Chapter Text
He was there, he was always there, until a moment when there he wasn't.
Lewis got used to having him always in his shadow, cheering for him, defending when necessary or saying things that others wouldn't have the courage to proclaim out loud.
His absence wasn't noticed right away. Funny enough, it took a while for Lewis to look around the paddock and not spot him, for his eyes not to dart away from the blond hair blowing in the wind every time his gaze caught a glimpse of the locks he used to curl in his fingers.
Everything happened slowly, at first no one spoke his name, which was common for Lewis, but not for those around him. He no longer heard anything, there were no murmurs, no one defended him when Mercedes made a wrong call, no one was there to analyse his races, no one had nice words to say to him. Nothing was the same.
The paddock wasn't the only place Lewis noticed the absence, the silence, and the coldness. In the apartment complex where they resided, there was no longer any awkward silence in the elevator or the necessity for him to ascend the stairs, as he had seen him halfway. He no longer needed to look over the balcony to find out if the other man was swimming in the pool or sun bathing his beautiful porcelain skin .
He used to do this, not that it disrespects anyone, but he liked to watch from afar.
But everything was silent, each of these things disappeared, and he didn't realize it until there was nothing left.
SPAIN
It was the Spain race week, and Jenson was covering it for Sky Sports, and the man would probably also do the interview for the podium. It wasn't strange for such a thing to happen; the former driver was used to doing this type of interview, but for Lewis, the strange thing was not including the other blond ex-driver who had a history with that circuit, especially knowing that it was very likely that he would be on the podium.
Toto didn't say anything; no one in the garage did, and Lewis thought he was the only one noticing, so he stayed quiet.
The circuit was full of celebrities, soccer players, singers, and actors, and yet it still seemed like something was missing, or rather, someone.
He tried not to pay attention, clear his mind and prepare for the race, his head finally falling back into place after he put on his helmet and closed his visor.
The race was crazy with the DNF of the two alpines, and the crash between the two Red Bull teammates. With two yellow flags and one red, it seemed like the race would have no end. Charles was right behind him, chasing and fighting for P1, looking for a victory and an advantage in the drivers' championship. Lewis wouldn't give it up.
When the car crossed the finish line, it felt like it had been a few years and not just a few hours.
He got out of the car happy, a smile on his face, and as he faced his own team, ready to go celebrate with them, a hand on his forearm stopped him. Charles was standing there with glimmer eyes and his face pressed into the helmet, sweaty, and with his typical dimpled smile.
"I almost got you," he said pointing his index finger, and briefly Lewis remembered Sebastian and the way the German used to be after a race, especially like this. He thought that the years as teammates between Charles and Seb ended up making them get the hang of each other; after all, he knew that this could happen. He still remembered the quirks he had acquired from his teammates.
Lewis could see a bit of Sebastian in Charles, in his calm and well-spoken manner, in his friendly way of congratulating him after a race, and even the way he adjusts his cap.
He laughed and hugged Charles. "You can try next time; I will not make it easy." It was no secret that he enjoyed battling Charles on the track and that he enjoyed the competition between them.
The team was hugging George, patting his helmet and congratulating him on third place, he joined them, listening to the mechanics talk about how well he had done, how happy they were, after all, it was their first podium together in this season. The team was eager for take the place it should never have left.
Jenson's voice interviewing George made him turn around and pay attention to what was being said. They're talking about the crash that occurred on lap 14 between George and Carlos, the Spaniard did not abandon the race but had some problems with the car suspension, making it difficult to reach the podium. Lewis heard George apologize to the Spaniard's fans and pass the microphone to Charles.
There was some booing for Charles, but the young man seemed unaffected; it was better to be on a podium and be booed than not be there. Charles was ahead of his teammate in the Drivers Championship; he was fighting for the championship against Max and was on the podium, while Carlos was in 5th place in his home race, so naturally there would be inaffinities, but Lewis saw that Charles didn't care; he didn't address it and just continued his interview.
When it was his time to be intertwined by the older Brit, he addressed the fans and waved to the crowd.
"Hey man!" Jenson was very excited to talk about the race, the start, the overtaking and defenses he carried out, the finesse with which he was driving, and how good it was to see Mercedes at the top again. Lewis agreed with everything, laughing and waving one more time to the crowd, thanking the factory employees for not giving up on the car and trusting him.
"Must be good not to be the one in trouble this time, huh?" Jenson asked cheeky, referring to the contact between Max and Checo. He just nodded and left; he didn't want the matter to extend.
Charles and George were walking in front, talking about their race, how the car reacted, about the wind at some corner. Lewis wasn't paying much attention, not until he heard Charles asking something that was on his mind, but he didn't allow himself to say it.
"I thought they were going to put Nico to do the interview here, especially because..." his voice cut off.
George glanced swift at him and then back at Charles. "Lando was telling me earlier that he no longer works for Sky, as an interviewer or commentator it seems he has given up."
Lewis continued walking, but looking down and a bit slowly, taking a back.
"Why?" Charles asked; he could feel the weight of the Monégasque gaze on him even though he wasn't looking straight ahead.
George shrugged. "I don't know; Lando was talking to Jenson and said that he isn't even living in Monaco anymore," Lewis snapped up, wide eyes looking at the two young men.
"That's weird." That was all Charles said before they entered the cooldown room.
The two young drivers continued talking to each other, but his mind wasn't keeping up.
Why didn't he live in Monaco anymore? Why he wasn't in the paddock either? And why he hadn't realized it before.
The podium passed in a blur.
——
He was leaving the paddock when he met Jenson. The older Briton was standing in front of the Williams with his arms crossed, talking to an employee. He seemed relaxed as he said goodbye and walked down the small ramp. Lewis waited for him, unconsciously or very consciously; he wanted to know more.
"Hey man!" He called, hoping Jenson would look at him.
"Lewis, if you came to invite me to party with you, I'll have to refuse. Fernando has already made that offer." He teased, bumping their shoulders together. He laughs and continues walking, side by side.
They stay silent for a while; he doesn't know how to ask why the other blond isn't in the paddock any more or why he moved from Monaco, the place he's lived his whole life. Since, at this point, he was probably more Monégasque than German or Finnish, why did he leave his home?
"What's going on, man? You're not that quiet." Jenson said, snapping him out of the train of thoughts he was getting lost in.
He looked up, tried to read the other man's expression—relaxed, as usual. He decided to pull the bandage off all at once, it would hurt less this way, or at least it would only hurt once.
"George said he is not a Sky commentator anymore; is that's true?" He didn't need to address who he was talking about; Jenson knew. He watched as surprise formed on Jenson's face; some hard lines appeared on his brow, and his eyes turned gray like a stone.
"Eh, he doesn't work for Sky, yes." The other man plastered a smile on his face, but Lewis knew him well enough to know it was just a facade. Jenson patted his shoulder. "One less thing to worry about, uhm." His voice had a smile, but it made Lewis' stomach turn.
He preferred not to answer Jenson, instead asking the man another question. "Why did he do that?"
Jenson shrugged, approaching his car. They stopped in front, and Lewis waited for the answer, which took longer than he thought necessary.
The other man let a heavy breath escape his nostrils before opening his mouth. "Look, I don't know what to tell you, just that finally, after years, he gave you everything you wanted."
Lewis looked up at him confused, raising a brow and waiting for Jenson to explain himself, but he didn't, so Lewis blurted out. "And what did I want?" He asked a little defensively, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
"That he was just a memory, perhaps a dream, something that remained in the past. He granted that to you, he withdrew from the scene for the second time." Jenson explained.
"I didn't ask for this," he snapped, he shouldn't take the blame for something he hadn't done.
"Didn't you?" Jenson asked dryly. "Because for years, you haven't said his name; you've used every opportunity to show how much he doesn't matter, you've erased him from your memory as if he were never by your side, as if he had never belonged to the painting. He left you to do that, and now he's made it real."
Lewis felt a lump form in his throat, and his head began to hurt. He put his index fingers on his both temples to massage them and ease the pain.
"Why did he leave Monaco?"
"I can't answer, sorry." Jenson opened the car door and got in. His head leaned against the back of the car seat, and he let out a tired sigh. The door was still open when he looked up, piercing Lewis in place. "Maybe he got tired of being a shadow in your memory and decided he deserved better, and we both know he shines enough on his own to be erased by someone." Jenson didn't allow him to respond, closing the car door and reversing to leave. He stood there, not knowing what to do.
He wasn't the one to blame; he never wanted Nico to be in his shadow; that wasn't what he did.
Later that night, taking long and quick steps around the hotel room, he decided to call Sebastian. He didn't know why he wanted to talk to the German, but he needed to talk to someone, and Sebastian was there when everything went wrong, and he was by his side when no one else was. He saw what happened in the following years after the downfall.
So he called, and waited for the other side to answer. It was already very late, and he didn't know if Sebastian would be awake or what he would be doing, but he stayed on the line.
His head was so disturbed by Jenson's speech that he didn't hear when Sebastian answered, only when the German called his name in a higher tone.
"Yes!" He snapped away from his head.
He responded, but the voice seemed distant and foreign, even to himself. His mind was working harder than he could process the information.
He vented. "He gave up again!" His words came out angrily, sharp as a knife. "He is not there anymore." This time, he was sincere and fragile.
He heard Sebastian's breathing on the other end of the line and a long pause. He started walking around the room again, not knowing what to expect from Sebastian until the German said. "Isn't it better this way tho?" He says it as a matter of fact. "Like, it won't make much difference, will it? Not like you paid attention or followed what he was doing."
"You and Jenson make it seem like I'm a monster, as if I treat him like trash; I-I didn't..." He took a deep breath, stopping in his tracks. "I never treat him badly," he tried to argue.
"But did you treat him at all?" Sebastian asked, and he remained silent, not understanding the question. "Lewis." Sebastian began, his voice low and, as usual, affectionate. "I know you had your reasons, but have you ever stopped to think that he also has his? That whatever happened in sixteen didn't just affect you, and that despite him being always present and open to conversation, he may have just gotten tired? I had some conversations with him a while ago, and, let's just say, he needed some time. Jenson is maybe more protective of him because he was there just like I was to you; he saw and heard the worst."
"I'm not a monster, Seb; I don't—"
"I know, I know, but he isn't either, and for a long time he thought he was, he believed so faithfully that he allowed and submitted himself to humiliation just to heal this guilt he carries."
"I didn't do that much damage," he tried to defend himself.
"You're not in his shoes; you can't say that; you haven't hardened what he's hardened, and if he felt like switching off again and moving on, that's ok too, Lewis; he deserves that. Jenson told me he's fine, much happier, and that he's seeing the person he knew who was buried by guilt come back to the surface."
"Why did he have to leave Monaco?" he asked weakly, his eyes fighting to keep tears from falling.
Sebastian sighed. "I think he wasn't comfortable in Monaco anymore, at least that's what Jenson told me."
"Is he and Jenson—"
He heard a chuckle on the other side. "You know Jenson always liked him, but I don't think so." He let out a relieved breath. Why was he relieved? He had nothing to do with it anymore, but his heart still felt heavy at the thought of such a thing.
"You and Charles?" He changed the subject, he couldn't continue, it was hurting too much.
Sebastian laughed, happiness overflowing the phone. "We're fine, by the way. Good fight between you two."
"Did you cheer for him?" He asked teasingly.
"Of course I did." Sebastian responded in his way that made everything okay, light.
"I see a lot of you in him," he confessed.
"Yeah, that scared me a bit in the beginning," confirmed the German. "But don't say it to him; he doesn't have to raise the expectations that people place on him." Lewis understood what Sebastian meant. Charles had some names on his back that everyone pointed to when they looked at him, and a tightness in his heart made him freeze.
Nico had it too.
"He's his own individual, I know," he soothed his friend. "But he picked up some of your quirks." He pointed, and Sebastian laughed. "When I will see you?"
"Probably Monaco; Charles is asking me to come, and I don't know how to say no to him, and I enjoy the race so."
"I miss you," he said quietly.
"I miss you too." Sebastian murmured before saying. "Lewis, just do not think too much. You came far; do not go back; let him be free; he deserves to see life in colors again after so much time in silver." A tear rolled down Lewis's face as he felt a cry trapped in his limbs.
"I didn't mean to do him any harm." His voice was just a whisper, but he heard Sebastian saying, "I know."
MONACO
When he returned to Monaco, it was impossible not to think that the person who had always been there was gone. The person through whom he saw Monaco for the first time no longer lived there. What pierced his soul was that he hadn't realized it before, hadn't seen the void, hadn't noticed that there was no one in the pool, or that he no longer needed to look at the ground, so their eyes wouldn't meet.
At first, he was very tired with the season, very focused on winning the title that had been stolen from him, and now he couldn't help but notice how Monaco had lost its color, how when he passed in front of the apartment there was no noise coming from inside, as there was no smell of the food being prepared.
He no longer saw anyone going out for a bike ride; there were no more blond locks flowing in the wind; there was no shy smile when he wasn't looking. There was nothing.
In his subconscious, he hoped that at the Monaco GP everything would return to normal, that for three days he would still see glimpses of what he had become accustomed to since the first time he was in that place, but the hope was in vain; it was shuttered.
Jenson and Sebastian were there. He saw the German talking to his old Red Bull mechanics, laughing and hugging some people from Ferrari. He looked good, happy, and healthy. Jenson, well, Jenson looked like himself—the person Lewis always knew—easygoing and smiley.
He didn't see him.
After the race and Charles' long-coming victory, he found himself dragged by Sebastian to celebrate; he couldn't say no, and he didn't want to either. Charles had deserved to win, a victory that should have come sooner, so he agreed to drink, dance, and enjoy himself on a yacht that he had no idea who owned.
Many of the drivers of the grid were there, celebrating with their friends. Pierre, along with Charles and Yuki, were the drunkest by far. Sebastian laughed, beside him, at the clumsiness of the boys.
"He deserved that one," he said. His voice was a little soft, but he still wasn't that drunk. Sebastian shook his head, taking a sip of the drink he had ordered into his mouth.
"Yeah, he does." He agreed.
They sat quietly, just watching the young drivers dance, the fun they were having with the champagne, and how sticky they looked. Lando was on top of a table shirtless, challenging Carlos to come up and fight him; the others were laughing and saying he would lose easily. George and Alex were taking the shit out of him, and Charles, well, he was hugging Pierre, his head in the crook of his neck. Lewis supposed that he was crying and didn't want anyone to see.
He turned to Seb and the German was watching that scene, with wide eyes, without saying a thing.
He remembered the early days, comforting Sebastian after his first victory with Ferrari, the emotion and happiness, and then comforting him after the defeat, seeing everything fall apart. He was there; he saw the rise and fall of a dream, just as Sebastian had also seen his.
"You know, I'm proud of you," he had said after the race, his hands craving both sides of the blond cheeks, stroking smoothly his blush with his thumb. "You're brilliant today." The other closed his eyes and let a tear run down his face. He swiftly whipped it out, kissing his lips and bringing him close to a tight hug, head pressed against the crook of his neck, tears rolling on his worn and salty skin.
He felt a lump in his throat; the memory hurt as much as if his hide was being ripped from his flesh, leaving him exposed, flamed and completely raw.
"He didn't come," he said silently and painfully, looking at Charles and Pierre. Sebastian turned around, his eyes understanding what he was saying as he gave him a wry smile and shook his head.
"Did you want him to come?" Sebastian asked cautiously and slowly.
"I don't think I ever imagined Monaco without him." He blurted out, his voice half caught in his lips.
"Yeah, it's hard; he is the Mrs. Monaco himself." Sebastian tried to joke and get a smile out of him, but it didn't work.
"Where is he?" He asked, weakened and hoping that Sebastian wouldn't look too closely.
Sebastian sighed. "I don't know," he replied, but there was something in the undertone of his voice that made Lewis not believe it.
"Yes you do," he raised his head and looked into Sebastian's warm blue eyes, blue that he grew accustomed to, and learned to like, but so different from the ones he was in love with. "Why are you and Jenson suddenly so protective of him, putting my aside like I will tear him apart if—" he couldn't finish, barely knew what he was talking about.
"I'm not putting you aside." Sebastian spoke calmly. "Never, do you understand?" He nodded, a little ashamed. "I don't really know where he is. Jenson knows, though, but he didn't tell me." Sebastian took a deep breath. "But he told me that it's a place where the sun rises and everything is covered in golden lights, so yellow that it looks like a dream, and that when the sun sets, everything is so orange and warm that it's like being inside a microwave." Sebastian laughed lightheadedly and brightly.
He scoffed. "Since when did Jenson become a poet?"
Sebastian threw his head back, laughing hard. "He is quite happy these days." He asserted.
He felt a little mournful at that.
"Jenson said this is a place he would be on vacation when he was a kid; maybe you know the answer." Sebastian said last.
He indeed knew the answer.
"Should I—" he started, but one look over Sebastian made him stop, questioning whether he should continue.
"You two are so complicated, honestly." Said the German, shaking his head with a grin. "Look." He was more serious this time. "If you want to go, go in peace, with an open mind, but don't expect roses when you get there; he got used to the thorns, and maybe that's what you'll get in return."
Inexplicably, he felt a cold shiver run through his body.
"I wouldn't do him well," he confirmed; it was a certainty, refuted by both of them, for years.
"Perhaps." Sebastian began. "But maybe the wound will finally heal, right?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.
He took a deep breath and looked at the two friends talking quietly to each other in the corner of the room.
Sebastian didn't need an answer.
It had been a few years since he had been back to that place, since he had seen so many colors, flowers, and something so beautiful that it made him question what was real or not. He didn't miss it; his mind had somehow blocked the memories, but being there, looking at the lavender fields, it was impossible not to remember.
"Hey, come play with me." Said the boy, pulling him by the wrist and running towards the clouds. The fields were big, and the clouds seemed to touch the ground, like big cotton. Nico liked to run up to them, saying he would take a little piece and give it to him, as they weren't that far away. He was always more skeptical; he knew it couldn't be done, but Nico, sweet Nico, saw the world in its playful and beautiful way.
They ran around the field, playing with soap bubbles and their imagination. There was no ego or desire to be better than the other; there was only the burning desire to be with the other.
"Do you want my ice cream?" They were sitting under an ancient tree. Keke was a little away, reading a magazine, while Sina enjoyed the pool. They had spent the whole morning playing with the water, and Nico was as red as a pepper. Forced to sit in the shade for a while, they took the opportunity to eat an absurd amount of ice cream; neither of them could take it anymore.
"No, I'm really full." He said he was leaning against the tree trunk.
"Papa!" Nico shouted, getting Keke's attention. "Do you want my ice cream?" He asked, and Keke, who was reading a magazine, smiled, knowing full well that they had overindulged on the sweets, but not really caring.
The oldest nodded, and Nico got up and ran to give his father the ice cream. When he returned, he threw himself down next to Lewis, resting his head on his shoulder.
"I like it here," he said contemplatively. “I like to see the clouds kiss the lavender and the sun cover them with gold.”
“He does that to your hair too,” he pointed out, his voice sweet as honey. Nico looked up and smiled, just for him.
"And your skin." He replied, running his hand over his arms, painted cinnamon by the sun. “Each of us has something made of gold,” said the young man, laughing shyly.
Lewis didn't think the only golden thing Nico had been his hair, but he didn't voice his thoughts.
He shook his head and walked towards the Rosberg family's summer house. Everything was still the same as he remembered: the open French windows, the vast and wide lawn, and the flowers at the entrance. The vines are climbing the wood near the leisure area, and the pool is not far away. It looked like the place hadn't aged a day.
He felt his heart speed up, with each step he took.
The door was closed, and the yard was empty. There was no noise, and he thought there was no one, but when he turned to leave, he heard a bark and decided to follow the noise.
On the other side of the house was the view he grew fond of and accustomed to: the lavender fields and the clouds so low they almost kissed the ground. Bailey, a chocolate Labrador, was running back and forth happily while barking at a golden Labrador puppy that followed him. Lewis stopped and watched the scene, his heart almost overflowing with the image. He fishes out his phone from his pocket to capture the beauty of everything that is before his eyes.
"Bailey. C'mom, Niki is tired." Nico's voice was so sweet, trying to calm the dogs that were running in circles near where he was sunbathing.
Bailey finally felt his presence and went towards him, taking little puppy Niki with him, both dogs wagging their tails and barking in his direction. He bent down to scratch their ears.
"Why are you barking, Bailey?" Nico asked, still facing the fields in front of him. When the dogs didn't stop, he lifted his head to see what was happening.
Their eyes met, and blue and brown finally found where they belonged.
Lewis bitterly regretted being there when he saw the expression on the German's face—fright and alarm.
The other didn't say anything; he just returned to the starting position, a silence that penetrated his flesh and turned his stomach.
He got up and walked slowly until he got close to where the other man was sunbathing. His eyes were closed, and his hands were fisted at his sides.
"Why are you here?" He said it in a weak voice and greeted his teeth.
He sat not far away, his sights set on the fields.
"Why did you leave?" He asked. "Why did you leave your home?" He said again.
He heard the other adjust himself in his chair and cross his arms.
The other let out a sad and sarcastic laugh before starting to speak. "Who do you think you are?" He was angry, his face in his hands—hands that Lewis could see were shaking. "Why do you think you can come here and ask me why I left? What make you think I will answer you?" He asked, stressed and frustrated.
"I don't know Monaco without you," he confessed. "And it scares me to think that you're not there."
He heard a long breath and a sharp inhale before the answer. "You'll survive, don't worry, you have so far." The calm with which Nico spoke made his blood bubble with rage.
"Why did you leave?" He asked one more time.
"I'm tired Lewis." They finally look at one another, their gauze broken.
"Of what?"
Nico looked at the clouds and the pristine blue sky. "You." Lewis was shattered in a manner that he had only experienced in the past, and he vowed never to experience it again. "I feel like I'm not enough, that my value as a person is less than that of a cockroach when I'm around you. And I'm tired of being kept out, of being the image cut out of the photo, of being the story that no one ever will tell. I'm tired of trying to fix things between us; there's no way back, and I understood that. I left you alone; after so many years of chasing after you, I decided that it was no longer worth getting lost along the way."
"You make it sound like—"
"You." Nico emphasized. "You have one vision of what happened, and I have another. I spent years trying to get closer and show you; I tried to apologize, but you were immersed in your own pain, so I moved away, until you, trying to heal from your pain, ended up hurting me and me," he pointed to himself. "I was complacent, because I let you stick a knife in my chest, as long as it didn't increase your pain."
Lewis swallowed. "I didn't do any of that."
Nico looked at the trees and the leaves falling on the well-kept lawn. "I'm not a saint; I know what I did; every day I remember it, but you're not either, and you should remember that. Words hurt; I know that because that's how I hurt you; the lack of them corrodes. I know this because that's how you tore me apart."
Lewis heard every broken word Nico let out, every time his voice ricocheted in a broken cry.
"I did not mean that."
Nico didn't say anything; he just picked up Niki, who was trying to climb into his lap.
"I left Monaco because I deserved to look at something and not remember you; I deserved to live without feeling ashamed of my actions. I left Sky Sports because I couldn't take my every step of being laughed at or branded as needy or envious; I never envied you; I never wanted what's yours." He laughed bitterly. "On the contrary, I wanted all my things to be yours."
Lewis didn't know what to say, only that he felt a tear run down his face.
"Look, Lewis," he began, his voice still shaking. "I'm really sorry for how things end; not even for a fraction of a second was my intention, but I wasn't okay. Today, years later, I see where I tear you apart, where I pressed until there is nothing left but flesh in my hand, but I only know that today. At the time I was blind, and a little crazy, exaggerating the doses, I had everything: eating disorder, panic and anxiety attack, and to protect myself, I attacked you, because I didn't want you, the media or the other drivers to see me as weak or unworthy."
"I would never see you like this," he admitted.
"Yeah, that wasn't what I felt."
"I'm sorry too. I know the things I said back then and how I hurt; I also know the things I didn't say."
They ended up spending the rest of the afternoon sitting around, looking at nothing but clouds and lavender.
"Did you bring any bags?" Nico asked as they entered the house. Lewis followed him to the kitchen and sat on a stool, watching him walk dexterously in that environment.
"It's in the car; I didn't know if you were going to let me stay or if you were going to kick me out right away."
Nico shook his head, opening the fridge to get some ingredients. Tomato, arugula, corn, olives, and mushrooms.
"I thought about kicking you out," he admits. "But I wanted to know what you had to say."
"It doesn't make sense," he exclaimed, walking around the counter and heading towards Nico. "If you left Monaco because you didn't want to remember me on every corner, why did you come to live here?"
Nico distanced himself from him and started cutting the vegetables. "I said I liked it here, and the small town. And I don't necessarily live here; I'm on vacation here," he explained, and Lewis looked at him confused. He explained. "The house I bought is in South France, but it's not here; it's still getting ready, and I decided to move here until it's finished."
They remain silent. Lewis returns to sit on the stool while watching Nico cook, the German making enough food for a battalion.
"Why so much food?" He asked, seeing the dinner table getting full.
"Jense is coming." Lewis felt a pang of anger, perhaps jealousy.
"Are you two?" Nico laughed, and, oh man, how many years had passed since he heard that laugh.
"No, no, he likes it here. I never thought he would be the type of guy to like this kind of place; after all, he was always a playboy, but he has become quite fond of it."
"Yes, it's the place he likes," he said under his breath, in bitterness. "Is he going to sleep here?" He asked, still with a bit of hatred that shouldn't be pointed out.
"Why are you asking?" He turned, smirking.
"Nothing," he tried nonchalantly.
"If you say so," in his voice, had that teasing tone he had forgotten, and he missed with so much desperation.
"He likes you," he said, unable to hold back.
"I know," Nico replied, taking the pie out of the oven without looking at him.
"Are you playing with him?"
"I would never do that; he knows where we are, were we find ourselves so no problem."
"Why not?" He inquires, putting his body forward and paying more attention to Nico.
"Why not what?" He asks, disoriented.
"Why not give in? Be with him." He specifies.
"I will never do that again; I prefer him around as a friend for the rest of my life than as a lover for a few years." There was an exaggerated amount of pain in Nico's voice and eyes.
"It was worth it, though." Lewis spoke.
"I-I would prefer not to have to lose both."
"Eh, me too, me too."