#anywayz

He was about to do it. George was about to do it- he was becoming a world champion. 

He felt tears welling in his eyes, trembling fingers pressing over his mouth to try and hide the grin that stretched his lips. He watched, eyes wide, as George’s car passed the finish line, watched as the flag was waved high, as the fireworks erupted instantly. 

For George. 

He felt the jostle at his side as the team jumped, as the engineers hugged, voices booming around him. George’s voice resounded in his ears, too, where his headset was still firmly secured. He could barely make out George’s words when they came, though he knew already that he’d be listening to them on a loop for the next few days. 

Instead of trying to listen, he followed the movement as the team crowded at the edge of the garage, waiting eagerly for the new champion’s car to finish its cooldown lap, for him to finally come back into the pit where they’d all be waiting for him.

It didn’t take all that long, and the excitement around him made time pass much faster as people clapped one another on the back, congratulated one another. Fred couldn’t keep himself from laughing, delighted as the team moved around him when, finally, George appeared. He saw the mop of dark hair, curled with sweat, saw the smile, heard the laughter as George was lifted into the air, his arms flying around him. 

He could see the cameras around them crowding in to try and catch a glimpse of George’s face, his reactions. Again, Fred could tell he’d be watching replays of the moment multiple times through the coming weeks- if not months. To catch every angle of George’s face, the happiness there, the apparent delight. 

For now, he was happy to stand back and enjoy the warmth around him, filling the garage. He did want to step closer, did want to tell George how happy he was for him, though there were many people ahead of him who seemed to be closer, who probably were more important than he was. He let them, not forcing the way some did, until the crowd parted just enough for him to see an opening.   

“George!” he called. George’s eyes snapped to him, the smile stretching his lips -which must’ve started hurting by now from how big it was- widening an impossible fraction further. 

Fred registered the way George’s hands reached for him and instantly lurched forward, trying to get past the few people between them. He launched himself into George’s arms as soon as he could, laughing, the sound of it loud to his own ears. 

George was laughing, too. He was laughing, the ecstatic, high sound Fred liked most. Fred’s fingers clenched where they landed in the fabric of George’s suit at his shoulders. He pressed close, uncaring of how damp the new champion was, drenched in sweat from the last race, the last effort it had been to reach this. Victory. 

“George!” he called again. “You did it! I knew you would. I knew you would do it, I never had a doubt!” 

He felt George’s hands catching around his waist, keeping him firmly anchored even as the crowd around them seemed intent on getting them apart, people trying to get to George by the dozen, clutching at him.

But George held on. 

Fred did, too.

His heart leapt as he pressed close, rushing the words out before they’d inevitably be separated. 

“You really deserve it, George! You deserve it so much. You’re so good at this, you’re such a great driver, of course you won! You’re good at everything you do, you’re the best really, and I love you so much it’s-”

He froze, instantly reaching to clap his hand over his mouth. For a brief moment, the chaos around them dimmed. The sounds, cheers, and laughter turned to deafening silence. Fred could only focus on George’s eyes, how they’d widened. 

“I mean- I…” he tried, though that was of no use. 

Anthony’s hands had found their way to George’s shoulders, pulling with a force Fred wasn’t sure anyone could have stopped. He could only watch as the driver was tugged away, dragged to the center of the garage, where he was pulled on top of Anthony’s shoulders. 

His own hands fell back to his sides as he stood motionless. What had he done- what had he said? He huffed as a few people shoved past him to gather around Anthony, chanting George’s name. 

George’s attention, inevitably, was drawn to the crowd, to the cameras shoved in his face which Fred knew he’d have hated if he’d been in a state to notice them. He watched from where he was, feeling his heart beating wildly. Though he felt fear and nerves rising in his chest, he couldn’t help but smile at how happy George looked. Sweat was still clinging to his forehead, where some strands of hair were stuck, plastered, his lashes clumped where tears had welled. 

As more people walked forward, Fred found himself staying back. This was George’s moment. His and his garage’s. He still brought his hands together, clapping as did the few people around him who’d chosen to step back as well, away from the tumult. 

Before he knew it, George was being carried away, out of the garage, and back towards the awaiting crowd outside. Fred couldn’t help but wonder if he’d see him again through the rest of the night. Probably not, or only briefly at the celebratory party. He supposed there would be a team dinner tomorrow, or maybe the day after. He’d see George there, they’d talk there.

Until then, he could watch from afar, the way he’d done all year. He followed as the team crowded outside to watch the podium ceremony, clapping until his hands hurt. George was just as beautiful, if not more as he accepted the trophy, as he raised it above his head. Fred cheered, voice straining from how loud he pushed it. Though their eyes didn’t meet again, he tried to hold onto the joy that still rang through him. 

It was all that mattered that George had won. That he’d gotten the one thing he was still missing, that he’d reached his goal. The rest, him, it didn’t matter as much. 

The thought was made harder to ignore once the cheers dimmed. Once he walked back to the garage, where the team still had to clear the car, the tires, and pack up the many screens one last time. He helped where he could, getting laptops back into their assigned cases, tucking sheets of data into paper files. He tried to make himself as useful as best as he could. When he looked up here and there, he could see things were still as they should be. George and his fellow drivers were talking to the press, the interviews shown on the large screens scattered across the garage for all to see. 

He took a few seconds to watch and try to catch a few words, though the sound was much too low. He’d watch these later, he told himself once more. Later that night, in his hotel room. He’d go to the celebratory party, stick with the engineers he was close to, with the few people from PR if they weren’t busy. He supposed he’d be watching George from afar there, too, though he knew already the newly crowned champion would have much to do, many people to talk to. 

Just as he’d thought, they didn’t run into each other for a long moment. By the time Fred left the paddock, sliding in a car along with a few people from the team to get back to the hotel, George was still trapped in media interviews. It gave him time to get back to his room, to change, to rest. To watch George’s interviews, to watch the inhibited joy on his face, to relive the last few laps again as if he hadn’t been there on the side when they’d happened. He watched the onboard, how George fought, how he came up on top, the way he and his team, Fred included, had dreamed of for years now.

And just as he’d thought, as he joined in for the celebratory party later on, George was still too busy. He was carried on strong shoulders the moment he stepped into the club, people cheering for him as loudly as they’d done earlier in the garage, if not louder. 

Yet George’s eyes found his. Fred jolted, spine straightening as the blue shone an almost unnatural shade under the bright spotlights above them. He gasped, blindly putting down his drink, unable to look away. 

George was walking towards him, quick in his steps. 

Fred’s fingers seized as he glanced around, wondering if he might be reading this wrong. But there were only a handful of people in the corner he’d settled in. 

“Fred,” George called. 

His voice was barely audible given how loud the place was, yet Fred heard it loud and clear. He took a step forward, intent on meeting George halfway now that he was sure he was the one George seemed to be focusing on. 

Lando got to George before he could. 

His arm slid around George’s waist, his hand splaying across George’s front to pull him close, to drag him into a group of people with drinks in their hands, ready to cheer the new victor. George was frowning, though whatever attempts he made at getting past Lando were quieted when a drink was pushed in his hands, when arms were drawn around him, pulling him away. 

When their eyes met again, it was from a few steps away. George looked apologetic, lips parting around words that didn’t make sense with the distance between them. Fred gave a light smile, trying to ignore the pang in his chest. It didn’t matter, he tried to tell himself again. And George probably simply wanted to say hello- maybe congratulate this part of the team, him and the people he hung around with. Fred’s hand moved up, showing a thumbs-up. All good, it meant.

He stepped back, reaching for his glass again. 

He’d see George again the next day. Or perhaps the one after that. Or next week back in Bracksley, if anything. He took another sip of his drink, wishing the cold would soothe and fill the hollowness there. 

A few times through the night, their eyes met. But George was busy. He ought to be. A world champion was busy by definition. Fred smiled each time still, because it was alright that George was with other people- or so he tried to remind himself, inhaling sharply each time their gazes met.

By the time he heard a few of the people he was with talking about getting back to the hotel, he was ready to leave, too. He glanced around one last time as he gathered his jacket, though the person he sought was on the other side of the club, busy. People were still fighting for his attention, a few of them talking to him at the same time. Fred stood still for a few seconds, trying to see whether George would look his way, but he didn’t.

He followed to the taxi a few minutes later, breathing in the fresh air- although Abu Dhabi wasn’t particularly cool, not now, not ever. His jacket felt like too much, even that late in the night. 

A few people he recognized from the staff were gathered in the lobby. He stayed there a moment, congratulating those he hadn’t seen since the end of the race, accepting kind words with warm cheeks, though he didn’t linger long. 

He didn’t have to pretend he was tired. He was- exhausted, even. The past few weeks leading up to this had been exhausting. He went through the familiar motions of winding down, though it was made harder by the excitement lingering in his core, clinging to every part of him. 

He managed not to let it all get to him until he’d stripped down, showered, until he’d finally let himself sit down after a last glance at his phone. 

He lay back in his bed, sighing heavily. 

In the quietness that arose, it was easier to think back on what he’d said. To think back on George’s reaction. 

Thinking back on it, what he’d seen on George’s face when the words had escaped hadn’t been recognition.

It had been confusion. So maybe George hadn’t heard him well, maybe he hadn’t heard at all. There had been many people talking at the same time as him. 

Fred fell asleep, the moment still playing in his mind, thinking that in the end, it didn’t matter. 

It was probably for the better that George hadn’t heard. There would be no awkward rejection, no pointless discussion, no vague apologies. They’d remain solid for the next season to come. And until then, time apart could only be a good thing, would only help in making him forget, if only briefly, of this infatuation he’d carried for years. 

The one that had been carved so deeply for the past few months sitting together, hunched, looking at data. Sitting close by in team dinners, discussing life outside of racing. Standing together, chatting about drivers passing by outside of the garage. Fred had felt the two of them had grown closer, though thinking back on it now, it could have been wishful thinking. And whatever he’d thought he’d seen, it would inevitably mean very little when George had taken that top step just earlier. 

When he woke, it wasn’t morning. There was no sunlight filtering through the half-drawn curtains, only the few slow blinks of the road stretching below his window. Fred sat up, rubbing his eyes. He was starting to wonder what had roused him when it came again, the loud knocking that had gotten him up from what had felt like peaceful, restful sleep. 

He huffed, shuffling to his feet, stumbling slightly. He was still in his underwear by the time he reached the door. He hesitated briefly, glancing down at himself- though he supposed whoever deemed this urgent enough to wake him wouldn’t mind that he hadn’t gone through the effort of getting dressed again. 

He reached for the handle with one hand, the other moving up to pat his hair, trying to tame the blond locks sticking up in something slightly more appropriate. 

Every part of him froze as he pulled the door open.

George stood, leaning against the frame, blue eyes wide open as they met his. 

They stared for a few seconds, silence stretching. Fred felt the way George’s gaze dragged down his shape, from his hair down to his bare feet. 

“There you are,” George said finally. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you since… well. Let me in?”

Fred barely hesitated before he stepped back to let George come inside, closing the door behind the racer. His heart thumped loudly in his chest as they faced each other again.

George was still in the button-up he’d worn to the club, the trousers that went along with them. His bowtie sat undone, barely hanging around his neck. It made him feel all the more naked. He cleared his throat, shuffling, hands falling over himself in an attempt to get some modesty. 

But George didn’t seem to care about that. His eyes had caught onto Fred’s and hadn’t moved since, if only to blink owlishly.

“George, what…” he tried, though George spoke before he could figure out what he wanted to ask, anyway. 

“What did you tell me?” he asked, and there was no hesitation in his voice. “In the garage. What did you say?”

Fred licked over his lips, feeling bare in more than one way. He swallowed, fingers nervously running along the hem of his boxers across his thigh. 

“Oh, well…” he started, looking for words. “I was congratulating you. Congrats again, by the way. I was just saying you really deserve this, George. Because you’re a very good driver, and you’ve given so much for this. Congrats.”

“Thank you,” George answered earnestly. “Is that it? I thought you said…” he paused, scanning Fred’s face.

It would have been easy to say he hadn’t said anything else. It would’ve been much less stressful. Yet George had taught him all about how important honesty was. Fred squirmed, taking a deep breath. 

It probably wouldn’t change a thing to say it again. George would hear the words, they’d have a laugh about it, and they’d keep going the same way they’d done all of this year. Band-aid ripped.

“I, ah,” he started, crossing his arms over his chest instinctively. Though they were the same height, it felt as if he’d shrunk, as if George were towering above him. It must have been the newly appointed World Champion title that gave that impression. Fred tried to focus on something else, cheeks flushing. “I said, I love you.”

The words were barely audible, just above a whisper, yet it felt as if they echoed. He could have screamed and it would have been the same. His cheeks turned a shade darker as he took a deep breath. 

George, on his side, barely reacted. He blinked a few times, long lashes fluttering as he absorbed it. The silence lasted so long that Fred grew angsty enough to be the one to speak up. 

“It’s just that- I mean, I think I have for a while. Because you’ve always been so nice with me, you’re always so kind with me. And you’re so good at this, at everything that you do. But it doesn’t change anything. I shouldn’t have said anything, I don’t know what came over me, it was just- you just looked so…” 

His gaze had drifted to a spot above George’s head, the gears in his brain working to provide words that could fit, so much so that he didn’t notice George had stepped closer until a pair of hands landed on his shoulders. He jolted, eyes drawn back to George’s, though by that point his face was too close to see anything but soft skin. 

George’s lips pressed his own in a gentle kiss, which knocked the breath from him in the surprise it caused. 

“George,” he gasped the second the champion pulled away enough that he’d have room to breathe. 

George’s lips had stretched in a smile as he’d moved. His hands were still on Fred’s shoulders, though they’d moved slightly lower, fingers brushing circles across Fred’s biceps. 

“Fred,” he answered quietly. “I do, too.”

“You do?”

“I do,” George’s voice was gentle, soft. 

Fred hesitated for a few seconds, just long enough for the words to register. His arms moved, then, spreading wide enough to move around George’s shoulders, just as George stepped closer, slotting against his chest. His hands fell low, brushing Fred’s bare waist, making him shiver. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t catch you after that-”

“You were busy. It doesn’t matter.”