Work Text:
ONE: The Rookies
Nico H.
Hi Ollie! Nico here 😊
You live in Monaco too, right?
ollie 🐻
Hi nico
Yeah
Staying in my dad’s old flat
Why 👀
Nico H.
Can I ask you something?
ollie 🐻
Sure
What’s up
Nico H.
What’s a good place to take someone like you on a date?
“Guys,” Ollie says, not quite believing the words about to come out of his own mouth, “I think Nico Hülkenberg just—asked me out?”
The conversation screeches to a halt, and everyone turns to him. He angles his phone toward the rest of the group to show them Nico’s texts.
“What do I do?” he asks.
“I say go for it,” Jack says. “He’s hot.”
Kimi wrinkles his nose. “Eh. He’s old.”
“He’s younger than Lewis,” Isack says.
“Like I said,” Kimi says. “Old.”
Jack rolls his eyes. “You can be old and hot, they’re not mutually exclusive.”
“Exactly,” Franco says. “Look at Lewis.”
Jack and Isack hum in approval.
“Sorry,” Ollie says impatiently, “but can we please lock in? I can’t just leave him on read.”
“Why do you have read receipts on?” Isack asks. “Turn it off, bro.”
“Not helpful,” Ollie says tersely. “How do I turn him down nicely?”
“You don’t want to go out with him?” Jack looks disappointed. “Why not?”
“Because I’m not into guys? Like, at all?”
“How can you be sure?”
“Tell him thank you, but you are too old,” Kimi suggests. “Then block him.”
“Or just say, sorry bro, I’m straight,” Isack says.
“But it’s cool that you aren’t,” Jack adds. “Gotta make sure he knows that you aren’t, like, homophobic.”
Franco sighs. “Give me your phone.” When Ollie hesitates, he adds, “I have a lot of experience in these things.”
Ollie’s not sure what he means by that (experience with what, exactly?) but he hands over his phone anyway.
Franco purses his lips, thinking, then quickly types something out and hands the phone back.
ollie 🐻
My gf and i like to party at PARAD1S
But idk if that’s ur vibe haha
Ollie frowns. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“I know,” Franco says patiently. “But Nico doesn’t. This way, he can back off without embarrassing himself.”
Right on cue, two new messages from Nico come in:
Nico H.
Thanks 👍
See you around the paddock!
Franco looks smug. “See? I told you.”
TWO: The Class of 2019
“Hey, isn’t that Nico?”
The club (Paradise, or something like that) is very, very dark, the music is very, very loud, and Lando is very, very drunk, but he’s pretty sure the tall blond guy in the middle of the crowded dance floor is Nico Hülkenberg.
George and Alex pause their debate on—Lando has no idea, actually, he lost the thread of the conversation ages ago—and follow his gaze.
George’s eyes widen. “Oh. Oh wow.”
“It’s him, right?” Lando presses. Everything’s a little blurry at this point. Best to make sure.
“Yeah.” George still looks shell-shocked. “Bloody hell.”
“Huh,” Alex says. “Didn’t know he was, you know. The type.”
Lando frowns in confusion. “Like, the clubbing type?”
Alex snorts. “Sure, that too.”
“Should we say hello?” Lando asks. “Let’s go say hello.” He stands on wobbly legs, only for George to reach out, grab a fistful of his shirt, and yank him back down. “We’re not saying hello?”
“Don’t be daft,” George says.
Lando gapes at him. “What are you on about?”
“He’s with someone, you git,” Alex says.
Lando looks back at the dance floor. He squints. Now that Alex mentioned it, Nico does seem to be dancing with another person—a young guy, by the looks of it. “So?”
“So,” George says, still clutching his shirt, like he’s afraid Lando will run off if he lets go, “it’s rude to interrupt their date.”
“Date?” Lando scoffs. “Nah, mate. That kid’s probably his—I dunno, nephew or something.”
“Nephew,” Alex says flatly. “This isn’t Game of Thrones!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Alex jabs a finger at him. “Do you kiss your uncle on the mouth?”
“With tongue?” George adds.
“What the fuck?” Lando splutters. “Of course not!”
Alex holds his hands up. “I rest my case.”
Lando feels like he’s missed something. “But what’s that got to do with Nico?”
Both Alex and George groan.
THREE: The Teammate
Kevin’s showing Nico pictures of the ongoing renovations in Roskilde when Nico’s phone rings. Kevin can’t get a good look at the caller ID from where he’s sitting, but the look that crosses Nico’s face tells him all he needs to know.
Kevin raises an eyebrow. “Booty call?”
Nico, as unflappable as ever, doesn’t bother denying it. Instead, he just smirks and stands up to take the call.
“Don’t you have better things to do than bother me on a Saturday night?” he drawls as he starts to walk away.
Kevin turns back to his phone, zooming in on the corner of the garden where the kids’ treehouse will go.
“What happened? Are you okay?”
He glances up. Nico didn’t get very far; he’s standing just a few metres away, looking worried. But after a few moments, he relaxes, like he’s been reassured.
“Okay, so tell Enzo to let you in.”
“Right, I forgot. When did he leave again?”
“Well, the building manager should have a master key.”
Kevin snorts. So Nico’s newly-adult son got himself locked out of the condo, and his first instinct is to call his dad who’s currently halfway around the world and physically unable to do anything about it.
“You changed the locks?”
“Okay, but it’s Monaco. The crime rate—”
“Locksmith?”
“They’re closed on weekends?”
“Ask one of your buddies if you can sleep on their couch for a couple of nights.”
“You’ll live.”
“Suffering builds character.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Because I haven’t told him yet.”
“Gabi—”
Kevin knows for a fact that Nico’s son’s name is Paul. Who the hell is Gabi?
“And I will,” Nico says. “Soon, I promise. Just—not now, okay?” He runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “Look, I’ll get you a room at Le Méridien, how does that sound?” He rolls his eyes. “Yes, you can raid the minibar. And yes, you can order as much room service as you want. Great. I’ll send you the booking. Check your email. Bye.”
Nico hangs up and strides back to their table. He doesn’t look surprised to find Kevin watching him intently.
Nico leans back in his seat. “The things we do for love, eh?”
Kevin decides not to touch that with a ten-foot pole. “He sounds,” he considers wording it delicately, but decides he doesn’t give a shit, “young.”
Nico chuckles. “Half your age plus one,” he says. “That’s the rule, right?”
Kevin gives him a withering look.
“Seven,” he says. “Half your age plus seven.”
FOUR: The Son and The Ex-Wife
“Dad’s got a new boyfriend,” Paul tells his mom over the phone, after he’s finished updating her on his internship. (It’s going well; there’s a good chance they’ll offer him a full-time position at the end of it.)
“Good for him,” she says. “It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?” She sounds supportive but also faintly smug, like she always does whenever she hears his dad’s single again. She’s been happily remarried for almost five years now, so she probably thinks she, like, won the divorce, or whatever. “What’s his name? What does he do?”
“His name is Gabriel. Dad calls him Gabi.” Paul calls him Gabi too, because the idea of calling him anything else, like, god forbid, uncle, makes him want to gag. “He, uh, goes to uni in Milan.”
“He’s a professor?” She sounds surprised—academia isn’t exactly his dad’s dating pool—but of course, that’s the logical assumption to make. Unfortunately, nothing about the situation is logical.
“Actually,” he says, “he’s a student.”
“What—” She stops, like she’s belatedly processing his words, then says, “Oh, like a PhD.”
He snorts. “No.”
“Okay,” she says slowly, “so he’s in a master’s program?”
If only. “He’s not.”
“You mean—”
“He’s doing his bachelor’s degree,” he says. “Sports marketing.”
“As a mature student?” she asks hopefully.
He decides not to comment on Gabi’s maturity, or lack thereof, and simply says, “Nope.”
“How did they even meet?”
He clears his throat. “He’s, um. Also doing an internship. Here, in Monaco.” He pauses, then delivers the coup de grâce. “In my company, actually.”
The silence that follows stretches on for so long that he has to pull his phone away from his ear to check if she’s still on the line.
Finally, she says, resigned, “Please tell me he’s at least older than you.”
Paul doesn’t say anything, because—well.
“Jesus Christ.”
FIVE: The Boss
After three decades in F1, Jonathan’s sure he’s seen it all.
That is, until one of his veteran drivers decides to turn up at the biggest race of the year with his very new, very young boyfriend in tow, and proceed to introduce said boyfriend to Jonathan as his boyfriend, in front of God, the entire Sauber garage, and a dozen Netflix cameras.
“Lovely to meet you, Gabi,” Jonathan says, smiling warmly at Gabi like his mere existence hasn’t just made his own job harder by an order of magnitude. Then he turns to Nico and, still smiling, murmurs, “Have you lost your bloody mind?”
Nico laughs like he’s just told the funniest joke.
Gabi, for his part, seems utterly unfazed.
Jonathan desperately casts around for a question that isn’t are you old enough to order a beer in America? He settles on asking, “Is this your first race?”
“No, I’ve been to a lot,” Gabi says, which goes a long way in assuaging Jonathan’s fears about gold-digging. “My dad and my brother are big fans, so I’ve been going to races since I was very young. My first race was at Interlagos.” He glances at Nico. “The one where you got pole.”
“In…2010,” Jonathan says.
Nico shakes his head, smiling at the memory. “Man, that was a crazy qualy. Everyone changed to slicks at the last minute.”
“I didn’t really understand what was happening,” Gabi says, “because, you know, I was only seven years old—”
“Dear god,” Jonathan mutters. He needs to schedule a meeting with Léa in PR soon.
“I just liked watching all the cars go fast,” Gabi says bashfully.
“I mean,” Nico says indulgently, “in the end, isn’t that what racing is all about?”
“My family was cheering for Williams, because of Barrichello,” Gabi adds. “So, in a way, I was cheering for Nico, too.” He smiles beatifically. “I think we were made to be together.”
Jonathan looks at Nico, who only smiles and shrugs helplessly, as if to say, what can you do?
“Right,” Jonathan says. “Well, I’ve got to get going.” He needs to meet Léa ASAP. “But I’ll see you around, Gabi?”
“For sure,” Gabi says. “Nico’s taking me around the garage to do research.”
“Research?” Jonathan glances at Nico.
“For my bachelor thesis,” Gabi says.
“I thought he could interview some of the guys, get some expert input,” Nico adds.
“I see,” Jonathan says.
He needs to talk to Léa right now.
BONUS: The Rookies (again)
“Remember when you thought Nico was asking you out?” Jack asks Ollie, grinning.
They’re on the second-floor balcony of the Mercedes motorhome, watching Nico and Gabi on the street below. They’re deep in conversation, their heads pressed together. Gabi’s talking animatedly and gesticulating wildly, while Nico’s more subdued, nodding occasionally.
Ollie groans and ducks his head. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”
Jack snickers. “Turns out he was just doing research.”
“At least it worked,” Ollie says.
“Yes, thanks to me,” Franco says.
“What do they even talk about?” Kimi wonders.
“My dad is, like, really concerned about the tariffs,” Ollie says. “So maybe that.”
“Cholesterol,” Isack says decisively. “The bad kind.”
“At what age do you start to need help?” Kimi asks. “For—you know.” When they all just look at him blankly, he huffs and demonstrates with his hand.
“Ah,” Franco says. “Impotencia.”
“No way Nico’s on, like, fucking Viagra, mate,” Jack says. “Have you seen his—”