Judas crawled into P4 after the ferrari penalty. While not as good as his other results, he still seems cheery in regards to the future. Post race, he's quoted as saying "Miami, while beautiful, seems to play harshly against my weaknesses."

First podium of the year for Lydon, by a small margin. He finds himself in P3. He's quiet on the radio. When congratulated by Zac, the only reply is "I need to do better."

-

Frustrating was a way to describe the podium. There were champagne, streamers, and trophies. Yet, throughout the whole thing, Lydon had a fargone look on his face.

The ginger barely moved around the stage, the streamers engulfed his frame. Metallic aqua clung to his face, his arms, they had tangled around his legs when he tried to free himself. Every pull led to more knots, more tangles, more of a clinging nightmare. Champagne spray soaked the ground around him. The stinging liquid burned into his eyes as Lando turned to drench him.

"Ugh! Would it just fuckin'-" Lydon's back hit the ground before he knew what happened. The glass champagne bottle shattered next to him. Fizz splashed into his hair, his suit.

Is this what victory was meant to feel like? Like sinking a pit, pulling his lungs, his heart, his pride down into it?

Pressure built behind his eyes, and he shoved a hand onto the sticky ground, forcing himself to sit upright. Each breath hurt, forced and tight as he whipped his face away from his teammate. Away from the cameras. He could feel the way his face burned. Red from racing, from embarrassment, from the shame of always coming second in this team.

"This is fuckin' stupid." He muttered. His free hand rubbed from his cheek to his eyes. Any salty tears were disguised with the smear of alcohol.

I hate being second place, but it's not my place to say anything.

“Let it play out till nothing is yours or mine.

“Is there more to lose than gain if I go on my own again?”

---------------------------------------

Lydon stared at the man before him. His fingers gripped the stone below him, tightening further at each glance towards the ground that dropped away a mere two feet ahead of him. His fingerprints slowly scraped away as he repeated the motion over and over.

"How can you place such an unwaivering trust in me?" Judas' hand twitched as they stayed in his pockets. Why are we speaking here of all places? The question sat at the back of his head as his eyes drifted over the view of Monaco. The entire city sparkled below, windows dotted with lights and speckles of people walked through the streets as night fell.

The darkness was striking in comparison to the start of the evening. The sun had barely begun to set when a call rang through the Mercedes driver's phone. That call was all it took for Judas to spend an hour hiking 550 meters of Tête de Chien.

"Fuck- Judas, I don't even- look, I know it's late and you probably have things goin' on, but I just..." Rocks clattered in the background of the voicemail, followed by a muffled sniffle.

"I'm goin' to do somethin' stupid. I'm no better than you. Think I'm worse, yeah?" Lydon's dry laugh hung in the recording. "Maybe I am just meant to be a flame out."

Judas blinked again, praying that the call would efface itself from his constant memory. "I don't know you anymore." The admission came with a weight settling in his chest. It had been years of this constant dance. Ten years of orbiting the same tracks. Seven spent together. Three spent through tight lipped dinners and hushed conversations in the pit lane.

"I can't tell you to abandon this sport." It was selfish. But, the truth spilled from him for the first time in three sickly years.

"What can you tell me?" Lydon pressed his chin onto his knee. His fingers never left the stone that grounded him. His stomach lurched at each glance towards the horizon. Each thought of the drop below sent his head closer to spiraling. His fingers were raw. Pink and stinging.

Judas moved, fingers plucking the smaller hands away from their gritty torment. "Responsibilities will take all that you allow them to," his thumb pressed into the center of Lydon's palm, rubbing a slow spiral outwards, "where do you draw the line?"

"I let them take all that I have to give." The ginger flexed his fingers, curling and uncurling just before he would touch the other man.

"Are you... Happy living like that?" Judas pressed harder into the center of his palm.

Lydon's eyes narrowed. His hand retreated from the grasp. His fingers burned as they pulled into his sleeve, grasping the oversized material like it would protect him from the burn in his throat. "What the fuck's the difference? I do what I need to do."

Judas finished in P4! Despite the lackluster finish compared to the start of the season, he's still chuffed about consistently getting points.

Lydon Lamb-ert or whatever

“I want to know if I'm going to be fine”

“I want to know if you'll keep me in line”

---------------------------------

"I miss the person I will never be." Judas' fingers delicately slid a piece of paper across the table. A corner caught in the wooden seam, forcing it to bubble up. "And yet, desire will continue to haunt me."

Lydon's wine glass pressed it back down. "Why do you have to be so vague," the brunette pulled the paper out from the glass. A cheap resemblance to those magic tricks he saw in Vegas. "I've known you long enough, stop pretendin' your words make you any better than me."

Judas only pursed his lips in response. He set one pen on the table between them. "I have abstained," his voice dropped, rough with an emotion that hasn't been heard in years. "I have not signed yet, Lyd."

...Huh?

Lydon's eyes flicked down to the paper, quickly scanning over the senseless contract jargon. But then he caught it. The logo. The document title.

"Bullshit."

"Lambert."

"No- bullshit. You are not telling me that you haven't signed for fucking Mercedes yet?"

The paper slid back across the table. Small creases ripple across each side, perfectly spaced for Lambert's fingers. Four crescents dotted along the inked words. All above the thin line that sat blank. Untouched.

"I have not."

"Why?" Lydon's response came just as snappy as before. His eyes narrowed in on the other man. The way his shoulders hunched in ever so gently. The way he didn't stare at the paper nor their surroundings. Rather, Judas' gaze was fixed solely on the ginger in front of him. Soft and genuine.

"Because I cannot find myself to be a blind follower." I want to know if I'm going to be fine. Judas only leaned closer to the edge of the table. "I invited you here for a reason."

"Of course- you always have a reason." Lydon didn't find himself getting drawn to the lure. His arms folded over his chest and his shoulders pulled taught. "Do you even care? You're always talking about my driving. Doubt your mind would change even if I told you their car would kill you." Lydon's hand waved, gesturing to the older man with a scoff.

"Because you understand *people*, your mind comprehends the team dynamics more accurately than I ever can."

Lydon grips the stem of his wine glass harshly. His eyes slid shut as he took a large mouthful of the bitter liquid. And another after. "Judas. You can pay that team and they will act however you want."

"They are a good team though. Nice. Committed." Lydon added after a long moment. He swirled the remaining wine in his glass, stared back at the reflection of his own eyes. Why? Why bother asking? This couldn't be the only reason, it was never that simple. "They don't throw people out. They won't cut you out of communications or leave you in that dark. Maybe that's the shit you need to learn."

Judas' eyes snapped up. "Lyd-"