his previous thoughts. Which were frankly, quite stupid. Him and Lewis had been going strong forever, even if they were in a little slump right now. He loved Lewis, and Lewis loved him. End of story.
Except was it? This is impossible. Nothing is wrong, and he knows that. So why is he still so caught up on this? Nearly letting out a grunt of frustration, George turned off the TV. This wasn’t doing anything for him. Best of all, he’s still not even tired. Normally the adrenaline from the race would’ve worn off by now, but maybe mixed with his doubts, it’s had a more lasting effect than it normally does.
He turns on his lamp, grabs the almost empty bag of popcorn and the hand towel and walks into the bathroom. He crumples up the bag, puts it in the trash, then throws the hand towel in the corner. Before walking up to pick it up, fold it gently, and place it gently on the counter. No matter how upset he may be, he didn’t want to make anyone else's life harder. Least of all someone who cleans up after people for a living. Walking back into his room and seeing the state of it, he reminds himself to leave a big tip when he checks out tomorrow. Even if it’ll be all clean by then, he can’t help but shake the feeling he’ll probably forget something, and make the poor cleaning lady's life any harder. He had seen her on the first day of his stay, getting back to his room fairly early. He saw her in the hallway working on his neighbours room. He had just meant to say hi like the polite man his mother raised him to be, however it had soon spiralled into a full conversation, with her showing him pictures of her kids, and telling him all about them.
All in all it was a great experience, and she was a lovely woman. And all of that to say, he would rather not leave behind a mess, despite what the state of his room might look like now. He thoroughly inspected the area around his bed for any crumbs of popcorn - finding it bare, thank god - before getting in and tucking himself into the sheets. He closed his eyes and waited for the blissfulness that was sleep. He waited, tossing and turning, not leaving a single sheet in place.
Then, after what felt like years, opened his eyes again, and the clock still read 3:10am. He doesn’t even feel awful anymore. What’s the goddamned point? Seriously. Is it just in the universe's best interests to keep him up tonight? Thanks guys. He’d really like to sleep now though. The world’s not going to end if he sleeps for four hours.
God, and he only had about four hours of sleep anyways. The team's jet left at 9:30am tomorrow, meaning he had to be at the airport latest 9am. It wasn’t a long flight back home, so there were going to be no meals, meaning he had to source his own breakfast before then. And he still had to clean up. Tomorrow is going to be exhausting. Even though George had long since gotten used to the jet lag, he still hated flying. Not due to anything like sickness, imagine him getting plane sick but being an F1 driver? That’d be hilarious. And he wasn’t scared he was going to crash either. If god wanted to kill him in a crash there’d be plenty of other opportunities.
He just didn’t like the fact he was trapped in a metal tube with several people. Maybe it was claustrophobia. Probably not considering, you know, F1 driver. More likely than not, it was just the fact that if anything happened, he’d be stuck with those people for however long, with no way out. All it would take is one unfortunate mistake, or some unfortunate news. And he’d be stuck with people he knew, people he’d see time and time again, for who knows how long.
Tomorrow shouldn’t be awful though, or, today, he supposed. Again, short flight. He’d probably just stay on his phone the entire time as well. No need for pleasant conversation after a race anymore. No ones been in a great mood recently. With their highest result recently being P5, no one can really blame any of them anyways.
Turning over to see 3:15am on the clock is perhaps the most awful he’s ever felt. Will sleep ever choose him? Maybe he’s got insomnia. Scratch that, this is the first time he’s had trouble sleeping in a long time. Normally he has Lewis. Which - actually - brings him to a great question. Where is Lewis? It’s not like Lewis didn’t have his own hotel room, but George was fairly confident - actually 100% confident - that Lewis had at least 90% of his stuff in George’s.
Even if he was staying in his own room, Lewis had promised to say goodnight before bed. And now he was worried about something completely different. Great. Now he’s definitely not getting to sleep.
Turning on the lamp, again, George got out of bed. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants off of the floor, and a shirt that was a few feet away, also on the floor, and quickly put them on. He grabbed the hotel key card, which was quite flimsy, considering, that was on the left, then the one on the right, and put them into their respective pockets. Walking over to the hotel door, he slipped some running shoes on, undid the lock on the door, then undid the other lock on the door, and then opened it. Maybe that was why Lewis didn't say goodnight. George had slipped the real door lock on, so even with a key Lewis wouldn't have been able to get in. But Lewis also would have called him, so maybe not.
Walking down the hallway to the elevators, he couldn’t help but notice the Shining-esque carpet again. He arrived at the elevators. Of which there were about 5 too many, considering there were multiple sets, and was pleasantly surprised to find that no twins had shown up to ask him if he wanted to play. He pressed the up button, Lewis’ room being on the 14th floor, he was only on the 6th. The elevator opened, and George was pleasantly surprised to see no blood spilling out of it (ha) and quickly got in. Hitting the 14th floor button, and then of course the closed door button. It was totally a game changer. He didn’t want to spend a single extra second on this errand than he had too.
Maybe it was wrong to think of it as an errand. Checking on his boyfriend should be something he does out of love. Not out of a fucked up feeling of necessity. Here he goes again. Seems like all he’s been doing lately is overthinking. The doors opened, he hadn’t even noticed that the elevator had stopped, and, he is happy to report that, again, still no twins there asking for him to come and play with them. Ha ha. He’s so funny.
And as George does, while he’s walking down the hallway, he gets to thinking. Maybe Lewis had been finding him annoying lately? Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to have dinner tonight. Because he didn’t want to deal with George. Realistically, it’s probably not true. However, recently these insecurities have been creeping up at him for no reason. Before he and Lewis started dating, he’d never really felt insecure. Didn’t care about what people thought of him. And it’s not like he really cares what people think of him now, he just kind of cares about what Lewis thinks about him now.
It takes until now, in this very moment, in this stupid fucking hallway at god knows what time in the morning, to realise that it didn’t used to be like that. The first year and a bit of them dating was perfect. Then something changed. Maybe it was with Lewis, but he can’t help but wonder if it was him.
And if it was him, was there anything he could even do about it now?
Raising his head up, to look at the numbers next to the door instead of his feet for the first time since the elevators, he realises he’s walked past Lewis’ room. Almost shamefully, he turns around, and walks himself back about 10 rooms, before arriving upon Lewis’ door.
George knocks, just softly, not wanting to wake Lewis up if he was in there, or any of his neighbours, and then presses the key against the sensor. The door unlocks, Lewis not taking to any of the extra security cautions like George always insists on, and he pushes the handle down, and the door in, as quietly as he can. The fact that Lewis doesn't immediately greet him tells him two things. One, he’s either asleep, or not even back to the hotel yet. He saw a soft glow coming from inside, clearly not the main light. Just asleep then. The fact that the light was still on told him he probably just fell asleep while doing something important, and then forgot to wish George goodnight. Mystery solved. He walked a little further into the room, intent on turning off that light, lest it bother him later on.
But then he did a double-take. And then a triple take, and then a - fourth.. take. Whatever that would be. He didn’t have time to think about it.
Right there. Well - no. Not right there, that couldn’t be right. Maybe he was seeing things. Apparently the lack of sleep really did have an effect.
And as long as he wanted to be in bliss, in ignorance, it had to end. His first instinct was to scream. To cry out and demand an explanation. Why was there someone where George was supposed to be? Why was there a girl in his spot? Why did Lewis have his arms wrapped around her? Why didn’t they have any clothes on?
What the fuck? He opened his mouth to - do something. He can’t even remember. He has no voice. It’s gone. What the fuck, what the fuck, what. the. fuck.
The sight of Lewis being wrapped around a naked woman is awful. Maybe if they had been clothed, he could've fooled himself. But with everything he is seeing right now, there is absolutely nothing he can think to delude himself right now.
As tears started rolling down his face, George found himself at a strange crossroad with himself. What is he even supposed to do now? He knows he should probably wake Lewis up. Try to get an explanation for all of this. Demand one. He's owed it. But he doesn’t want to. He loves Lewis. He wants to fix this.
But that isn’t going to happen right now. No matter what he does. He needs time to think. What would he say? Will he forgive Lewis? Will it depend? Is this it? He needs to think before he says or does anything rash. So, with all the courage he can muster, he walks right out the door.
His face was wet, and he felt about a thousand pounds heavier. He now carried this burden. And what was he supposed to do? Jesus Christ. He had to take a flight with this man in like, 5 hours.
But what was he supposed to do with this? He couldn’t confront Lewis. He didn’t want to. He wanted this to go away.
George doesn’t know when it happened, but he was somehow on the floor now. Head in his hands on the dirty carpet. The lowest of lows. Through it all, however, he knew one thing. Nothing was happening in a random hotel hallway. With the effort he imagined it took to wield a million suns, he stood up, wiped his face, and made his way back to his room. He got in the elevator, clicked the 7th floor button, then asked himself what the fuck he was doing, and hit the 6th floor button.
That entire elevator ride, he thought of one thing. Lewis had looked so peaceful. Was that what he looked like when they slept together? Or was it something he reserved solely for this girl. Holy shit. Lewis was cheating on him. This was all real.
George couldn’t stick to one emotion for more than 10 seconds, as he started laughing. Laughing. Jesus Christ. He was laughing. Maybe it was the absurdity of the situation. Lewis was cheating. On him. Lewis. The man he loved. Was in bed. With a woman. A naked woman.
Lewis had bailed on dinner with him. To go sleep with someone else. What the fuck.
And now he was back to crying again. Thankfully, the elevator arrived at his floor by the time his laughing fit was over. Thank god no one was on the fourteenth floor to see that little stunt of his.
He stumbled his way back to his room, walking like he was drunk. Maybe Lewis was drunk. Maybe that’s why this happened. But could that really make it excusable?
Opening the door to his room, he made his way inside. The bedside lamp was on and he couldn’t help but get some deja vu. Deja vu from about 2 minutes ago.
Gosh, it was only 2 minutes ago. Only two minutes from when he walked into an almost identical hotel room and his heart was crushed.
The difference now was that the bed was empty. It would only be housing one person tonight. And probably for the foreseeable future.
Holy fuck the future. What was he even going to do now?
Ok. Calm.
He’s going to list out the facts, take stock of what he knows, and make a plan of action for moving forward. Yes. Plan. That was what he was good at.
As of now, he was the only one who knew. Apart from Lewis and that girl. This didn't have to be a big thing. He could go to Lewis tomorrow, tell him what he saw, say it was over. That was that. They'd make up a story to tell the fans, say it just didn't work but that they were still friends, and everything would work out. A few more months as teammates and then he was free. He wouldn't have to see Lewis any more, except for the occasional GPDA meeting, and some F1 events. It would all turn out fine.
Except for the part where he lost the love of his life. He really thought Lewis was the one for him. He really, really wanted to believe that. Out of everything that had ever happened to him, this is the thing he wanted to work out the most. But now that is gone. Shattered. A distant dream that he's never going to be able to have again.
In another scenario, he works it out with Lewis. He talks to him, and Lewis apologises. It never happens again, and they live happily ever after.
But would they really? Would George be able to be in a relationship with someone he knew had cheated on him, no matter how apologetic they were about it?
And this is when he realises. He's never going to fall asleep next to Lewis again. He's never going to wake up to the soft touches of Lewis brushing his hair out of his face. Never have Lewis turn to him during a particularly long meeting, or dinner, and have him whisper a particularly unkind joke into his ear that has George halfway between concealing laughter and trying to chastise Lewis for saying such a thing. He's never going to have Lewis smile at him again. Never, never, never.
He's here thinking of all the things he and Lewis will never have again, and Lewis is in bed with another woman, dreaming of all the things they’ll have.
He can’t sleep next to a man he knows has been unfaithful. It's just not in him. Right now, he thinks it's breaking him. Even if Lewis woke up right now, realised what he'd done, marched himself downstairs and barged into his room with flowers and chocolates and everything George has ever liked, even if he'd gotten down on his knees and begged for forgiveness, George doesn't know if he'd be able to to do.
All the unknowns start to creep up on him. How long has this been going on? Fuck. These past few months, where everything's been weird, has it been going on this entire time? Is that why? Or was it just this one time? Maybe Lewis had felt the strangeness between them, and tonight was the night he was finally over it. Maybe he had been planning to break up with him.
And, oh god, was he sure he was the only one who knew? What if someone else knew? What if one of his friends knew? What if people in his life knew and were keeping it from George? Could he look at them the same? Could he keep going on, living life, knowing they had kept this from him?
What's worse, he would probably never get a truthful answer. He doesn't know how deep this runs, but most of the time, cheaters don't tell the truth. And right now, that’s what Lewis was. A cheater.