Chapter Text
December was at its peak; you could tell by the rainy weather and the bustle of passers-by, anxiously buying holiday gifts; by the trees stripped of leaves that had long since fallen and by the sight of a few shops with fairy lights adorning their facades.
George enjoyed the energy that the end of the year carried. The imminence of a cycle's end and the beginning of another one. The time where mistakes made are reviewed, but new chances to succeed are handed out: the bittersweetness of the period where the beginning and end coexist and leave everyone with a sense of loss and rejuvenation. A second chance.
"-and then he told me I couldn't use hairspray as a fixative." Charles' voice brought him back to reality and he looked away from the large board with the coffee options. The doubt was Caramel Macchiato or a Frapuccino for the day. "Bullshit! Klimt used cat urine and painted The Kiss! I'm being chased, Russell."
Charles was also a Fine Art student at the University of the Arts London, with a focus on Painting, and had a creativity as great as his lack of tact for some things. His works reflected the passion that overflowed from his personality, as chaotic and restless as using hairspray as a fixative. George adores him. "You could try varnish, you know, like a normal person."
"Where's the fun in th-"
"Next."
George approached. "A Macchiato, please." The waitress took the money and George thanked her, already moving to get out of the queue.
"Hairspray or plain varnish, I want to do something memorable." Charles continued, interlacing his hands on George's elbow as they walked over to one of the little round tables. "Christmas is coming and I want to gift Pierre with something that will make him realise that I'm the right person for him, or the least worst possible. We've wasted enough time on this little dog and mouse game."
"Cat and mouse." George corrected, smiling. "And you're not playing games, Charles, he asked you out at the end of The Wizard of Oz in front of a couple of hundred people. I think he's made it pretty clear what he wants."
The older bit his lip, trying to hide his smile as he sat down. "What about your gift? Any progress?"
Ouch. There it is. The topic George has tried to avoid even thinking about all day: the one year anniversary gift to Lewis, his sweet, caring, comprehensive boyfriend who deserves so much more than any shit George ever thought of buying or doing. Not photographs, clichéd gifts like perfumes or something as trivial as a letter (never just a letter). Lewis Hamilton deserves only the best and if George wasn't a broke student with his resources counted, he would buy the expensive necklaces and rings he knows Lewis likes or take him out for a day out shopping to stock the older man's already crowded wardrobe, even though he can't tell the difference between Balenciaga and Alexander McQueen. Nor would he ask Lewis for money to buy the gift, never. It was hard enough feeling useless living under the elder's roof and not contributing to the payment of expenses.
"Nothing yet. Nevermind, Charlie, there's nothing interesting enough out there for less than fifty dollars. Not for someone like him."
"Mon amour," Charles frowned, looking sadly at the younger man. "You could hand Lewis a pencil-drawn sketch of toothpick dummies and he would act as if he had just won the original Monalisa, you know that."
And George knew.
He and Lewis were about to complete one year of dating. The happiest year of George's life, where everyday when he woke up he wondered if this was really his life: to be the person next to someone like Lewis, the embodiment of the sun - wrapped everyone around him like a blanket, providing warmth and tenderness as he gave a little of his light to illuminate the path of ordinary people, while he rose above everyone majestically and brightening, looking unreachable; not because he made himself distant from others, but because he seemed so imperious, on a level of his own, that he made those around unable to reach.
The older man works as a pediatrician in a prestigious London medical center, always willing to sacrifice hours of his own free time to rescue strangers or answer calls from anxious mothers in the late nights, with a calmness and technical skill that George admires and is deeply proud of. He can only hope to be more worthy each day of being Lewis' chosen person. At the moment, he feels like a burden. Like an obsessor sucking all chances of prospering and having a happy life from the elder. A daily reminder of what Lewis could have if he took his eyes off George and looked around, searching harder and this time choosing someone other than a thirteen year younger, poorer university student who set aside all his savings (plus an embarrassed phone call to his mother asking for extra money) to buy something worthy of Lewis Hamilton. So nope, zero progress yet.
Charles reached out, squeezing George's hand in sympathy. The coffee shop was close to the university and was a student oasis, always crowded with young people eager for caffeine and an escape from campus. It was small, comfy and always smelled like cocoa, coffee and the lilies strategically arranged on the small round tables. And if Charles blinked his eyelashes at the blushing attendant like Betty Boop, they got discounts. The victim was off today, unfortunately, so George had to pay the usual price.
"Nothing I can afford is going to be good enough for him, Charl." George sighs. "Three days left. I have no money or ideas. I'm the worst boyfriend there ever was, I swear."
"I could give you the mon-."
"No." George replied quickly. "I want to buy it myself. But I appreciate it, mate."
And there's the thing about Charles: he's the son of a nationally acclaimed artist who sells showpieces to wealthy clients on a wait-list, with an already renowned name. His parents' money was more than enough to buy a huge loft two blocks from the university, with tall, wide windows that ventilate the space and thick columns that replace the role of walls in partitioning the rooms. It is also where George and Charles meet to work on whatever project they are currently invested in, with the monegasque being kind enough to give up some of the square meters for George to use as a working space. It's quiet and comfortable, the presence of Charles painting a few feet away a refreshment. George is grateful to the elder, but Charles's life of privilege doesn't allow him to see the real problem here.
"I want to do it myself." He continues. "It's the least I can do."
It's the least he can do.
George takes the ingredients from the convenience bag, pumpkin, coconuts and chickpeas. The only sound is Roscoe snoring comfortably on his pillow in the living room, a green plush turtle resting in his open mouth.
After saying goodbye to Charles and leaving the coffee shop on his way home, he decided to stop by the convenience store and buy some stuff to make Lewis's favorite meal, a bowl of coconut millet with spiced squash. The older man followed a restricted, plant-based diet, and George tried his best to learn the recipes and make Lewis' choice as accessible as possible.
Lewis gave George a card to shop with, always willing to provide for the younger man's needs, but George refused to use it for anything that wasn't “home” related or ended with them both having access to the product. Lewis hummed "love's gonna get you killed, but pride's gonna be the death of you, and you and me" playfully when George explained this to him, but the verse stuck in George's head for days.
He is stewing the millet in coconut milk when he hears the front door open, barely holding back a squeal of excitement.
George loved it when Lewis came home. Almost as much as Roscoe.
"Angel, I’m home."
The smell of Lewis's perfume envelops him as soon as the older man enters the room. It is strong and spreads through George's lung like a reminder that this is how home smells and feels, that the familiarity Lewis carries expands on George like the upward motion of a wave that slowly grows to its full height and breaks on the coast, spreading across the sand until it comes back and starts all over again. George wants to drown himself in Lewis and all that makes him be .
"I missed you." He walks over to the older man and entwines his hands into the braids carefully, his nails scraping the scalp softly. Lewis wraps the thin waist with his strong arms, a chuckle escaping as he nuzzles the tip of his nose against George's neck, nipping at a smooth area (that desperately needs marks, in his opinion) there. The slight height difference between the two makes the whole process easier and they both absolutely love it.
"I missed you too, my angel." he removes his lips from the golden skin, tilting his head up, a loose braid in front falling in his right eye and George sighs. Fuck, he's sure he's dating the most handsome man in the whole world. "I always yearn for you."
That's it. George was run over on his way home and he's in heaven. There's no other explanation.
Lewis's lips collide with his gently, but with a hint of hunger and desire that are always lurking when it comes to the two of them. The slide of plump lips, the well-kept beard brushing against George's smooth skin, Lewis's teeth nibbling at his lower lip with a boldness typical of the older man. George sighs as Lewis's big, strong hands slip to the curve of the younger man's ass and squeeze. Hard. Lewis smirks as George pulls away, breathing heavily and his cheeks glowing a deep red. "Bath- go take a bath. I'm making dinner for you."
"Don't you wanna go with me?"
"I'm making dinner, Lewis." George blushes, his eyes averting and his skin burning. How that man has such a devastating effect on him even after so long and with only a kiss is a complete mystery. He moves towards the kitchen, but a hand wraps around his wrist and gently pulls him back.
"The best part of my day is coming back to you, George Russell." A firm kiss is pressed to his forehead, lingering there, and George closes his eyes, just enjoying it. Relishing in being the subject of affection from someone he's certain is the epitome of perfection.
Minutes later, with dinner ready, Lewis arrives to help him set the table. He is shirtless, just the gray sweatpants falling sloppily over his hips, still fresh from the shower and George is left with the sight of a few drops of water dripping over the older man's tattooed, well-built torso. He knows Lewis knows he's watching, a cocky grin on the corner of his lip, but he can't care, the sight in front of him is a balsam for the eyes.
How someone as good as Lewis chose him is something George doesn't quite understand.
"You didn't need to do that." Lewis steps closer, pointing at the food, his fingertips slowly sliding over George's sharped jaw, the older man's eyes watching every detail on his face with a tenderness that makes George feel emotional. "I'm the one supposed to look after my baby."
"I wanna be able to look after you too."
Lewis moves closer and nuzzles their noses together, before leaving a soft kiss on the boy's lips. "Sit down, angel. I'll put your food on."
"I missed the amount of salt."
Lewis takes a spoon and tastes it straight from the pan. "What? You must be nuts. That's the best coconut millet I've ever tasted in my life. You get better every day." Lewis' smile is so bright it can blind and George knows he is lying to not disappoint the youngest. George has put too much salt on it. But that's Lewis: George's comfort is always the priority.
George's heart aches.
The subject of their one year anniversary comes up as they eat and George feels like crying as he sees Lewis' eyes sparkling, like a toddler who can't wait for Christmas Eve, making plans to stay awake and alert until the day finally comes and them can bask in the gifts they've been wishing for all year long. The eldest has plans he refuses to reveal but You'll like it, I promise, he says.
George knows he'll appreciate any surprise Lewis has planned for them for two reasons: 1) Lewis Hamilton has great taste and that applies to romantic gifts as well. The man doesn't mess around; 2) He also doesn't have to go to great lengths to amaze George, the boy is easily dazzled by any action Lewis takes, from opening his tired but kind eyes in the morning to pulling the royal family out of Buckingham Palace so he can hold a dinner party for the two of them.
And for knowing so well the man in front of him and the genuine gestures of love he usually makes, George feels more and more unworthy. He is sure that somewhere in the world, unaware that a usurper is taking his place, there is the perfect person for Lewis. A dedicated doctor (just like Lewis), perhaps. Or a wealthy and talented lawyer graduated from one of the Ivy Leagues - all more than able to fit into the lifestyle George knows Lewis enjoys or, rather, already used to the luxuries and perks that came with a good social status. Because this is another point that George chose to ignore at the beginning of their relationship, but over the last few months has hammered persistently into his consciousness as time passes and his love for Lewis only increases: Lewis sacrifices many aspects of his own life to mold himself to George's limitations, whether they are financial or just personal.
George knows Lewis deserves more than what he can give, but he's not ready to let the love of his life go just yet.
"I love anything you do for me, Lew, you know."
George finishes eating and walks over to Lewis, sitting on the older man's lap, his legs apart and being meticulously careful to position the curve of his ass on top of the bulge that stands out in the gray sweatpants. Lewis takes a deep breath, tilting his head to look into sky-blue eyes, his hands rushing to grip George's hips tightly and pushing the younger man's body forward, making them both moan with the friction.
He repeats the move once, twice, three times and George can already feel the effervescent heat crawling from the center of his body to the tips of his fingers. Resting his hands on broad and steady shoulders, George throws his head back with a whimper as he feels Lewis thrusting his hips up again, and Lewis takes the chance to press kisses and bites into the neck before him, addicted to how this boy, his boy, can turn all his exhaustion after a long day at work into a desire to wreck the younger one, to mark him in a way no other man in the world ever could. So that he never forgets Lewis and, even if he tries, will find himself unable to remove the deep, intrinsic marks his man left deep within him.
"Baby's horny?"
George nods eagerly, his eyes closed tightly as he circles his own hips, shamelessly rubbing himself against the older man's still clothed cock. "I need you, Lew."
“Then take your clothes off, angel."
George swears, he never got up and undressed so quickly.
"George Russell is a failure." muttering quietly to himself, George carefully holds up the photograph. It is a relatively large, square photo, with the paper matte and thin. The image quality is great, George will give this to himself, the subject always in the foreground, immaculate use of hyper depth of field and the selective contrast beautifully edited as is George's usual style of photography. The black and white that is new. George has never edited the photographs with monochromatic colors and they stand out to the eye as eccentric but charming.
It is Lewis's gift.
He picked a collection of photos that already existed and were kept with care, no intention of being revealed, even less used as a gift. They are a set of ten photographs taken at various moments throughout their lives and George never showed them to anyone, the photos filling such an intimate place in his being it feels wrong to display them, as if George were not only allowing the viewing of any photograph but also opening up his own self and putting it to evidence: this right here, this life, this man is the reason I believe when they say that life is only worth living if someone is loving you.
In one of them, the one the student is holding in hand, the foreground subject is Lewis himself. It's a close frontal shot, the elder's face filling almost the entire picture as he stared deeply into the lens, the usual sparkle in his eyes even stronger and a barely visible smile at the corners of his lip. Around his neck, a necklace matching the strands of seashells that was braided together with the locks of his hair by a woman who could braid them in less than twenty minutes. Lewis has sand in his cheeks and his lips glisten with lip balm, the wind lightly sweeping his braids. It was on a trip to the beach. One that George was able to cover at least part of the costs despite the older man's insistence on paying all the expenses. Lewis seems happy.
Nothing suits Lewis Hamilton better than happiness.
George is far from satisfied, it was done quickly, as a plan B. And worst of all: it has no monetary value, is neither expensive nor exclusive. George himself took the photos, edited, processed and organized them into an album (that he bought and made sure to choose a cute one, thank you). All made by him. Jesus.
But it is his only possible choice as their anniversary is tonight.
Lew
Georgie
Quick reminder that I need u to be ready at seven :)
Miss u already angel
Okay, okay, okay. Holy cow. Everything's gonna be perfect.
To Lew
Okay!
Gettin' ready to go
Miss u too xo
As he gets ready, the clothes previously chosen by his boyfriend already laid out on the bed waiting for him, George can hardly believe that he and Lewis are celebrating their one year dating anniversary. Everything has passed so quickly and yet with the span of a lifetime, George can no longer imagine himself without his man: the feeling is that Lewis has always been there, the soothing presence a constant as well as his own hands, feets, the sound of his own voice; Lewis has simply been there.
Their thirteen year age difference was the main obstacle in building their relationship. George met Lewis through Sebastian, Charles' uncle who is a nurse and Lewis' best friend. Charles, with his blatant disregard for his own well-being, thought it would be revolutionary to perform what he called "Flying Man", a three-act show: climb the relatively (too) high water tank area of the campus, wrap white silk ribbons around his body and leap into the black gap of darkness. Everything would be done at night so that the coloured spotlights could dramatically track the whole performance, giving it a psychedelic effect. It did work - for a very short period of time. Charles swung on the silk ribbons before they ripped apart and the rest was history. The performance was in the try-out part, so the only "audience" available was George himself who like a good friend volunteered as art critic and ended acting as rescuer, picking up his friend's car and taking the older boy to the hospital that Charles himself indicated between cries of pain, something like his uncle working there so the assistance would be quick.
Charles broke both legs. Sebastian freaked out . And George was too enamored with the dark-skinned, back-braided doctor who was watching the whole scene with an amused but concerned smile to really pay attention to the commotion around. He soon discovered that the aromatised room they were in was the medical office of Lewis, a pediatric surgeon, and the doctor was about to call it a day while chatting with Sebastian when George and Charles arrived at the hospital and were met by medical staff in the parking lot, a nurse who already knew the Monegasque going to warn his uncle of the accident.
They didn't talk much that day, just the basic compliments, but George was too bewildered to really focus on what the older man was talking about or what he himself was replying to. Both Charles' fall and the doctor's blinding presence made him dizzy and as soon as Charles was attended to, Sebastian watchful as a mummy-owl, Lewis approached, frowning with concern.
"Are you feeling okay?" The older man's voice was soft, a contrast to the fact that he was built like a brick. George felt his mouth dry. The doctor was gorgeous, truly attractive. He had a beard that spread down his lower jaw, his hair braided and tied in a ponytail and kind eyes with a gleam that did not fade even with the hint of concern that George could spot. “You look like you're in pain.”
Well, yep, my diagnosis is acute crush.
George gulps.
"Headache and dizziness." He spoke to Lewis, who nodded slowly. The older walked over to his desk and opened a drawer, taking out a pillbox.
"This will help you with the headache. And the dizziness is probably from the shock and fatigue, you should rest." George takes the box, careful not to touch the doctor's fingers. God knows he'd pass out right then and there. "Do you have any way to get home?"
"I can take a taxi."
Charles' car was in the parking lot, but George didn't feel like driving safely with his head buzzing and spinning. He would have to ration the week's groceries to pay for the taxi in the middle of Friday night rush hour, but he would survive.
"I can drop you home." Lewis smiled reassuringly, probably noticing the younger’s distress. "I was just on my way out, no problem."
And just like that Lewis drove George home in his Mercedes, his scent spreading all over the car. He made sure the student was feeling well, reminded him to rest and at no time did he make him feel uncomfortable, waiting for George to get in before he engaged the car and drove off. From the very first contact, it was clear that Lewis was someone who cared .
Someone who deserves to receive good things just as much as he gave, who deserves to be cared for as he did, who deserves to be loved as he did: as if love were not a weakness or something to lament at the end of the day, but rather like sun rays that land on the skin and warm it from the outside in, brightening the day of those who receive it with open arms.
Nothing happened that day. And not even the next. And neither did when George got up the nerve to ask Charles to get with Sebastian the "cute doctor's" number and texted him. The texts were replied, always vaguely, but politely. When George finally plucked up enough courage to ask Lewis out for a date at the popular coffee shop near the UAL campus, the response was simple and straightforward.
You're too young.
George tried again. I don't want to take advantage of you, Georgie.
Come on, Lewis. Just one date.
And today Georgie boy has him.
Blimey!
Lewis picks him up less than two hours later, already well-dressed (he got ready at the hospital). They chatted the whole way, Lewis's right hand resting on George's thigh, gently caressing it, while he laughed at some stupid joke George had made. It was in those simple moments that the student felt his chest warm with delight, the companionship between the two of them so honest and tangible despite their differences. In those moments, George felt that this was right. He and Lewis, the perfect match, two souls meant to be, to meet and blend together.
But he wasn't the only one in that relationship. And the certainty that sooner or later Lewis would also realize how unfit George was for him was disturbing.
The restaurant is one of the most prestigious in London. George knows that Lewis must have made the booking weeks beforehand and for that, he is grateful. He is grateful for the effort Lewis put into that night, into their whole year-long relationship. But insecurity and feelings of inferiority overcome any wonder he is feeling as he enters the room.
The chairs are padded with deep red velvet, surrounding round tables covered in heavy looking white cloth, on each table there is a small lampshade that spreads a yellowish light into the room. The atmosphere smells wealthy and powerful and George feels uncomfortable under his own skin. A failure. Because while his wonderful, successful boyfriend books a table at one of London's finest restaurants and probably bought something expensive to match the great gesture, George has a self-prepared photo album in the gift box he carries in his hands.
George is going to burst into tears. Seriously. Or take a fork and shove it down his throat until he dies from external bleeding.
“Angel, let me." Lewis pulls out the chair and George sits down. "Do you like it here?
"Yeah."
George can't avert his gaze from the older. Lewis is wonderful. He is as wonderful on the inside as he is on the outside. He has an inspiring overcoming story and always reaches out a hand to help those in need, be it someone familiar or someone he has just seen for the very first time. It was like that with George and the ride. It’s like that every day as he saves the lives of hundreds of children each year and consequently saves the lives of their parents. He is inherently a good person. There is not a bad bone in his body and that, George deeply admires and respects. He respects him so much that he recognizes that Lewis deserves better. More than staying up late nights helping George study for finals when he already comes in tired from a twelve-hour shift; more than having to cover the expenses of a college student since there are no half-time jobs that fit George's class schedules, not the ones that last too long; deserves more than having to give up trips to fancy places George knows he enjoys because the younger can't afford it and doesn't feel comfortable with Lewis paying for both of them.
Lewis Hamilton deserves so much better than George Russell.
"I was careful to pick a restaurant that serves both vegan and meat based dishes." Lewis smiled fondly at the student, his eyes crinkling in that charming way that made George's heart skip a beat every time. Today, it only makes the lump in George's throat grow bigger and he fears that as soon as he opens his mouth, he will start sobbing. "You don't have to hold back for me today. Ask whatever you want."
And George opens the menu the waiter brought (he just didn't see him approach, too bewildered to pay attention to his surroundings) and directs his gaze to the starters. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.
Enough.
"We need to break up."
Time seems to freeze as Lewis slowly lifts his eyes from the menu, his face a stoic mask of shock.
"Excuse me?"
"We need to break up." George repeats, his heart beating so loud he can barely hear the sound of his own voice over the fast paced cadence of tum tum tum tum. He fears that at the speed his heart is firing blood to his organs, he's really gonna be sick.
Silence follows George's outburst. In the background, the world remains the same. There are pompously dressed customers ordering in, a violin plays and the hum of motion is the only soundtrack to what George knows is one of the worst moments of his life. On the outside, normality; between the two, there is a dam of anguish breaking and the falling water is just the prelude to what George knows is going to be the most painful experience he has ever been through. Losing Lewis will be like losing a vital limb.
That's not about him. That's the right decision, that's what's best for Lewis.
"Is this some kind of joke?" Lewis' tight voice makes George avert his gaze.
But George needs to be strong. For Lewis.
"No." He stares into the chocolate brown eyes again. George is so used to the warmth he always finds in them, that as he faces the storm of hurt and confusion, he is startled. The older looks as if his worst fears have just been made real. "I want to break up."
"Why?" Lewis growls, frowning. "What happened?"
George freezes. He can't tell Lewis the true reason - the older man will never accept the break-up if the motive is George's insecurities and fears. He will try to work on them, to convince George that the two of them can overcome this together, can beat whatever inner demons the younger man is keeping. He would fight for their relationship relentlessly. We are in this together, angel. As long as you are willing, I will stand by myself on a battlefield and face an army for you. But it's not about trying to cut the weeds that have grown in their apparently immaculate garden or overcoming any hardship, it's about George not being worthy of the person Lewis is. End of history.
"Did I do something?" Lewis holds out his hand in the younger's sepulchral silence, his face twitching with pain when George deflects. "Is it the time I'm spending at the hospital? I know I'm absent, but it always gets worse at the end of the year. I'm so sorry. Please. Things will get better. I'lI reduce the workload, angel. Please. I'm sorry, George. I'm so sorry." he apologizes, the words beginning to become incoherent. It is painful beyond words to see a man as strong and composed as Lewis break. Not even in his worst nightmares did George imagine that one day he would be the reason behind Lewis' pain instead of the comfort source, the relent he can lean on and trust.
It is even worse to see Lewis blaming himself. His boyfriend has done nothing wrong. He is understanding and sweet, never making George feel less despite the clear differences between them. Instead, Lewis has taken George under his wing and protected him, always supporting the younger and making it clear how much he truly believes his boy can achieve anything he wants .
"You haven't done anything wrong, Lewis, believe me. It's just..." George clutches the gift, needing something, anything, to steady himself and stop him from grabbing the elder and begs his forgiveness. He's about to tell the biggest lie of his life. "I don't love you anymore."
George can tell the exact moment he understands the words that were spoken. It is the moment when Lewis' heart shatters.
"Please, angel, don't do this to me."
"I'm sorry, Lewis. I'll ask Charles to pack my things from your house. I didn't mean for things to end like this, believe me."
"Georgie." He chokes, his body shaking.
With a heavy heart, the younger man gets up quickly from the table, snatching the coat folded elegantly over the velvet padding and the gift box, dodging Lewis's insistent hand, which tries to grab his wrist.
He tries to ignore the feeling that he's made the worst mistake of his life, the self-hatred almost unbearable.
George runs.