Archive of Our Own

Alex was worried when George invited him to the hotel room the team had put him up in for before preseason training, for no other reason than he hadn't seen George in over a month and didn't know if he could handle it yet. 

It's winter break and after a season that has been up and down for both of them, it should be nice for Alex and George to be able to just catch up. Without the stress of an impending race or upcoming meeting to prepare for looming over them, but for Alex the idea of seeing George was stressful, albeit in a different way. 

Originally his plan was to make some lame excuse and cancel at the last minute on the day of the proposed meet up, apologise and say they need to reschedule for some time soon. He could blame it on early media shoots or needing extra training, anything other than the real reason he couldn’t see him.

But then he woke up the morning of and saw George had texted him again overnight saying how much he was looking forward to seeing him again. Alex knew he couldn't let him down for his own selfish self-preservation. So he texted back “same!” after yelling into his pillow about how weak he was and all it took was a 10 word text from George for him to go again with all his better judgment. 

It was a bit awkward when he showed up at first, like seeing your friends for the first time after school holidays, but after a meal and some wine Alex was feeling alright. I was overeating, it's fine. They'd caught each other up on practically everything that had happened since they last saw each other, even all the mundane things like what shows they'd watched and liked over the break.

It was going well until Alex laughed at something George said as he was taking a sip of his wine causing him to start coughing immediately as it got caught in his throat. George in turn started laughing too which didn't help the shade Alex was turning, before he got up and got them both a glass of water. Alex drank all of his to wash the embarrassment away before they continued the conversation.

They talked for maybe a minute before he felt something in his throat again. It started with the feeling of dust or a crumb sticking to the back of his throat. Alex thought it was just the wine being persistent and going down the wrong pipe again, hoping it was as he felt the sensation grow, itching its way up his insides. When he could taste it in his nose and back of his throat, he knew. It had come back.

Alex’s darkest secret and biggest shame, had come to remind him why he should have stayed home tonight. No. No, please. Please don't do this now, not here. Alex starts coughing again, the laughter in the gasps for air replaced with fear and panic. Then he feels the pain, hot and wet, cutting its way up his bronchi to his trachea, he knows it's too late to run. The next best, and only option is to hide.

“Christ. Are you okay? Here, drink, have some water.”

George passes his own glass of water over the table to Alex. Alex waves it away still coughing, he can feel it growing inside. Move. Don't let him see. He stands and tries to walk but falls to his knees, just missing the coffee table holding their glasses of wine and the bottles of different degrees of emptiness.

The pain is quick like that, one second you’re enjoying a meal, the next you’re on the floor, gasping for air and scaring your best friend.George lets out a yelp that Alex tries his hardest to ignore as he has his own problems to deal with right now.

The coughs start getting louder, saliva flying out in between breathes before he brings a hand to his mouth to try to contain it. He’s gasping for air like a sick dog in seconds. The only good thing is that he knows it should be over soon, he tries to think about that as he starts to heave, clawing at his throat on all fours. He turns his back to George trying to hold onto some dignity.

He shuts his eyes as he feels the bile and sharp edges of the mass make their way up to his uvula and finally out of his mouth. It's relatively quick, all things considered. He opens his eyes and looks at the damage. Shit. That's new. He can feel George standing right behind him, his hand comes down and gives him a gentle pat before pulling away. “Good boy”. Alex thinks to himself. He turns his head and sees all the colour has left George’s already pale face through the tears threatening to fall from his own eyes.

“It's ok,” He chokes the words out.

His mouth fills with copper and floral as he says it. He says it to try and convince George but it kinda helps in consoling himself. His voice is shot, weak and crackly from the acid seeping into his wounds like lemon in fresh cuts. He turns his body away from George again and spits out more of the painful liquid onto the floor, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before continuing.

“I'm alright."

His voice is shaking, for multiple reasons, and still not convincing. Alex tries to push through the pain as he uses the couch to get himself up so he can grab and destroy the evidence before the last person he needs in the world to see it does.

“Fucking hell mate, I told you smoking as a teen would catch up to you-”

Too late. George looks past Alex, down at the mess on the ground. George seeing the vomit is enough to mortify Alex forever but it's what is inside it that hurts him most. In the middle of the vomit is a bloody clump. As the dark red goo starts dripping off the clump in the middle of the pile and into the flooring, revealing the most heartbreaking part of all of this ordeal.

A full flower head, matching leaves and stem accompanying it underneath. As most of the blood and mucus slides off it almost looks beautiful, like it is blooming for the first time in front of them on the floor of his hotel room. Almost, in a fucked up type of way. George stares with his mouth wide open. Alex finally looks up at George again when his breath catches trying to say something. When they make eye contact George shuts his mouth before stammering at words again. Fuck. Fuck. Alex waves him off weakly as he bends down to the floor.

“Well,”

He picks up the offending flower and closes his fist around it. It makes a horrible wet squishing noise as he does and he almost regrets it but he just had to get it out of his sight, out of George’s sight. He gets to his feet ignoring the pain radiating outwards from his mouth and throat.

“It hasn't caught up with me yet. Kinda wishing it would, haha.” 

Alex looks to George expecting his expression to change with the joke. George just stares at him. It's a distasteful and just outright bad joke really, it's no wonder George doesn't laugh. No normal person would laugh at a cancer joke like that after watching their friend cough up a bloodied lump. But Alex still feels an extra little sting when he doesn't. Alex tries to clear his throat into the hand holding the flower before speaking.

“Excuse me.” Alex nods towards the hallway behind George. George nods and steps out of the way, eyes still wide as Alex limps his way out of view while holding his chest. 

Alex walks to the ensuite of the hotel room and shuts the door and locks it before mentally cursing himself for being so stupid. Stupid for coming here and drinking. Stupid for thinking about him like that in the first place. Stupid. He feels the familiar yet foreign sensation start to build again. Of course it isn't finished with me yet.

He hisses as he turns the tap on with his clean hand before falling to his knees and assuming position. The sensation is so sudden, a violent urge to expel. It starts coming out of him before he can breath to brace himself. Blood and bile and nectar and mucus and spit and dirt.

It takes about a minute and 3 fits of expulsions followed by groans for Alex to know he's clear of it, for now. He catches his breath with his head leaning against the toilet seat. It takes another minute for his vision to come back to him fully, he blinks a few times before bracing to look down at the bowl.

God. It wouldn't be so bad if it was a prettier flower. He half laughs at the thought, spitting out more petals and pink tinted saliva, as he thinks about how the crumpled flowers floating in the water below him taunt him in more ways than one.

He realises he still has the flower from earlier in his hand. He slowly opens his hand over the water letting the crumpled and bruised blossom fall into the bowl, joining its friends with a small splash. He sighs.

It's disgusting. Alex has never understood when people say it's a "beautiful disease”. He hates it. How can a disease even be beautiful? Especially when it does such sickening things to your body like this.

There's snot coming out of his nose and tears running down his cheeks now. He’s resting his face on a fucking hotel toilet seat and toilet water just splashed up onto his arm. He should be thinking about all the diseases he can get from that alone but he's only thinking of one. Just my fucking luck.

All of it is disgusting. Nothing about this is beautiful, not the broken flowers covered in fluids they should never touch. Definitely not the way his heart aches more than any of the physical wounds caused from the progressing disease.

He sniffs and unrolls some toilet paper from beside his head and starts wiping the toilet lid and seat from where stray blue-white petals and bloodied spray have made a new home. He reaches his hand up under the stream of water coming from the tap to wet a wad of paper and get rid of stubborn red ghost marks left on the lid.

He uses the vanity to pull himself to his feet, his legs are like jelly in the worst way. He washes his hands using the fancy hotel soap that just so happens to also be floral scented, of course.

The scent makes him sick now, another downside to his sad life. Great, just what I needed. More fucking wildflowers! He keeps his head down the whole time he scrubs his hands, not daring to look in the mirror before he cleans himself up.

He washes soapy water up his arm and around his mouth, getting rid of any evidence of the painful coughing episode. He leans down to scoop some water up in cupped hands before bringing it to his mouth. Alex swishes the water around till the copper and floral taste starts to fade then turns and bends down before spitting into the toilet, carefully so as to not undo his cleaning efforts.

He wipes his eyes and blows his nose into another wad of toilet paper and tosses it into the toilet and flushes before he finally looks up. Wow. I look like shit. 

It shouldn't surprise him that a quick clean up can't cover up the horrific fit he just had, or the years of mental anguish that lead up to it. He sighs and turns the tap off after one last quick check around the bathroom to make sure there are no stray petals lurking behind to ruin his night even more.

He grips the sink with both hands so hard they start to hurt. It's good. It helps take his mind off the stinging pain from all the new internal cuts of varying sizes. His head is down, pushed into his chest when there’s a knock at the door. Shy, almost apprehensive, stopping for a second after the first knock but then continuing. Fuck.

Again, Alex can't even blame George. Normal people tend to be worried after watching their friends have a violent coughing fit out of nowhere and then cough up a bloody growth, or worse, a fucking flower. Alex tries to test his voice to himself so it doesn't sound like he just went through hell, it barely works. Fuck it.

“Y-Yeah?” His voice cracks instantly and he curses himself for it under his breath. “What's up? I’m almost finished, just gonna be another second.” He hopes George can not be himself and see through the poorly disguised pain for once in his life. He hears a laugh, really it's more of a huff or a sarcastic exhale of air. Alex does not get what he wants, yet again.

“What's up? What's up!? Alex you just threw up blood on my fucking floorboards! And not to mention the elephant in the room- What about the fucking fl-” 

Alex can't handle listening to George say it, he’s barely holding on knowing he's thinking it. He throws the door open and George stops mid sentence and stares at him with an accusatory look. Alex doesn't remember what his plan was when he first opened the door but now that he's face to face with George and his scared eyes, he feels like throwing up again.

“I’m going to clean it up, I promise.” Alex avoids eye contact as he says it

“What?” George takes a step back bewildered, still staring at Alex like a human loading screen.

“I said I’m going to clean it up, so you don't have to worry about a hotel cleaning fee or anything. I wouldn't just leave bloody throw up on your floor, I just had to… pee.”

“Bullshit!” George throws his hands up. Yeah, not my best work.

“Do you think I couldn’t hear you over the water, that I don’t know what throwing up your guts sounds like? Do you think I’m a fucking idiot?”

He doesn’t think he's an idiot as much as his actions make it seem so. Alex thinks the world of George, he just can't say that right now because it's far too real. So instead he settles on a poor attempt at comedy to deflect.

“Bit weird to listen to people in the toilet Georgie. I'll give you a pass, just ‘cause we’re friends.” 

Alex tries to walk past George but he feels a hand on his chest that pushes him back into the doorway. He steadies himself holding onto the door as he sees George’s face change from anger to regret. Damnit. He goes to speak but George cuts him off.

“Fuck you.” His voice is slightly calmer and lower than before, but all the spite stays.

“Don’t call me “Georgie” if you’re gonna treat me like a fucking stranger, lying to my face. Fuck you for even implying that I would care about some fee when you’re in so much pain.”

“I’m fine.”

“No you're not! You’re-” he stops himself before he starts to yell again, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath before finishing his sentence.

“You are sick, and in pain. I don't care about some mess on the floor, I care about you.”

And isn't that a bitch, because that's why Alex is standing in the doorway of this ensuite with cuts in his throat and mouth and sweat beading under his shirt. Because George does care, just not enough. Not enough for what Alex selfishly wants. He wants to laugh but he's still too weak, and he's pretty sure George would punch him if he did.

“It's okay, really it's not that bad.” he raises his hands to protect himself from the potential hit coming his way.

“Okay, okay! That was bad. It hasn't ever been that bad before.”

It's true. Before tonight the most he ever coughed up was half a flower, just enough to wash bodily fluids off and snap a photo of to send into some online botany form to identify it. 

Rosa canina. The “dog rose”, a subpar name for a subpar flower, very fitting for Alex’s situation he thinks. A wild rose species, kinda like the ugly, less known stepsister of the red roses you think of. Native to northwest Africa, western Asia and, of course, Europe.

But Alex knew that, he grew up watching them bloom across London. Saw them right up the road from that little house in King’s Lynn. The only difference between the one that came out of his mouth and the ones he remembers growing up and he saw pictured online was his was light blue instead of pink. An all too familiar blue at that. It’s crazy how almost every element of Alex’s life revolves around a different shade of blue.

“But really, it's okay. I’m okay. That was a fluke, normally it's much tamer. I barely notice it really.”

“You barely notice the fact there's something growing inside you and forcing itself out in a violent and unhealthy manner? Okay. Well that's fine then. Guess we never have to talk about it again. Done and dusted.”

“I know you’re angry and being sarcastic but it would actually be really nice if we could never talk about it again…”

“Too bad. We are talking about it because you think risking your life is so “fine”, you can put up with some questions.”

“I’m not dying, George.”

“Really? I would have guessed differently with the pile of blood and plant matter in my lounge room.”

“I mean I said I would clean it…”

“Shut up!” George throws his arms up in the air.

“It's just, you’re getting really caught up in the mess. As if this is your house and not some hotel Mercedes is paying for.”

“Ha ha. Funny. Really funny. Actually, I’m glad you brought that up. Let's talk about work.” Please let’s not.

“What happens when something happens during a session? When you’re behind the wheel of a vehicle going 300km/h and you start…” George trails off as he waves his hands frantically.

“I don't know. I’ll have to try it and let you know-” George hits him again. 

“Owch!” Alex stumbles into the doorframe, he shuts his eyes for half a second too long revealing he’s still in pain. When he opens his eyes George’s face changes to that horrid expression again. The one made of pity and fear.

“Sorry, sorry.” George bends down and loops Alex’s arm over his shoulder before he starts walking the two of them back to the lounge.

“You don't need to carry me.” Alex can walk… slowly, probably. He's just still a bit unsteady still. It is nice though.

“Because you are so fit and able to walk right now? Yeah whatever.” George sighs as they round the corner of the hallway.

“It’s not for you.” Alex looks up at George confused. “I’m still too mad to be doing anything for you. It's for me,I don't want to be waiting forever for you to hobble your way in here so we can finish talking.” Alex laughs, George looks over his shoulder at him and smiles. It makes Alex aware of something taking root deep inside him. Again. 

George sits him back down on the couch where he was sitting before softly. After making sure Alex is somewhat comfortable George then walks back into the bathroom by himself. Alex starts to shimmy his way down the couch to the pile on the floor when he hears George in the other room. He stops when George calls out.

“Leave it! Just, sit down would you?” Alex sighs and slides back into a semi-comfortable position.

George returns holding some towels and a bowl soapy of water. He drops to his knees and starts mopping up the red mess in between them.

“I can-”

“Shh.”

Alex does what he's told and they sit in silence as George gets to work. He wets one of the towels slightly before wiping at the sludge. He dips the towel back into the bowl and wrings it out before wiping again, repeating the sequence when the towel gets too red in one area and then moving onto a clean dry patch in the towel when the water doesn't help anymore.

There's a torn petal flowing around the pink water, taunting Alex as it swirls in circles in between the dips and George moving the bowl to be closer to him as he cleans.

“I’m sorry.” Alex doesn't know what to say but it seems like a good start. He hopes the words don't sound as sad as he feels saying them.

“It's okay.” George doesn't look up from the red streaks on the floor. “Just don't start on the couch, I definitely won't be able to get rid of the stains.” He half laughs at his own joke, it makes Alex smile more than he should.

George finishes up and gives the floor a final wipe with a dry towel before looking down at his hands. They’re blood stained, dark dried bits and dirt stuck under his nails. He puts his best media smile on to hide how disgusted he is when he sees Alex looking at him.

He picks up the makeshift cleaning supplies and walks away. Alex hears the tap turn on and scrubbing for a minute before George comes back. When he does his hands are clean and dry. He sits on his corner of the couch and runs his hands over his knees.

“So,” he lets the word drag out, urging Alex to explain. Alex obeys, reluctantly.

“So. That totally wasn't the most mortifying thing to ever happen to me."

“Not to make it about me, but it was kinda horrifying on my end.”

“I am sorry.” Alex is more than sorry. “I tried to get away so you wouldn’t have to see, but ya know.”

“Mmm.” George grabs his glass and brings it to his mouth and pauses. Red wine. Of course. He blinks and sips at the glass anyway after a quick glance over at Alex.

“I wish you didn't have to see that, or touch it or anything. I am really sorry George.”

“Stop apologising, it's fine. It was an involuntary thing, a bodily function, you don't need to to apologise. It would be like breathing or sneezing and saying sorry.”

“Not quite the same, but thanks for making me feel better.”

“I try.”

There's another silence, this one is even more loaded than before somehow.

“What happens with work?”

“Are you asking as George Russell who I’ve known since we were kids or George Russell Mercedes AMG formula driver, competitor and also GPDA co-director?” 

“The first one … Both, depending on how vague your answer is going to be.” Alex sighs.

“I’m fine 9/10 times. A scratchy throat isn’t a huge deal, I have cough medicine and tea on standby. I haven’t had any issues during races, yet. One close call during a qualifying session, but I made it to the bathroom and got to clean up before having to go and do media.” George nods, face unchanging from his thinking expression. 

“And if other George Russell must know, I don’t think it changes anything.” George is surprised by that. He goes to say something but Alex starts speaking again.

“I mean drivers have been sick behind the wheel before, it’s not like it’s a new thing. Same thing with being uncomfortable or in pain even. Just another thing I would have to deal with, same with sneezing, I guess. I don’t know, I’d like to think my years of training for my literal job would help me to block it out like everything else.” Alex thinks he was a bit too harsh so he tries to pivot with a joke.

“Also if that George tells anyone I would deny it and sue him.”

“You can’t sue me!” George huffs. Alex smiles and shrugs.

“I could try. Sharing sensitive medical information without my consent. I’ll tie in that you're probably trying to steal Williams team secrets whenever you're in the garage too, just for fun.” 

George opens his mouth in disbelief, Alex keeps going before giving him a chance to shut down his silly idea.

“Who knows, maybe you're coercing me to give them up. You are very powerful and intimidating, you drive for a top team that just happens to be the sister team to the one you got me a seat in, you’re on the GPDA, you’re tall. 

“Shove off. A) I’m not a doctor so HIPPA doesn’t apply. B) I’m not the only reason you got the seat and you know it. And C) you’re taller than me so that doesn't even make sense, wouldn't hold up in court.” Alex shrugs.

“2/4 is still good though, and it would make a hell of a story.” Georges laughs and shakes his head. George's gaze drops after he stops laughing and he turns serious. Alex is glad he can’t see his eyes any more.

“Have you…” Don't say it. Please don’t.

“Have you talked to them, I mean whoever it is, about it?” George pauses after every second word, like he’s scared it’s too much to ask. It would be if it was anybody else asking. Alex is sweating just thinking about all the ways this could go, and how 99% of them are nightmare like scenarios for him. He chooses to answer and put him out of his misery anyway. He did just clean his sick up after all, that's gotta be worth at least a few answers.

“No.” George lets out a breath Alex wasn’t aware he was holding in.

“That’s good! I mean, that you haven’t been turned down. Not that I think you would. Jesus...”

George runs his hair through his hair, it sticks out slightly from its normal place from the sweat that’s forming.

“I mean like, at least you have options.” 

“Not really.”

Alex is proud with how nonchalant it sounds to his ears, he feels anything but.

“What?” George’s head jumps back like he can’t believe the words coming out of Alex’s mouth.

“I’m not talking to them.”

“Why?” George’s eyebrows are furrowed as he leans closer like he might be able to see the answer he wants in Alex’s pores.

“I’m just…not doing it.”

“Why-“ George’s hands start flying around again as if this is the most unrealistic and unreasonable Alex has ever been in his life, he might be right.

“Because-” Alex tries to think of an excuse but can’t think of anything but George and his stupid blue eyes staring back at him.

“It’s none of your business, alright?” It comes out sharper than Alex means due to the stress of being found out.

“Sorry.” George shrinks back into his seat.

“No,” Alex sighs. He’s doing a lot of that tonight. “I didn’t mean to bite your head off. It’s just…Too much for right now.” Or ever. George nods understandingly before speaking.

“How long have you known?”

“A while.”

“A year?”

“A couple.”

“Years? Multiple?” George’s eyebrows shot up his forehead.

Alex picks up his wineglass and starts drinking. The wine is tainted by blood and it stings at all the small cuts all the way down to his stomach. He winces as he swallows. George looks at him shocked,

“I didn't start coughing petals and actual stuff up until 2 years ago, and it was mostly grainy mucus, the seeds I think or the pollen, I don't know. It's been slow. It's been good.”

He grabs the wine bottle and starts pouring it into his glass to refill it before George holds out his hand to stop him.

“Should you be drinking?” Alex laughs.

“I’m not pregnant, George.” George just moves his hand out of the way. 

Alex puts the bottle down and grabs George’s glass of water begrudgingly. George gives a half smile in return.

“Are they worth all this? The pain I mean?” George waves his hand around the room in question. Alex gives an awkward affirmative shrug as he sips what he wishes was still alcohol.

“Jesus. You must like them.”

“That's kinda like the main requirement I think.”

“Sorry, yeah.” George rubs the back of his neck. “Have you spoken to anyone?”

“Just you. It’s not something you tend to bring up on a night out. Plus I wouldn't really trust anyone else.”

“Oh.” George gives an awkward smile. “I meant a doctor. But thanks.” 

“Oh,” Obviously he meant a doctor. Fuck. “No.”

“You’ve been coughing stuff up for years and you've never been checked out? So you don't even know for sure? It could be something else, something bad. You just joked about having cancer. You shouldn’t do that,you know someone is always listening.”

“I'm pretty sure the flower that I just threw up isn't a new type of cancer. It's obvious what it is. Also I don’t think you can just speak your own cancer into existence like that.”

“Sorry.”

“No. You're right, again. I should have talked to someone, I was too scared. Talking to a doctor would make it real. I don’t know, I'm sort of used to it now, it’s been long enough.”

“So, surgery?” It’s a question but George says it's like it’s been decided for him.

“Yeah, it’s not that easy. I’d have to get time off. I don’t know how recovery would be, how long it would take. I mean we all know what happened last time I went in for a routine surgery, I don’t have the best track record.” George grimaces.

“I don’t even know if Williams would let me, they don’t know obviously. It is kinda a major unnecessary surgery, they might not want that type of thing connected to their driver, or even the team.”

“They wouldn’t.” George tries to sound certain but Alex knows he isn’t.

No team would be happy letting their driver run off for an avoidable surgery, deal with rehab, retraining and keep their seat waiting for them without a catch.

“They wouldn’t? It’s literally happened before, to me.”

“That was different.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I wasn’t up to standard and they kicked me to the curb. This time I would be taking months off for recovery and then rehab and there’s still no guarantee I come back 100%. It’s not like a driver has had the surgery before and come back fine, or at least that we know of. That’s more than enough for the seat to get shaky.” Alex can see George getting annoyed from where he’s sitting. 

“Okay, let’s say I get it and I recover perfectly. I’d still have to explain it. I’d have to tell JV and Williams, which I’m sure is a super fun conversation to have with your employer. “Hey James, I’m in love with someone who doesn’t love me back, sad I know, anyway can I have a couple months of leave and also rehab when I come back?” The whole grid would find out, you know how rumours spread. I’d get asked about it by the media, and then the whole world would know that I...” George looks up at Alex confused. 

“Everyone would know I took the easy road out, and being honest, I don’t think I could handle that.” Alex feels pathetic saying it. 

“I think “the easy road” is a pretty big down play after seeing that and the whole “it’s been years” thing.”

“That’s you though.” George always saw the good in Alex and fought for others to see it too. It’s the thing Alex both hates and loves most about him.

“You don’t know the whole story. The media won’t either, so it doesn’t matter. I could go through all of it just to be dropped again at the end.”

“So what? You won’t tell them. You won’t get surgery. So what, you just die?”

“I’m not gonna die. You know you don’t actually die from the flowers.”

“Yeah and you don’t die from car crashes. You just die from the car suddenly stopping. Fuck off.”

“Well it’s true. You die from them entering the bloodstream or choking on something.”

“So, yeah it's the same thing. It doesn’t matter that it's indirect, you still die from the flowers.”

“No, I’m not gonna die choking on a fucking flower. I’m not dying like that.” Alex doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince with that one.

“I’ll be more careful now that I know they are bigger. But I’m not choking on them any time soon. They aren't sunflowers or something.”

“True.” George nods to himself.

“What are they? Do you know?” He looks back at Alex.

“No.” Alex answers too quickly. Liar.

George hums, Alex doesn't know if he's thinking or deciding whether or not to call out his obvious lie.

“They seem familiar.” Alex laughs internally at that. because, of course they do and of course George can't quite put his finger on it.

“They are nice, I mean minus the whole growing in your lungs thing.”

Alex laughs out loud at that one. Of course he likes them. George looks confused for a second before he laughs too.

“What’s it like?” Alex sighs as he shifts on the couch.

“You don’t have to answer. Obviously. I just don't know how you could go on for so long by yourself.”

“It really isn’t that bad, I've been handling it fine on my own. When it started I thought it was just covid or a sinus infection. Just not being able to clear my throat properly. I’ve brought a small fortune in cough lollies since then.” George doesn’t laugh, he just looks at Alex seriously and sad. 

“Anyway. It took years for me to notice what it was. I was coughing stuff up one night and looked at the tissue and there was a little petal sticking out of the gunk.”

George raises his hand to rub his throat. 

“Sorry. That’s really gross.”

“No, it’s okay, I asked. ” he drops his hand away. “So you saw it and you knew?”

“I did, even though I pretended like it wasn’t. I think I always knew, deep down. I don’t know. I knew I had, um, feelings for them and I knew the petals didn’t just float into my tissue. I just didn't really want to connect the dots until it got worse. It’s funny actually, it flares up every now and again. Coincides with ignoring them, ignoring it. At least it does for me, I don't know if it’s a common symptom, I haven't done much research, but yeah. Couldn't really just lie to myself anymore, body’s keeping count and it's a mean bitch on the scoreboard.”

Alex doesn’t know why he’s saying so much, this is the most he’s even spoken or even thought about it since he first realised. He doesn’t know what's more embarrassing, him spilling all his secrets while a little wine drunk or George asks him a couple questions and gives it all away.

When he looks back at George he’s met with another sad face.

“Why,” George looks away but it doesn't help hide the sorrowful face from Alex. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Not really a nice thing to bring up in conversation. Kinda a real downer.”

“Yeah, I know, but it’s me. I could have helped you. I know I’m not a doctor or anything but I could have been there for you. Make it easier, less lonely.”

“That’s not your job. You're my best friend. You don’t need to do anything else.” Alex stops himself before “it’s not your fault.” spills out too. He's glad his intoxicated mind is still working enough for some self-preservation as he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to to sell that lie. 

“Pretty shitty best friend. Never noticed.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, you could at least pretend I’m good at hiding it. It has been years you know. That’s gotta count for something.”

“Maybe for a masochist."

They sit there and talk after that asGeorge finishes the bottle of wine. After George is finished asking questions that Alex only has to lie to answer a few times they change topics and start talking about work.

Where they've been, where they are going. George brings up how he can't wait for the highly hypothetical incoming championship battle between them. How they’ll be swapping the top step on the podium each round and fight it out all the way to the final lap in Abu Dhabi.

The way George speaks about makes it seem certain as if it was written in stone years ago and not some pipe dream. After the night, and years, Alex has had with this disease he's willing to let himself play into the joyful pipe dream.

They move onto their lives, what they’ll do after they retire. George says he wants to race till he’s so old he can barely drive and hates it. Alex would be happy to leave like Nico. Get the championship and walk away from racing, for the most part. Finally reach the goal he set as a young child and go enjoy everything he missed about being normal. Maybe get married and have a kid.

He hopes in the championship winning alternate reality he has the courage to say it. That he tells him and finally gets to take a deep breath and be at ease in his body again without having to forget everything so deeply important to him. He hopes even more that in that far away fantasy world he hears the words he dreams of most nights when he does confess.

It’s greedy to have it all in his dreams, the trophy, clean lungs and the love from the one he desires so much it hurts. But it’s his dream, and isn't that what dreams are for? He allows himself to think about it in his hazy wine drunk state.

He doesn’t tell George about any of his dreams except the retirement after winning the championship from him. He jokes he’ll come back as a pundit, annoy George on grid walks and interviews, bring up the 1 point lead he won by taking the lead on the final lap of the season until he finally retires when he’s old and angry.

After a while George’s answers start to change from his usual dramatic and detail heavy sentences to one syllable hums every now and again. After one too many “yeahs” in places that make no sense Alex sees the sun picking through the balcony window. He leans over the couch armrest to find George is asleep propped up by a pile of couch cushions on the other side.

He stands, quietly so he doesn't wake his friend, and starts to walk past George to the front door. Alex gets six steps before a hand reaches out and brushes against his jean covered knee, halting him in place mid stride.

“Stay.” George opens his eyes halfway and looks up at Alex through his eyelashes. “Sleep here, stay with me. Please.” 

Alex should leave, he needs to leave. He doesn't know what he's saying. He is clearly too tired and too drunk to know what he's saying. What he means. He walks past, pushing George’s hand out of the way with his leg. As he rounds the couch he hears George let out a sad sigh and roll over from behind him. Damnit.

Alex walks into the bedroom and grabs the spares blankets from the cupboard before returning to the couch. Alex can see George shuffle in place happily when he hears him sit back down. He throws a blanket over George and can tell he’s smiling into his pillow by the way his ears are moving. It's just one night. Can’t do any more damage than everything else that has happened so far.

He feels the urge to rip his throat out simmer as he lays his lanky frame down awkwardly on the couch far too small for two grown men their size to share. 

“Thanks.” George turns to Alex but Alex shuts his eyes so he doesn’t have to face him. “Thank you.”

Alex feels his face warm under George’s gaze before he hears him lay back down. He blames the extra heat on the sun rays creeping through the glass and up his body. 

Alex sleeps on the couch that night with a cushion smaller than his head under him and a remote poking him in the ribs. It’s uncomfortable but he breathes easier than he has in a while as he nods off. He dreams of the home he always does.

It’s warm, summertime, and there’s a voice calling out to him for nothing in particular. He sees a mantle, trophies lined up neatly despite the fact some are holding coloured pencils and other small trinkets. He runs his finger over the plaques below them and stops at the inscription on one with silver and gold bent into something like wings.

He can smell wildflowers coming through the open window from a nearby bush and smiles. It’s untainted by rotten copper or unspoken words here. Fresh, lightly sweet, but most of all, freeing.