Chapter Text
When George finally gets home, he drops onto his bed fully clothed and drags the duvet over his head. For a while, he just lies there. The flat is quiet. His phone buzzes once on the nightstand. He doesn't need to check it. He already knows who it is. George squeezes his eyes shut and decides he's not leaving the flat unless he absolutely has to.
The next few days crawl by. He fills them the only way he knows how. Long gym sessions until his muscles burn and his lungs feel like they're on fire. Runs that leave him too exhausted to think. Anything that keeps him moving. It doesn't work. No matter what he's doing, his thoughts keep finding their way back.
To Max.
George catches himself wondering whether he's okay. Had they been a little too rough on him? Whether he slept okay. The thoughts show up out of nowhere and refuse to leave.
And then there's Alex, he is much worse because Alex is everywhere. He's so tangled up in George's life that getting rid of him would mean tearing out a part of himself.
There's Alex’s helmet on a shelf in the living room. There's a karting photo on the bookshelf. A coffee mug with boobs Alex bought him because he thought it was hilarious.
And the shirts. A few of them are still hanging in George's wardrobe between his own clothes. Alex left them behind over the years and never bothered asking for them back. George reaches for one. For a second he considers throwing it away. Throwing all of them away. Instead, he just stands there holding it.
He's washed these shirts more times than he can count. He's worn them himself often enough that they should smell like nothing but detergent. And yet there's still something there that reminds him of Alex.
It's probably all in his head, but it doesn't matter. The memory hits anyway. Alex laughing so hard he can barely breathe. Alex sprawled across George's sofa with his feet on the coffee table after being told not to. Alex in his kitchen at two in the morning, making him a cup of tea when George caught a cold. George’s eyes fall shut and his chest hurts.
"Fuck's sake."
He shoves the shirts to the back of the wardrobe and slams the door. Then he just stands there staring at it. Breathing slowly, trying to get his pulse under control. Trying not to think.
It's all so fucking stupid.
They've known each other for years. Half a lifetime, practically and George had risked all of that for one night. One stupid fucking night.
His phone is still sitting on the bedside table. The message is still there.
alex
you okay?
And there is a new one.
alex
please talk to me
George opens it, stares at it and locks the screen. A few minutes later, he reads it again.
Ignoring the outside world works surprisingly well. As long as the outside world lets him. It doesn't.
Lando ruins it on Thursday afternoon. George is halfway through making coffee when his phone buzzes against the kitchen counter. He glances down out of habit.
lando
me, you, padel tomorrow. 1pm
George stares at the message for a long moment. No hey, no how are you? Just a demand disguised as an invitation. Very Lando.
George sighs and leans back against the counter, coffee forgotten. Normally he'd come up with an excuse. Tell Lando he's busy. Say he's got a sponsor meeting. Pretend he's flying somewhere. Fake food poisoning if he got desperate enough. Anything to avoid leaving the flat.
He hasn't exactly been good company lately anyway. His routine for the past week has consisted of ignoring his phone and sleeping badly. but George doesn't have the heart to tell him no. He types back before he can overthink it.
george
yeah alright
The typing bubble appears almost immediately. Disappears. Appears again. George watches it with growing suspicion.
lando
nice
don't be late
George snorts despite himself. Then the smile fades almost as quickly as it came because now there's something new to worry about.
He spends the rest of the evening wondering whether Lando has invited Alex or Max or both. After all, Lando is friends with them too.
George tries not to think about it but his brain insists on supplying increasingly awful scenarios.
He arrives first. Alex walks in five minutes later with Max right behind him. Or maybe they're already there, sharing a laugh over something George wasn't around to hear. Maybe Alex looks up, maybe he smiles, maybe he doesn't.
"This is pathetic." George groans and drops his head onto the sofa cushion.
He opens the conversation with Alex. The last thing in it is still the same.
alex
please talk to me
George stares at it until the screen dims. Then he locks his phone and tosses it onto the other end of the sofa. He tells himself he's overthinking. There's every chance it'll just be him and Lando. Maybe Oscar, maybe Carlos. Anyone but Alex.
By the time Friday rolls around, he's managed to convince himself it'll be fine. Probably.
At exactly one o'clock, George pulls into the car park. The first thing he sees is a familiar Mercedes parked a few spaces away. He closes his eyes.
"...Fantastic."
His forehead drops against the steering wheel with a dull thunk.
Of course. Of fucking course.
Lando invited Alex. George lets out a long sigh and drums his fingers against the leather. For one ridiculous second, he considers putting the car back into reverse and driving straight home.
He could text Lando. Sorry. Food poisoning. Or Got called into a meeting.
None of them would work. Lando would either call him immediately or show up at his flat thirty minutes later to make sure he wasn't dying. George groans.
"You're twenty-eight," he mutters to himself. "Get a grip."
Easier said than done.
He climbs out of the car and stands beside it for a moment, taking a slow breath. It's going to be fine. Alex will act normal. George will act normal. They're still friends...right?
The thought does absolutely nothing to settle his nerves. With another sigh, he locks the car and starts walking toward the entrance. Every step makes his stomach feel tighter. By the time he reaches the building, his pulse is racing hard enough that he can feel it in his throat.
For a second, he considers turning around. No one knows he's here yet. He could still leave. Instead, he pulls the door open.
Warm air immediately washes over him, carrying the familiar smell of rubber courts and stale coffee from the little café near reception. It makes him feel vaguely sick. George swallows hard and keeps walking. One foot in front of the other until he finds the right court.
Lando is the first person he spots. He's leaning against the net pole, gesturing wildly while Oscar nods along with the patience that only Oscar seems capable of.
George rolls his eyes. Some things, at least, never change.
Then he sees Alex. He's sitting by himself on one of the benches, absentmindedly spinning his racket between his hand. Alex looks up, their eyes meet and for a second, neither of them moves. It's just one glance. It shouldn't knock the air out of George's lungs but it does.
Alex stands and starts slowly walking toward George, like he's giving George every opportunity to change his mind, to walk away. George stays where he is.
"Hi." Alex smiles.
"Hi." George manages a nod, suddenly fascinated by the grip tape wrapped around his racket. Anything but Alex's face.
Awkward silence stretches between them. Alex shifts his weight. He opens his mouth, clearly about to say something. George already knows what it'll be.
Where did you go? Why didn't you answer me?
"George!"
A hand lands heavily on his shoulder. George startles hard enough that he nearly drops his racket.
"Jesus Christ," he mutters.
"Good to see you too," Lando says, grinning. Then he actually looks at George and the grin fades.
"...Mate."
"What?"
"You look like you're about to be executed."
"I'm here, aren't I?"
"That's not an answer."
George shrugs. Lando studies him for another second, clearly deciding whether to push it. Mercifully, he doesn't. Instead, he claps his hands together loudly enough to make Oscar look over.
"Right! Since everyone's here." Lando announces. "Me and Oscar and you two together."
"Works for me." Alex shrugs.
George only nods. His throat suddenly feels too tight for words. George focuses on the racket in his hand, on the feel of the grip. Anything except the man standing a few feet away.
"Ready?" Alex asks, twirling a ball in one hand.
George nods once. The match starts.
It takes George about a minute to realise Oscar is treating this like the Wimbledon final while Lando is just having fun ruining everyone’s life. And Alex…
Alex keeps ending up exactly where George isn't expecting him. More than once, George moves left at the exact moment Alex does. They miss easy shots. Once, they both reach for the same ball before pulling back at the last second. It shouldn't feel this difficult.
At one point, George sprints for a lob, eyes fixed overhead. When he looks down again, Alex is right there. They stop inches apart, close enough that George can feel Alex's breath against his face.
"You’re off your game," Alex says quietly.
George swallows. "I'm fine."
"You sure?" Alex tilts his head.
"I'm fine," George repeats.
Alex watches him for another second, like he's trying to decide whether to call him on the lie. George takes a step back.
"Play," he says.
"Okay." Alex nods.
The match ends an hour later. George and Alex lose. Badly.
By the final point, Lando is laughing so hard he can barely serve, and Oscar has the sort of smug expression that immediately makes George want a rematch.
"When did you get so bad at padel, George?" Oscar asks.
George's jaw tightens. His first instinct is to snap back. Maybe around the same time you got unbearably annoying. The words are already sitting on the tip of his tongue but he catches himself. Oscar isn't trying to be cruel. He's confused at best. George lets out a quiet breath and forces a smile.
"I'll destroy you next time."
"Lando!" Oscar gasps dramatically grabbing onto Lando's arm. "He's threatening me."
Lando doesn't even look up from the water bottle he's trying to open.
"George," he sighs. "Be nice."
Oscar mouths sore loser across Lando's shoulder. George flips him off. Without missing a beat, Oscar beams.
"Lando!"
"Oh my God." Lando pinches the bridge of his nose. "You're actually children."
George can't help laughing. Lando points accusingly between the two of them.
"See? This is why I can't take either of you anywhere."
Alex snorts. George hadn't even realised he'd been listening. The sound catches him off guard.
Alex is sitting on the bench now, rubbing absentmindedly at one knee after slipping during the last serve. His hair is damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead in messy curls. George wanders over before he really thinks about it.
"You good?" he asks.
Alex looks up. "Yeah."
"You went down pretty hard." George points out.
"I'm alright." Alex shrugs
George sits beside him anyway. Their shoulders barely brush. Neither of them moves away. For a second, it almost feels...normal. Alex smiles at him and George feels his stomach twist.
Alex reaches down and starts rummaging through his duffel bag, pulling out a towel before finally finding his phone. The moment he unlocks it, his whole expression changes. His eyebrows lift but he smiles and it's the kind that reaches his eyes. George doesn't need to ask who it is. He looks away anyway and busies himself with tightening the cap on his water bottle, even though he'd already closed it.
"Everything alright?" Lando calls over.
"Yeah." Alex slips the phone back into his bag. "Sorry, guys. I've got to head off."
"So soon?" Lando frowns.
"I've got a boyfriend who's apparently decided he desperately needs my attention." Alex explaines.
"Aww." Lando coos.
"How tragic." Oscar lets out an exaggerated gasp.
"You're all insufferable." Alex rolls his eyes, but he's smiling again.
"Yet you keep hanging out with us," Lando points out.
"Questionable life choices."
George stays quiet. He watches Alex pick up his racket, zip up his bag and brush an imaginary bit of dust off his shorts. Anything to avoid looking at George. Or maybe George is imagining that part.
"See you, boys." Alex gives them all a small wave.
"Bye," Oscar says.
"Text me later," Lando calls after him.
"I will." Alex nods and starts walking.
George doesn't say anything. Alex hesitates for half a heartbeat near the door. Just enough that George wonders if he's going to turn around. He doesn't. A moment later, the door swings shut behind him. George stares at it for longer than he means to.
Oscar leaves not long after, still complaining about Lando’s serving technique. Which means George is suddenly alone with him. Lando stretches his arms over his head and looks at George out of the corner of his eye.
"So..." Lando drops onto the bench beside him with a groan. "What the hell happened between you two?"
The silence stretches between them and George keeps his eyes fixed on the floor. The painted line beneath his trainers suddenly seems fascinating.
“I slept with Alex,” George finally admits.
“Fuck, Alex cheated on Max?” Lando’s eyes go wide.
George shakes his head. “And Max.”
Lando’s mouth falls open. “…Double fuck.”
“Yeah.” George nods.
“Together?” Lando leans back on the bench, rubbing both hands down his face.
“That’s how threesomes work, Lando.” George sighs.
Lando makes a mortified sound.
"What happened afterwards?" Lando asks.
George swallows. "I left."
"You just... left?" Lando frowns.
"In the middle of the night." George nods.
"Oh."
"I woke up." George stares at the floor again. "They were asleep, curled up together. I suddenly realised I didn't belong there. So I got dressed and left."
The words come out quieter than he'd intended.
Lando winces. "Ouch."
"Alex texted me."
George reaches for his phone, unlocking it without really thinking. He opens the conversation and hands it over. Lando reads the messages and his expression softens.
"You never replied?" Lando frowns.
"I don't know what to say." George shakes his head.
"I think he'd settle for literally anything." Lando hands the phone back.
"I know."
"So why haven't you?"
George lets out a frustrated breath. "Because if I answer him, then it's real."
"It already is real." Lando looks confused.
George presses the heels of his hands against his eyes.
"If I text him back, we have to have a conversation. About what happened. About how it was a mistake." His voice catches for a second. "About how we just ruined fifteen years of friendship."
Lando is quiet for a long moment.
"Do you think you did?"
George doesn't answer straight away. Eventually, he shrugs.
"I don't know."
"And do you regret it?" Lando asks.
That question lands harder. George opens his mouth. He'd spent days telling himself he did. That he should. That one stupid night wasn't worth risking Alex but every time he thought back to it, it wasn't regret that came first. It was Alex smiling at him across the bar. Alex kissing him like he remembered exactly how George liked to be kissed. Max laughing when George finally relaxed. The three of them lying in bed afterwards, with Max half asleep between them. George exhales slowly.
"I regret leaving." George finally admits.
The words surprise him as much as they do Lando.
"Not... sleeping with them?"
"I regret running away." George shakes his head.
"Then stop." Lando leans back, folding his arms.
"Stop what?" George looks at him.
"If Alex regretted it..." Lando nods toward the phone. "...do you really think he'd have been begging you to answer him?"
"You make that sound incredibly easy." George huffs out a humourless laugh.
"It isn't but ignoring Alex clearly isn't working either." Lando shrugs.
George's phone feels unusually heavy in his hand. The conversation is still open. The cursor blinks patiently in the empty reply box. He stares at it.
“Hi, schat.” Max looks up from his phone and smiles as Alex walks into the room.
Alex doesn't answer. Instead, he carefully lifts Sassy from where she's sprawled across Max's chest and sets her on the cat tree. Sassy gives him an offended little chirp. Then Alex climbs straight into Max's lap.
“Alex,” Max complains immediately, though there's no real annoyance behind it. “No outside clothes on the bed.”
Alex ignores him. He wraps both arms around Max's waist and buries his face against his shoulder. For a while, neither of them says anything. Max just rubs slow circles over Alex's back.
“George was there.” His voice comes out muffled against Max's skin.
Max hums softly.
“He looked...” Alex swallows. “He looked so uncomfortable being around me. I think I ruined it I ruined the longest friendship I've ever had because I couldn't keep it in my fucking pants.”
“Hey.” Max cups the back of Alex's head, making him look up. “Don't do that.”
“He wouldn't even look at me.” Alex laughs bitterly.
Max studies him for a moment and sighs, presses a kiss to Alex's forehead.
“Maybe...” Max says carefully, “maybe I should talk to him.”
“You'd do that?” Alex blinks.
“Yeah.” Max smiles. “I think he'd listen to me.”
“...Okay.” Alex nods.
“We'll figure it out.”
“I love you,” Alex murmurs against Max's lips before leaning in to kiss him.