on whom the pale moon gleams

Lewis is no stranger to his phone blowing the fuck up. He’s Lewis fucking Hamilton, kinda comes with the territory.

Lewis can honestly say he’s never had this many notifications in his life. 

Lewis had an instagram post all curated and everything, after hours of careful deliberation from his team, a caption scrapped and retyped dozens of times.

And then Max went and posted a photo of the two of them exchanging rings with the caption locked him down. With the goddamn ring emoji. Lewis didn’t even know Max knew that phrase.

Lewis tilts his head towards the sky and takes deep, calming breaths. He loves this man. He is not going to be upset, because he knew what Max was like when he married him. He loves this man.

Lewis posts his own instagram too, hours ahead of schedule, because at least he provides some sort of explanation there, Jesus fucking Christ. 

And then Lewis sets off to find his husband. (The word still fits strange in Lewis’s mouth, like trying your favorite food for the first time, the understanding that it’s going to mean something big even though it doesn’t yet.)

Lewis kisses Max quickly on the mouth, plush, slides his fingers softly over the metal on Max’s hand. Ring emoji Lewis’s ass.

“You just like to cause problems, don’t you,” Lewis gripes, but he’s smiling so there’s no way Max will actually think he’s mad.

“I of course am not the one having the problem,” Max insists stubbornly, but he tangles his fingers with Lewis’s anyway, blue eyes crinkled at the corners. 

“Yeah, tell that to Rihanna. Rihanna! She wants to know why she wasn’t invited to the wedding.”

“Well? Why wasn’t she?” Max’s tone is glib but his eyes are sparkling, and every single hate comment Lewis has gotten since coming out is worth it for the way he can press Max up against the wall and kiss him silly, uncaring of who sees. They’re newlyweds. Lewis is well within his rights to act a little stupid. 

Max kisses back, their hands still tangled together at their sides, Lewis cupping Max’s strong jaw and Max’s other hand splayed against his cross tattoo. Max takes like mint chapstick, the strong kind that always makes Lewis’s nose wrinkle. He’s learning to live with it. (Sometimes, if he knows he won’t be seeing Max for a while, he’ll put a little on himself, just to pretend.)

“You didn’t even choose a flattering picture!” Lewis pulls back to say, because actually, he’s not fully over it. He’s smiling in the picture but his face is all scrunched weird, eyes uneven.

“I do not understand,” Max frowns. “The pictures are of you, and you are beautiful, so the pictures are beautiful.”

Lewis sighs against Max’s mouth, its sweet fullness. It’s not an argument he’s going to win. (It’s not an argument he wants to win.)

“C’mon. Let’s turn off our phones and go on our honeymoon.”

“Daniel offered to keep our phones safe while we are gone but I think that is maybe a very stupid decision. I am pretty sure Daniel knows my passcode.” Max tilts his head, considering. Lewis is very much not considering.

“Yeah, that’s gonna be a no, man, Daniel gets up to some nefarious shit. We can leave our phones with Ange. Cool?”