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“Couple of the Year” — that’s what the media wrote when the first photos of two Ferrari drivers on a date appeared online.
At first, they were just rumors that hardly anyone would have paid much attention to, except for the fans. But fans already had wild imaginations, capable of picturing someone like Max Verstappen and George Russell as a couple — two alphas, mind you, who hated each other with a fierce, burning hatred. Still, people are drawn to drama, so that part made sense.
And they’re also drawn to witnessing small, kind, caring moments between other people.
Absolutely no middle ground:
deep hatred or pure love. People never seem to have enough of either in their own lives, so they look for it in others — in celebrities, in public figures living out that blissful, passion-filled life instead of them.
You see, Lewis pulled out a chair for Charles, or looked at him for more than five seconds.
God, Nico knew perfectly well that he and Lewis had also been seen as more than friends, teammates, or rivals. That was probably one of those rare cases where people turned out to be right. There really had been something more between them. But of course, no one ever found out officially — Lewis and Nico had already broken up amid scandal eight years ago.
Eight goddamn years ago.
And yet Nico still clenches his lips when his eyes catch the silhouettes of two drivers in a blurry photo somewhere outside one of the many houses in Monaco. It looked like Lewis’s house. It was Lewis’s house.
There was no doubt — it was Lewis and Charles, holding each other in the tightest embrace. The Monegasque’s head was buried in Hamilton’s shoulder, and it took every ounce of Nico’s willpower not to crush his phone in his grip until the screen made a suspicious cracking sound.
Then more photos appeared. Here they were together in a car, and Lewis had his arm around Charles’s waist again. In another, Charles was leaving Lewis’s house, looking completely disheveled. Damn. Was there really something going on between them?
They hadn’t been together for eight years, and yet he was jealous of Lewis like some lovestruck teenager.
And then came those lines:
“Couple of the Year: Ferrari declined to comment on their drivers’ personal lives, respecting their privacy.”
And somehow, yes and no — nothing could be said for sure.
Of course, in those eight years, neither of them had been without relationships. Lewis was the first to move on — when, in the summer of 2017, six months after their breakup, he was spotted on a date with some celebrity.
Back then, Nico had sent several messages asking to clear things up.
Nico had hoped they would get back together. He truly believed it.
But in response, Lewis just blocked his number.
And Nico understood everything then: it was really over. Nothing would ever be the same again. He played the same game too — one partner replacing another — but all those relationships never amounted to more than flings, and Nico would only open his eyes in the morning, only to squeeze them shut again.
It wasn’t Lewis. It was Katie, John, Mark, Andrea, Vivian — never, ever Lulu.
They saw each other in the paddock — after all, Nico’s new job was sports journalism — but conversations never went beyond polite small talk, and more often than not, Lewis simply avoided him.
Did Lewis really never feel anything for him? But that couldn’t be true. There had definitely been something between them. At first, it was a strong friendship, and then it became a relationship. Nico had really hoped that’s what they were: they had been together for nearly eight damn years. Since 2008, for God’s sake.
Almost as long as they’d now been apart…
They had been so good together: Nico would never have mistaken Lewis’s loving glances, his gentle smiles, and his hands full of tenderness and care.
Nico was an alpha. Lewis was a beta. It was an unusual pairing, and everyone who found out — either by accident (followed by signing an NDA) or directly from them (those they truly trusted) — was surprised.
But that had never been a problem for Nico.
However, it seemed Lewis had always thought otherwise. During their last huge fight, just before the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, he had said it.
Or rather, he had desperately shouted:
“Maybe we should just end all of this? Go find yourself an obedient omega, someone who’ll be happy to play the supporting role, live with him, have kids.” Lewis was blazing like a volcano, the words pouring from his lips like lava, sweeping away everything in their path, turning their flowering oasis into a barren field. Nico’s eyes had been cold back then, and in his inexperience, he probably hadn’t paid those words much heed at the time. “Even if that title ends up being yours — it’s just luck, Rosberg. And you know it. On pure merit, you’d never have beaten me — a beta — you, an alpha.”
Those last words had struck him with terrible force. Why did Lewis say that? How could he have said that?
Nico stared back with eyes that held a mixture of surprise, hurt, and anger. Lewis, too, seemed taken aback by his own words, spoken in a fit of rage, but he merely pressed his lips together and did not take them back.
He truly believed that.
Nico looked at Lewis for a long moment, unable to believe it:
“You really think that? You know how much this title means to me, and you still say that?” Nico let out a hollow laugh — there was no joy in it. “Fine. Have it your way. I don’t care anymore. I’ll take that damn title, whether you want me to or not. No matter if you call it luck or not. And then I’ll walk away. I’m so tired, Lewis. This whole season… What happened to you?”
Lewis said nothing.
And Nico turned and left, slamming the door hard behind him.
He did take the title. And a few days later, he walked away — because he felt that racing had stopped being fun, that maybe it had never really been what he dreamed of.
And what did he dream of? At thirty, it’s hard to say. Especially when you already seem to have everything.
Surprisingly, he quickly found his place in journalism. And he liked it.
By summer, he was ready to make amends.
He definitely didn’t want to lose Lewis.
Because he loved Lewis. In his head, he even had these silly, rose-colored plans — that maybe they could reconcile, move to a new stage of their relationship that they had somehow always avoided: go public, move in together, and even get married in a year or two. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? They already had Roscoe. Maybe get another fluffy friend? God, how Nico missed Roscoe…
But then everything suddenly fell apart: the media published photos of a happy Lewis with a famous actor.
He still had that chat saved — those pathetic messages.
Hey Lewis, tell me I got this wrong?
I thought we could be together
Lewis. Say something?
Please
Pathetic, truly. As was the red, glaring notification that appeared right after: “Lewis Hamilton has blocked your number.”
That really was the end. Once and for all.
And yet, for all eight of those years, Nico couldn’t stop himself from keeping track of Lewis — his life, his wins and losses, his new romances, his subsequent breakups. For several years, Lewis’s life didn’t look all that different from Nico’s… until Nico realized:
They aren’t Lewis. And they never will be.
To some extent, he had grown used to that dull ache somewhere in his chest, seasoned with jealousy. He had learned to manage it.
But what was different now? Why should the news that Lewis might be in a relationship with Charles — his own teammate — change anything?
Hell, yes, it did. Everything changed.
Ten years ago, Nico had brought up the idea of coming out, of telling the whole world about their relationship, of finally stopping the hiding and being honest with everyone.
That proposal had been met with a firm refusal. Nico had been surprised and deeply disappointed. Lewis argued that they shouldn’t do it — it would create unnecessary noise around them, their privacy would be shattered, and besides, their contracts had a clause prohibiting relationships with other drivers, including teammates.
At the time, Lewis’s reasoning seemed logical, so Nico let the idea go. But it stayed with him, lurking beneath the surface of his consciousness for two full years, right up until the fateful 2016 season.
Someone just needed to leave so they could finally be together — properly, fully. He wanted the whole world to know that Lewis Hamilton was his partner, simply his. He wanted the whole world to know that he, too, belonged to Lewis Hamilton.
That “someone,” without a doubt, was supposed to be him.
Lewis had been born in a racing suit, no question. He was perfect. Truly unparalleled. Nico didn’t consider himself a weak driver, but he didn’t know if he would have ever made it without his father putting him in a kart as soon as he could walk. Lewis was different: a natural prodigy, pure talent, a brilliant mind. He may not have had those alpha or beta instincts, but he had passion, an inner energy unlike anything else. And he also had the gentlest smile, a hypnotic voice that affected Nico more powerfully than any scent, his silly, playful humor, and those warm, coffee-brown eyes.
Nico had loved him so much.
He used to dream that after two years, or maybe three — sometime in early 2017 — they could finally tell the world they were together.
But as early as the end of 2015, Lewis started acting unlike himself. They began fighting over nothing — first about racing, then about their relationship itself: “Don’t leave marks” (even though Lewis actually loved them, Nico knew that), “Don’t come into my garage,” “Wait, you went to the factory? What for?” “Did you arrange to have my engineer reassigned to you?” (Nico had gone there to quietly feel out the possibility of leaving at the end of the season and to understand what his penalty for breaching the contract would be.)
Lewis stopped coming to their shared apartment, leaving Nico waiting late into the night. He didn’t answer messages, ignored calls. Then, by the summer of 2016, he said they needed to take a break — that they had to focus on racing. Nico hadn’t understood how racing could interfere with their relationship when everything had been fine before, but he agreed, if that was what Lewis truly needed. But Spain, Austria, Baku — all of it only drove them further apart.
Once, during that period, they did spend a night together. It was their last night together.
It was a short break in the summer of 2016, nearly August.
Nico was in a rut. His body craved an omega. But he called Lewis instead. He wanted only Lewis.
Getting through a rut with a beta isn't easy — stupid physiology and nature, though Nico had always believed himself stronger than that — but in that vulnerable moment, Nico wanted no one but Lewis.
He called him, and in a voice so plaintive — almost begging — he asked Lewis to come to him.
Lewis listened to his plea, then hung up immediately. Nico thought he wouldn't come. But he showed up an hour later, carrying bags of groceries and medicine.
Nico couldn't hold back then. Lewis was saying something in a displeased tone, putting the groceries away on the shelves — he seemed annoyed that Nico hadn't prepared properly, that he'd been so careless about this moment.
But Nico just missed him. He grabbed Lewis in his arms and kissed him. And Lewis kissed him back.
They kissed greedily, as if it were their last time — and God, it was. If Nico had known that, he would never have let Lewis leave his bed in the morning.
The night was long, but blissful. Lewis was pliant, obedient — which, honestly, wasn't really like him. Usually in bed, he had the same hobby he had on the starting grid: domination. Still, he was passionate as always. Maybe Lewis knew this was their last night together. Maybe he just didn't care.
After the storm of passion, this conversation took place between them:
"Are we back together?" Nico asked hopefully, while Lewis traced simple patterns on his bare chest. They were covered only by a single sheet, their naked bodies pressed skin to skin.
Lewis was silent for a moment, then gave an evasive answer:
"Were we ever not?"
"You know what I'm talking about. This break — is it really necessary?"
"Nico, what do you dream about for the future? Besides the title, I mean."
Lewis asked the question so suddenly that Nico was momentarily thrown off.
"Well," Nico hesitated. Lewis's touches on his skin stopped, and he pulled his hands away from Nico's chest. Nico felt a chill — it was probably there all along, but under Lewis's warm touch, he had been warm and content. He wanted to take Lewis's hand and put it back. Preferably over his heart. But of course, he didn't. "Why don't we go on vacation? We haven't had one in so long. Not here in Monaco, or in Europe. You've always dreamed of going to India. Why don't we take a trip through Asia?"
"And family?" Lewis asked quietly, lifting his eyes questioningly. There was a question in them, and something else — something like fear. As if he was afraid of hearing something from Nico...
"What about family?" Nico didn't understand and furrowed his brows.
"Never mind, Nico," Lewis smirked. "To answer your question: Nico, we've already talked about this. This is necessary for both of us. We... Wait until December. Please."
In the morning, Nico woke up alone. Only the rumpled, empty half of the bed reminded him that it hadn't been a dream — that his Lulu really had been there.
The necessary set of medications on the nightstand shelf, a fully stocked refrigerator, and a lone sticker on the fridge door also spoke volumes.
The sticker read: "Eat a balanced diet. Don't forget to take your pills. I think you can handle this, dude."
A typical message from Lewis back then — it warmed Nico's heart and gave him a glimmer of hope. Everything would be fine. This was all temporary. By winter, they would be together again, and no Formula 1 would stand in their way.
So what changed, Lewis, that you now think being in a relationship with your teammate is perfectly fine?
Nico watched the interview closely that evening, after seeing the photos of Lewis and Charles pop up in his news feed.
"In royal motorsport, for many decades now, anyone has been able to compete, regardless of secondary gender — alphas, betas, omegas. There are stories of love in the paddock, like with Michael Schumacher and Mika Häkkinen. But nevertheless, everyone knows that Formula 1 has strict rules regarding relationships between drivers. What do you think about that rule?" — The question mentioned no names. Of course, journalists had been given a strict veto on questions about Lewis and Charles's possible relationship, but they weren't fools — they'd found a way to dance around it.
Lewis froze for a moment, tensing up — Nico recognized it in the way his shoulders drew together, in an uncharacteristic touch to his own cheek.
"I think there's some sense to that rule," Lewis answered slowly. "But on the other hand... Um, I think that, probably, drivers aren't immature teenagers — they understand the seriousness of a relationship with anyone. Especially with other drivers... The lives of drivers are their private lives, and no regulations... Um, shouldn't interfere with that."
"So you think this rule is unnecessary?"
"I'm nearly 40 now — to me, it probably seems silly. But maybe for younger drivers, it makes sense. But here too, you have to consider... whether it violates other rules. Well, for example, the Convention on Human Rights?" He laughs awkwardly. Nico could hardly imagine the backlash Lewis would get for such candidness — that was one thing. And why was Lewis speaking about this so calmly, as if he hadn't been deathly afraid of those very rules in the past? — that was another.
Somewhere inside Nico, something began to boil like lava. Rage surged through him, and he gripped the remote control. Too aggressively.
"Have you had or are you currently having a romance with a colleague from Formula 1?" — The question was too obvious. That journalist would probably be banned from future interviews.
Clearly, they meant the Monegasque Leclerc. Everyone was thinking of him when Lewis suddenly and openly admitted:
"Yes, I have."
The room fell silent for a moment, then a murmur of voices arose:
"Who? Who was it?"
"Mr. Leclerc?"
"Sebastian Vettel?"
"Charles Leclerc?"
"Daniel Ricciardo?"
"Nico Rosberg?" — a voice cut through the clamor.
Nico himself froze, tensing up. Of course, such rumors had circulated in the media too — after all, being together for eight years completely without any speculation or gossip was certainly not easy. But everything had died down once Nico left, and by the summer of 2017, both of them had appeared in the company of new flings.
"I don't think it's necessary to publicly broadcast information about my private life. But that was a long time ago. Some... eight years ago. I used to be very close with that person, but now he's no longer in racing. So it doesn't really matter anymore."
Why was he admitting it so openly? He really did mean Nico...
"Was it Nico Rosberg?"
"That's only your assumption. As I said before, I won't name that person."
"Excuse me...!" came the voice of Lewis's manager. "The interview time is over."
Nico switched off the plasma screen in his lonely Berlin apartment. He was there for work — unfinished work, at that — but his hands were already reaching for his smartphone and the flight booking app. Departure in an hour, and in two more hours he would finally be in Monaco, ready to put an end to this matter once and for all.
He wanted to know everything: what was going on between Lewis and Charles, why he suddenly thought the rule banning relationships was stupid, why he had started talking about their relationship at all, and most importantly — why, in 2016, he had turned into a complete stranger and decided to destroy their relationship.
That wonderful relationship, full of love and complete understanding. The kind that Nico still couldn't get out of his head — neither the relationship, nor Lewis himself.
---
The flight was nerve-wracking. Nico tried to fall asleep, but nothing worked. As soon as he closed his eyes, there they were, as if burned onto his retinas: Lewis and Charles, happy and in love, teammates who had managed to do what he and Lewis never could.
And in his ears, contradicting the photos, Lewis's voice flowed:
"Yes, I have... But that was a long time ago. Eight years ago. I used to be very close with that person, but now he's no longer in racing."
Of course, they could have changed over those eight years — and they truly had changed a lot — but Lewis didn't have to answer so directly, so clearly. On the other hand, eight years ago, close, no longer in racing... That description could fit many people, and perhaps Lewis had simply found a way to create a new media buzz around himself?
Had Lewis really become someone who would use their past relationship — the one he had been so afraid to reveal — to attract attention? Anything but that, surely. Not their relationship. Nico was certain of that.
"It's only your assumption..."
Why hadn't he said a clear, straightforward no? He should have, if he didn't want every media headline by this evening screaming about a confirmed past relationship with Nico Rosberg, stirring up those years when they were teammates. Or had Lewis simply gained so much confidence that he genuinely didn't care what anyone thought?
Nico wanted answers to all these questions.
And on top of that, he wanted something simple, stupid, childish — to see that familiar face, to look into those coffee-brown eyes, to hear that voice. Not through a screen or from a distance, but face to face, eye to eye.
If Nico could even manage to talk to Lewis — he avoided him like the plague.
---
--
Lewis had moved to a different address several years ago, and whereas before — very, very rarely, maybe once a year — they might run into each other on some street, that no longer happened. And Monaco was tiny; running into someone you knew was a normal occurrence.
But Nico knew the address. It didn't matter how or where — he was sociable enough to find out quickly. His acquired journalistic skills certainly helped. He'd learned it casually, as if by accident, but well enough to calm his alpha.
To calm himself.
He had never headed in that direction. And if somehow he happened to pass by, he never allowed himself to stop at that luxurious mansion with the street name and the number 06.
A funny coincidence.
But now he was here.
He hadn't even gone home to change. He needed Lewis.
The interview had been in a studio in Monaco, and Lewis was surely home by now. Unless he'd gone somewhere else.
But Nico had waited eight years. He could handle this.
He rang the gate buzzer uncertainly. There was a video camera. Lewis might simply not answer.
"Nico," came a serious voice after a moment. "What do you want?"
"Hi," Nico said. Hearing that familiar voice through the intercom was so strange, so nerve-racking, and Nico felt his earlier confidence slowly giving way to fear. "I want to talk, Lewis."
Lewis sighed. The sound of a door unlocking came through. He had known Nico would want to talk, hadn't he?
When Nico stepped into the courtyard, he realized that this was probably the house Lewis had always dreamed of. Large, with a beautiful garden, a pool, a huge gazebo, plenty of space for Roscoe to play, and paved pathways. Before him stood a massive three-story house with wide panoramic windows. On the roof of the three-story mansion, he could see solar panels.
Just as he reached the front door, it swung open, revealing Lewis Hamilton in a loose black tank top that showed off his toned biceps, and matching black shorts. Roscoe was lounging majestically in his arms, and the dog barked in recognition the moment he spotted Nico. God, the dog remembered him? Nico looked at Roscoe and smiled softly.
Lewis looked completely at home — he had clearly been back for a while.
Damn. Even like this, Lewis was beautiful.
"Quiet, Charli is sleeping," Lewis grumbled disapprovingly at his dog, who was already ready to leap out of his arms and either charge at Nico or dash outside.
The smile froze on Nico's face.
What did he mean, "Charli is sleeping"?
Lewis set the dog down on the floor, and Roscoe affectionately rubbed against Nico's legs before running off to play on the lawn.
"She remembers you."
"Yeah," Nico shrugged, completely flat. All his enthusiasm was fading away.
"Come in," Lewis stepped back and motioned for his guest to enter.
Nico stepped inside hesitantly, already suspecting that what he was about to see — and find out — he wasn't going to like. Maybe he had made a huge mistake, acting on impulse like this?
The house was cozy, smelling of fresh pastries and coffee.
Lewis couldn't bake — cooking had always been Nico's domain — but he made excellent coffee. Nico felt a pang of jealousy at the thought that this coffee had been brewed for someone else.
Could Charles have used the oven? That thought stung a little.
Were they already living together, with a shared domestic routine? His chest ached.
Nico wasn't very familiar with Charles Leclerc's scent, but the house smelled of pomegranate and magnolia, so he assumed that was how the Monegasque driver smelled.
Lewis led him to the living room and politely asked:
"Water, coffee, tea? Coke?"
"Water, thanks."
Lewis left for the kitchen.
The living room was bright and spacious. Nothing excessive — minimalism and simplicity: high white ceilings, Italian wooden furniture, a brown sofa. A plasma screen, shelves filled with books, discs, cassettes. But Nico couldn't suppress a gasp of surprise when he spotted a photograph of the two of them as children on one of the shelves.
There they were, together, holding a shared karting trophy — barely twelve years old, chubby-cheeked and carefree, smiling at the camera. That was twenty-five? Twenty-seven years ago? So many years ago.
For some reason, Nico didn't have this photo — and he had thought he had them all. He had kept every photograph of them. In frames, in albums, in his phone's gallery. Madness.
He wanted to believe that Lewis had kept it not just as a memory of childhood racing, but because it was their first shared trophy.
"I found that photo in England, in my father's office," Lewis said with a hum, and Nico flinched. "Do you remember it?"
"Yeah," Nico nodded, warmth and amusement coloring his voice as the memory surfaced. "We destroyed those two British snobs."
"I'm British too, Nico," Lewis smirked, setting a glass of water on the table in front of the alpha. He hadn't brought anything for himself.
"You're different," Nico waved a hand dismissively and took the glass of water. He still couldn't take his eyes off the photo. Old, a little worn, but carefully preserved in a simple but sturdy wooden frame with glass.
Lewis raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"Different how?"
"You're my friend," Nico shrugged — and Lewis froze, the smile fading from his face as he grew serious. But Rosberg didn't stop there. "And also... an ex-lover."
"Nico," Lewis took a sharp breath, trying to interject. "That's all in the past."
"Why?" Nico decided to drop the small talk and finally get to the point. He clenched his hands into fists, his blue eyes flashing cold. He was ready for a serious conversation.
"Why what?" Lewis continued impassively, though he too began rolling his shoulders back, as if trying to shake off the tension. The tension of this conversation.
"Why are we friends in the past tense?" Nico frowned. "You decided that unilaterally — just like you did with our relationship."
"We couldn't possibly have been friends after what started between us in 2008."
"Call it what it was. It was a relationship. That's first. And second — then why did I find out in 2017 that we weren't together anymore not from you personally, but from the news, when you were spotted with some guy?"
They were both adults, and Nico wasn't about to throw a jealous tantrum, but he had no problem admitting:
"First, I was consumed with burning jealousy. I wanted to find that guy the same day and punch his face in. I felt so terrible — I couldn't sleep, and like a maniac, I kept waiting for even a single sign from you. And then, a couple of days later, you just blocked me. I begged you so pathetically to answer me."
In their past, Nico had never allowed himself to show jealousy, and they had what modern language would call a healthy relationship. Lewis had never liked jealousy — he called it foolish — so Nico never behaved that way either. Even though it twisted his insides when Sebastian put an arm around Lewis, when models invited into the paddock flirted with him, when...
But these eight years had changed something in him. Every piece of news about Lewis's relationships, about his social circle, made the alpha inside Nico growl, bare its teeth, rage. That was probably a side of him Lewis had never seen before. And in response to Nico's words, Lewis raised an eyebrow in question.
Lewis listened in astonishment, but quickly shot back:
"But you had relationships too. Don't act like some damn martyr, Rosberg. Do you think I was jumping for joy all through 2017 and 2018 when photos kept coming out of you partying in clubs across Europe and the US, hitting on girls and guys?"
"But you started it first, Hamilton. You, not me. I was angry. I hated you so much," Nico hesitated for a moment. "Hated myself — for the way things ended between us. I wanted to change everything."
"You wouldn't have changed anything. That relationship was doomed from the start," Lewis's voice wavered, and he dropped his gaze somewhere toward the table.
Nico didn't like these conclusions of Lewis's at all. Why did he think that? Everything had been good between them, and nothing should have been able to tear them apart.
"Why do you think that?" Nico bit his lip. "I thought that in 2017 we would finally announce that we were together. You would race, I would do reports and interviews. I thought we would become a real family."
At that, Lewis suddenly bristled:
"That was only in your head. Other people thought differently."
"What other people?" Nico didn't understand. "What even made you think that way? Doesn't it matter what we want?!"
"Easy for you to say, alpha," Lewis smirked. At that moment, all his previous mask of calm fell away, revealing his raw, exposed core. Lewis spoke emotionally, his voice rising. "I'm a beta. You would never have built a family with me."
Nico froze. Could Lewis really have thought they were too different, that their relationship was wrong?!
"I don't understand. I'll ask again: doesn't it matter what we want? I wanted you, our family, our home, our Roscoe, and maybe another pet. And you? What did you want in the end?" Nico couldn't believe it — that the real issue had been that Lewis was a beta and he was an alpha. His mind refused to accept that this was the true reason they had split up so stupidly.
"I wanted you to be happy," came the revelation that made Nico freeze. "But I didn't want to suffer either. We could never have had a real family, and one day you would have realized that there are plenty of omegas in the world with whom you could build a real family, Rosberg. With nests, with scents, with children. You always loved kids and wanted them — don't lie to me."
Nico didn't understand. He truly didn't understand anything anymore.
"I never... I never needed any omega, Lewis! Why would you think that? Did I ever do anything to make you doubt my feelings?" Nico shook his head in disbelief. "Even now, eight years later — why am I still searching for answers? Why am I here, Lewis?"
Hamilton had no reply. He avoided Nico's gaze, looking somewhere to the side, his shoulders sagging — there was no point anymore in hiding behind ease and indifference.
Nico studied the familiar features of Lewis's face — he recognized every contour, every line — but he couldn't comprehend a single thing Lewis was saying. Lewis had never been one to bow to stereotypes. They had discussed this so many times, so many... So many times Nico had said that no omega, no beta could ever compare to Lewis. But apparently, that had never been convincing enough for Lewis.
"Children are great, but that's not a requirement for me, Lewis," Nico said forcefully, staring him down. "For me, the most important thing was always having you by my side. Nothing else mattered."
"Nico, let's just drop this, shall we?" Lewis finally lifted his eyes to meet Nico's. "So much time has passed. We both have our own lives now. You're doing great in your role as a journalist." The attempt at a smile came out crooked, and the compliment felt tight, insincere. But Lewis was too exhausted to try and fix it. "I keep racing. You have new relationships, I have..."
"You have what, Lewis?" Now it was Nico's turn to spill out everything that had been eating at him. "Charles Leclerc? Your new boyfriend, who, by the way — oh, right — is your teammate? A driver you're in a relationship with?"
Nico clenched his jaw. He needed answers.
"That's none of your business," Lewis replied darkly.
"Why not, Lewis? I think it is. What changed so much that now the ban on driver relationships is a violation of rights and conventions?"
Nico had made it perfectly clear that he had seen and heard everything. Lewis swallowed hard but answered.
"A lot has changed, Nico. Look in the mirror, for one thing. We're not as young as we were ten, twenty years ago. Our thinking should have changed too. But I understand what you're angry about. Still, Nico, situations are different... And back then, it would have created more problems than benefits for us."
"So how was our situation different from what you — Lewis — seem to have now with Leclerc?"
"How about the fact that I'm a beta and you're an alpha?"
Nico wanted to scream at Lewis. It took the last shred of his willpower not to. Lewis loved to argue, loved to fight to the bitter end — and that was probably part of why Nico was in love with this idiot — but it was still infuriating. Some things really hadn't changed.
"And now? He's an omega, you're a beta — does that make everything easier?"
The logical counterargument made Lewis frown.
"I'll say it again: it's none of your business."
"Maybe I should ask him directly? He's right here!" Nico jumped up from the sofa, ready to go find the Monegasque. "You told Roscoe, 'Charli is sleeping.' How sweet — he's already Charli to you, isn't he?"
"No, don't!" Lewis sprang up after him, grabbing Nico by the forearm. "He just fell asleep, and..."
He stopped short when their eyes met.
Nico looked down in surprise at the hand gripping his forearm, then back at Lewis, whose face was full of agitation.
The nearly thirty years of their shared history flashed before Nico's eyes, and a pulling ache spread through his chest. Did Lewis really love Charles that much?
"Are you really together?" Nico understood that yes, they were — he could see it in Lewis's tense shoulders, his pursed lips — and he knew that this might be the end. Finally, there was someone in Lewis's life he was willing to fight for. And it wasn't Nico. It was Nico who still couldn't let go of what they'd once had.
"Yes, Nico. And now —"
"No," came a voice from the side — like thunder from a clear sky.
Both Nico and Lewis turned their heads toward the staircase, where the Monegasque stood. Sleepy, barefoot, and tear-stained in his pajamas, he tiredly surveyed their tense figures. What on earth was going on here?
"We're not together with Lewis, Nico," he stated flatly. "The media made it up. We're... we're just good friends. And I'm here because... Well, something happened. I broke up with my boyfriend."
He gave a crooked, strained smile and padded back upstairs.
"Charles!" Lewis called after him.
"Sorry, mate," Charles replied from above. "But you both need to stop this. Good luck."
"What the..."
Nico now looked at Lewis, and despite everything, the alpha's lips were threatening to break into a smile. Lewis was hiding his gaze somewhere on the floor, unable to find the strength to look at Nico. Nico's eyes lingered on Hamilton's hand, which still hadn't let go of him. This situation seemed to have embarrassed him.
"So you're not together," the alpha stated. "Then why lie to me, Lewis?"
"It's none of your business," Lewis mumbled.
Magnificent in his embarrassment. Funny in his lie. His beloved Lulu.
Nico gently placed his hand over Lewis's and lifted it from his shoulder. Lewis flinched at the touch of that soft, warm hand.
Then Nico did what he had longed to do for so long — he simply embraced him. Grabbed those warm shoulders, buried his face in the top of Lewis's head, and pulled him close to his body. Close to his heart.
But somewhere inside, fear still burned that he would be pushed away, rejected. So Nico savored this moment, closing his eyes. Maybe he would be shown the door. Maybe Lewis would hate him even more. Maybe they would never speak again. But this embrace felt right, necessary, as if it had always meant to be.
Seconds passed, then minutes, and Lewis didn't break the embrace. He stood frozen — no returning hug, no attempt to pull away. Just standing there, arms hanging at his sides, his face pressed against Nico's chest.
"I loved you so much, Lewis," Nico whispered. "I love you so much, Lewis. These eight years have been torture for me. I... I tried to love someone else. But no one has ever been you, Lulu... You can reject me, but I don't think I'll ever be able... to forget you."
Lewis said nothing, but Nico felt the fabric of his shirt growing damp. Lewis's back trembled, yet he didn't let a single sound escape.
Nico held him tighter, his fingers stroking Hamilton's back, and he didn't notice when he himself began to cry. Silently, painfully, releasing all the pain from his heart. This conversation had been necessary for both of them, no matter how it would end.
---
Before the Italian Grand Prix — Ferrari's home race — a briefing was organized. However, questions unexpectedly (though not really — it would have happened anyway) turned to the drivers' personal lives, given all the noise over the past few weeks that was only just dying down. But that didn't mean they didn't want a sensational headline, the truth — which, of course, no one would give them.
"Lewis Hamilton, you once mentioned that in the past you were in a relationship with someone in Formula 1," a journalist's voice came through the microphone. Lewis didn't need long to recall that interview — Nico, standing below among the journalists, couldn't suppress a smile. Lewis looked his way and also smiled, very carefully, with just the corner of his lips.
Cameras clicked, equipment hummed, air conditioners droned. Beside Lewis sat his teammate — seemingly the only one who noticed the mysterious glances passing between the two world champions.
"Does that mean it was definitely not your colleague, Charles Leclerc?"
Charles smiled at the question as if it were some silly joke. Lewis smiled too, glanced over at Charles, and smirked:
"Were we or are we in a relationship? They're asking us this."
He was just trying to joke, expecting an equally playful response from his friend. But Charles, as if he'd made it his mission to ruin everything in the best possible way, took the microphone and, without a shred of remorse, quipped:
"If my Lewis's heart weren't already taken, maybe I would try to make that true."
Lewis's eyes widened noticeably. He looked at Charles with a questioning expression — What the hell are you saying? — but Charles just shrugged: What did I say?
Pandemonium broke out in the room. Instead of answering who it was, Lewis merely responded to their first question:
"No, of course not. Charles and I are not dating. Have you never hugged your friends?"
Nico was the only one watching from the sidelines, making no attempt to learn the name of the seven-time Formula 1 champion's mysterious lover.
The host skillfully redirected attention to Charles, and the journalists, realizing they wouldn't get answers after all, finally began asking Charles questions.
"Your former teammate, Carlos Sainz Jr., has been outpacing you in qualifying. Do you feel any pressure?" Charles flinched slightly at the question but answered in the calmest, most measured voice.
Lewis swept a worried glance over Charles — until his eyes found Nico, standing apart from the noise.
But he quickly looked away when Nico, completely unashamed, winked at him.
They weren't together yet. But they were on their way.
That evening, Nico left, but before he did, he asked if they could talk again later. And the very next day, Lewis sent him the address of a park. A secluded spot deep within the park, surrounded by Monaco's picturesque views, accompanied their conversation.
They talked for a long time — with feeling, with emotion — but in the end, Nico couldn't help but ask:
"You do realize we could start over from the beginning, don't you? We should, Lewis. Please, give us a chance."
Lewis didn't answer right away. He just sighed, resigned:
"What if it doesn't work out?"
Nico wouldn't even entertain the thought. Yes, they had changed. Yes, there would always be gossip and attempts to intrude on their private lives. But if they didn't try, if they didn't make the effort, they would both regret it forever.
"It will definitely work out for us," Nico said, and then, following an inner impulse, he rose gracefully, extended his hand, and said: "Let's go."
"Where?" Lewis didn't understand. His dark sunglasses hid eyes full of blue surprise.
"On a date," Nico smiled crookedly. "We have some catching up to do, Lu."
───
Two years later.
Nico looks around, trying not to bump into anyone truly annoying. He's walking through the open zone in Canada, alongside his good friend and cameraman, who's telling Nico something about the past weekend with his family. Rosberg keeps up the conversation, but he doesn't let his guard down. It's not easy being a former Formula 1 driver, the 2016 World Champion, and — now — the spouse of a seven-time World Champion. But he's not complaining.
Especially when that spouse is Lewis Hamilton, ready to fight for his eighth title — and, it must be said, handling it quite successfully.
But the media are still clingy. So the moment he steps into the media zone, he's surrounded by a few pushy colleagues who absolutely need to know who Nico is rooting for. What stupid questions?
"Mercedes, of course," he begins with a serious expression — and then smiles: "My husband is Lewis Hamilton. Who do you think I'm rooting for? My Lewis is the best."
The journalists smile, satisfied with the answer.
Lewis smiled too. Ten minutes later, Charles forwarded him the video with silly emojis and the caption: "Your husband is so sweet."
They were finally together. They were happy.