#gripyourwriting

It is better than the Haas garage. It’s better than the Haas hospitality. And Nico thinks he gets what’s weighing down on Kevin, just a bit—it’s better than Haas. But it’s not Haas.

It’s not theirs.

Nico swallows.

Come to Sauber with me. (An innocent suggestion. A selfish one.)

I can’t. (Not a rejection, not to Nico. An excuse. A sign of being scared of what they could be.)

Why not? I talked to Andreas, he would, he will, I swear. He’s considering it, for real. (Nico doesn’t want Carlos. Nico doesn’t want whatever Formula Two prodigy they can fish out of the sewers that is lower Formulae.)

I already signed somewhere else. (Said after a sigh, said with guilt. Resignation. Said with something else, too, that hurts so much more than the admission itself. Said with hope. Said with relief.)

Where?

World Endurance. (Two words that are not ‘Formula One’. Two words that are not what Nico wants to hear.)

“Well, I still have time before FP2,” Nico says next, and tries not to sound too desperate. He can see it tear Kevin out of his daydreams. Can see that it didn’t work, and that Kevin is indulging him.

Kevin smiles up at Nico. His smile isn’t heavy, isn’t imposing. It’s gentle. It’s reserved for Nico.

“Sure. What did you have in mind?”

Anything you want. Whatever you want. “Uh, dunno. We can just hang out, right?”

Like he’s seventeen and not thirty-seven. Having to keep from wringing his hands, so tightly lodged into his pockets.

Kevin’s smile widens, and it makes his eyes crinkle. “Yeah. Of course we can.”

How are you liking BMW? ( say it’s bad say it’s bad say it’s bad. say you want to come back to me )

It’s great. The guys are awesome.

That’s nice. Yeah. That’s good.

How’s Sauber?

(Lonely.) It’s good.

That’s good.

Yeah.

Nico closes the door to his room in hospitality quietly. He’s not sure what they’re going to be doing here, the room small, offering little, but he hopes-

Kevin is just a bit too close, his hand reaching out to take Nico’s. Fingers against each other, playful, so useless and aimless. Just to touch.

And Nico sees his invitation there, leaning down to press his lips to Kevin’s. His other hand moves to cradle the back of Kevin’s neck, the side of his face.

The feeling’s familiar, it’s comforting. Nico doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of it.

And Kevin is slow, is measured about it. Making up for all the time away with patience that Nico doesn’t have. No, Nico always wants more. He wants to crawl into Kevin’s chest to curl up there, surrounded by the beating of his heart; wants to watch the world through the gutters of his ribs.

Not that Kevin would ever let that happen—would never think to cage Nico like that. Nico knows this. Nico appreciates this. Appreciates that Kevin is there to bring him back down, stomp his overeagerness and just hold him gently, for what he is. For what he is without coating himself in Kevin’s blood.

“I miss you,” Nico admits quietly.

“You don’t have to,” Kevin responds, his fingers massaging the nape of Nico’s neck. “I’m right here.”