Formula One - One Shots

𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐬 {𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭} ~~ perfect strangers

The fallout had been terrible. They hadn't talked civilly to each other for days. They hadn't even communicated together. Their families wondered why they suddenly hated each other's guts, why they couldn't stand in the same room together for more than five minutes. It was the worst break-up Lewis ever went through. It was Nico's worst days on Earth.

Then the last Grand Prix happened, and somehow Lewis wished he had never been born. Or, at least, not at the same time Rosberg was alive. It hurt too much, the wound was too deep, too fresh. Nico just wished for of that to be finished. He was a world champion, he could retire now. After the podium, Hamilton went back to his motorhome, and cried. After the podium, Nico went out to celebrate and forget.

The winter break was absolutely awful. Lewis thought there was no end in sight. His life seemed to be one of those endless black tunnels, where no light shone at the end. He spiralled through seemingly endless suffering. Nico was more alive than ever. He partied day and night, finally free from any diet and mandatory workouts. No more media days, no more testing days. He often went home accompanied. He regularly woke up alone. Nico never felt more empty.

One day, Lewis was awakened by a sudden ray of sunlight in his room. Angela, tired of his bullshit, had come to take him out of his pity party. She made him shower and eat, then work out a bit.

"You have to go to the factory for some testing," she said, her voice cutting the air like a whip. "You'll also meet your new teammate. You need to look good."

Lewis could only nod, emotionally exhausted.

Nico woke up to another empty bed with crumpled sheets. He didn't even know where he was. Japan? Or was it Ibiza? His memory was blurry, he only remembered alcohol and wild parties, hot models and hotter bodies. He laid down for a bit, asking himself where the fuck his life was going to.

Valtteri was a good teammate, but most importantly, he was a good person. He didn't get mad at Hamilton like Rosberg did, didn't have a disdainful look like Rosberg had. It was a good chance, a necessary change for Lewis, and he was grateful for that. The testing had gone OK, the season slowly beginning. This year was his year, Lewis was sure of that.

Nico couldn't understand why he didn't sell his British house. Yet, here he was, shuffling through some old photo albums, remembering a time when his life was dictated by fast cars and faster drivers. His family tried to make him have a new hobby, but he still needed time. Rosberg quite liked YouTube vlogging, and the pundit propositions weren't scarce. Yeah, maybe he'll do that.

They met for the first time since a few months, almost by accident. They were in a supermarket, and reached for the same pasta bag.

"Oh, sorry," Lewis immediately said, withdrawing his hand. "You can take it..." His voice died in his throat as he looked at him.

Nico was as shocked as his ex. Their eyes met, and for the first time since a long time, Nico was scarred. They didn't speak, didn't talk more. Lewis could see tears pooling in Rosberg's eyes. Nico could see Hamilton's features harden. Both couldn't look away, and it was damn awkward. Not even that talk about stopping breaking their beds back in karting reached those levels of awkwardness.

"Dear customers, we kindly remind you that this store closes in fifteen minutes. Please reach the nearer check-out!" A false happy voice echoed through the shop, making both men exit their stupor.

If Lewis was naif, he could have said Nico let a tear out. If Nico was hopeful, he could have said Lewis blushed. Yet, both were past those phases. They left, going back to their shopping, without any word, abandoning the pasta bag on its shelf.

The second time they met, it was expected, but most importantly, they were surrounded by other people. Nico swung by the Mercedes garage at some Grand Prix in the middle of the season. Lewis knew this was bound to happen. After all, Rosberg was a world champion, he had a life-long paddock pass. Yet, it didn't prepare him to actually seeing his ex (lover? Enemy? Even he didn't know any more) again. Nico had all morning to get himself used to the idea, but it still hurt like a bitch.

On the outside, both looked normal, even too much normal. No sign of acknowledgement. No visible happiness, no visible sad, no nothing. It worried the team. Inside, both were at the verge of collapsing. It was a miracle Lewis didn't break down crying. It was a miracle Nico didn't run away. They passed the handshake state with flying colours, and both excused themselves to go elsewhere, far from the other.

As the time passed, feelings passed too. Nico was now a Formula 1 pundit. Lewis was now a record-breaking world champion. They learned to face each other, not letting their emotions pass. They became good at avoiding each other, and when in the same room, at not acknowledging it. They became strangers, away from each other's life. Lewis learned to live without thinking about the German. Nico learned to only mention Hamilton if it was to criticize him.

In a way, they didn't change that much. In every other way, they couldn't be more different. And it was fine for them. They learned to live like that. If things changed, if suddenly, Nico became resentful, more passive-aggressive toward Hamilton, they learned to live with that too. In a sense, they were over. In every other senses, they still weren't.