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2014
Nico feels it the moment it happens.
Through the gloves, he can feel it. How the resistance his fist meets changes, bending in a way it shouldn’t. The crack that follows a nanosecond after rings in his ears like a gunshot.
Lewis is looking back at him with wide eyes, shock followed by betrayal followed by anger, in quick succession. Times like this, Nico wishes he never learned how to read Lewis so well.
Blood trickles over Lewis’s Cupid’s bow. The whistle from the referee is a distant sound in Nico’s ears; they stopped fighting the moment they both felt the break, anyway. Lewis is urged over to the corner to be seen by a doctor.
On the way, he turns halfway to face Nico. “Fuck you,” he mouths.
1999
He meets Lewis at 14, in a boxing gym in a part of Hertfordshire he’s not supposed to be in. It’s the only place he could find that didn’t ask for his age when he called for a time slot, and Nico can’t exactly ask for parental permission.
His father doesn’t want him to box. The great Keke Rosberg put a foil in Nico’s hands at age six and told him gentlemen fight with their weapons and not their fists. That was all well and good until Nico took a few too many punches to the jaw on the playground and decided he was tired of not being able to hit back.
Keke doesn’t approve. Or, he at least doesn’t know about it. Even with the distance of boarding school, Nicole takes precautions. There’s a boxing club at school, but he doesn’t dare join it, in case his father is contacted about it. Instead, he signed up for fencing. And then blew it off to come here.
He wants to start competing. If he can show his father that this is something he’s good at, then he doesn’t have to give it up. The problem is that Nico needs to start training with someone with actual experience. Hence, the gym.
It’s empty but clean, sleek surfaces making up for the parts of the gym where you can see the walls coming apart. It’s also sparse; Nico can see all the way to the back, where there’s a small office with a big window looking out at the gym. There’s a man at the desk, frowning down at some papers, and a boy who looks around Nico’s age sitting across from him.
Nico can see why the person on the other end of the line didn’t ask for his age when he called to make a reservation. He probably didn’t even need to make one. They’re likely desperate for business; there’s a pair sparring in the far corner and a couple of people in the weights section, but that’s it. He’d asked over the phone if there would be a trainer who could take him on, and the receptionist had enthusiastically said yes. But Nico can’t see a trainer now. He can’t even see the receptionist.
He goes to the locker room first, changing out of his boarding school uniform and into workout clothes. As Nico wraps his hands, he decides that next time, he should change before he comes. He already doesn’t like the looks he’s gotten.
Out on the floor, Nico looks around for the receptionist he had spoken to. There’s still no sign of him or of a trainer he supposedly booked with. Maybe he just hasn’t gotten there yet; Nico is early, at the mercy of the bus schedule, and not wanting to be late.
To pass the time, he starts swinging at one of the bags. It only takes a few moments to begin to feel sore. His muscles are out of practice from the summer, all wrongly formed by months with his father, holding a sabre. Nico hates how quickly his inadequacy bubbles to the surface. He swings harder, faster, panting as his arms begin to truly ache.
Nico is so wrapped up in his exercise, zoned in on how his form has gone to absolute shit, that he doesn’t hear footsteps approach. When he’s tapped on the shoulder, he swings wildly out of instinct, turning on the person.
The intruder, a boy who looks about Nico’s age, blocks the swing easily. There’s a pair of gloves hanging around his neck and a crooked smile on his face.
“Are you Nico?” he asks. He speaks quickly, the whole sentence coming out as one word. Aryaico. Sebastian’s blood rushes through his head, muffling the words and making them harder to comprehend.
“What?” Nico has to ask, suddenly extremely self-aware of his own accent, his hair, his clear sense of not belonging.
“Are you Nico?” he asks again, slower this time. “You’re a little early, but I figured that’s who you had to be.”
“Uh,” Nico says instead of answering. “I was told there would be a trainer,” he looks past the kid. Maybe the man in the office is one.
“There is,” the boy says. “I’m the trainer.”
Nico frowns. “No offense, but I was under the impression that it would be more professional. That’s what the receptionist said.”
He smiles. “Mate, look around, do you think we have a receptionist?”
There wasn’t even a front desk, so Nico’s guessing the answer is no. “Then who the hell was I talking to?”
“Me.” The kid points his thumb at himself. “Lewis Hamilton.”
Lewis holds his hand out for a shake, and Nico takes it. The name ‘Hamilton’ rings a bell, and Nico remembers that the name of the gym is Hamilton Boxing.
“So, what, you own the gym?” Nico asks incredulously. Maybe this is some kind of Benjamin Button situation.
Lewis laughs; his entire face lights up with it. “Obviously not. My dad does.”
He gestures behind him towards the office, and it dawns on Nico that the man in there must be Lewis’s father. That explains why there’s a 14-year-old wandering around unsupervised; he’s not actually unsupervised.
“I help him out after school, answering the phone and stuff,” Lewis continues. “Not that we get that many calls. Our members aren’t really the kind to call ahead.”
Nico finds himself smiling, oddly fond of this biy. There’s something tugging in his chest, something like recognition. He wonders if Lewis is as alone as Nico is.
“So that’s why you were so excited that I wanted a reservation?” Nico asks.
Lewis grins. “Yeah, I don’t think we’ve once booked ahead of time. Plus, I was curious. You sounded rich over the phone. Fancy accent and proper grammar.”
“So you figured you could ring some cash out of me?” Nico says it mostly lightheartedly.
“You’re the one who showed up in some posh uniform. If not me, someone would.”
Nico decides right then and there that he likes Lewis Hamilton. “Are you really qualified to train me?”
Lewis whistles. “Based on your form, you need any help you can get.” He giggles as Nico shoves him in the shoulder. “But really, we have a trainer, but he only comes by once a week. And he’s my dad’s friend doing a favor, so we can’t afford any more slots.”
“Oh,” Nico’s shoulders slump. He’d been hoping for something more regular, and besides, Lewis makes it sound like there wouldn’t even be any room for Nico to join.
“But,” Lewis adds, bouncing back on his heels with barely concealed excitement. “I need a sparring partner. My dad won’t let me train with the older guys, and the only other person my age who would come here stopped a few weeks ago. His mum saw the bruises and made him stop.”
Nico lights up. “Don’t have to worry about that with me. My parents live in Monaco.”
“Monaco?” Lewis asks with a smile. “Like the F1?”
Nico rolls his eyes. “Yes, but it’s a real country, too. Not just a race track.”
“You’ll have to show me sometime,” Lewis says, and Nico is flooded with warmth. He wonders if this is what it feels like to make a friend.
“Let me train with you, and I will,” Nico barters.
“I won’t take just anyone on,” Lewis warns. “You have to be able to keep up.”
Instead of answering, Nico just grins, tilting his chin towards the mats. He raises his gloved hands up, taking a stance, and then winks over them. Lewis raises an eyebrow and unwinds his own gloves. He leads them to the mat slowly, pulling his gloves on.
They square off against each other, circling slowly to take each other in. Then, Nico swings.
2014
If he’s honest with himself, Nico knows this has been falling apart for some time. Neither of them will admit to being at fault, which means they’ll never agree on when it started. But Nico secretly thinks it’s neither of their fault. It was inevitable, really. It began in that gym in Stevenage, the first time they stared at each other from across a ring.
Lewis had been unable to continue the fight, so Nico won on a technicality. That’s always his least favorite way to win. It’s also his least favorite way to lose, so he knows Lewis is stewing in it, just like Nico would be.
Nico debates with himself for too long before finally deciding to head to the medical center in the gap between his bouts. These days, he never knows if something will make things better or worse. He also never knows which he prefers.
Lewis is the only one there, towards the back. Even from across the room, Nico can read the anger in the set of Lewis’s shoulders. As he gets closer, Nico notices the bandage across the bridge of Lewis’s nose, keeping it in place. There is already bruising blooming around his eyes, and blood is still streaked over his face. Nico’s hand spasms with the instinct to reach out and cup Lewis’s jaw.
When Nico falls into Lewis’s line of vision, Lewis glances up. The anger simmers right under the surface, and upon seeing Nico, Lewis’s face erupts.
“Are you okay?” Nico asks haltingly.
“You fucking hurt me,” Lewis says viciously instead of answering. “You broke my nose.”
“It’s boxing,” Nico tries calmly, though it comes out a little crazed. “We’re meant to hurt each other.”
Lewis snarls. There’s dried blood on his lips, his teeth, streaked down his chin. He looks like an animal.
“So that’s it, then?” Lewis’s upper lip is swollen, so the words come out slurred. Stho that’sth it, then? “After everything, that’s where we are?”
“What else do you want from me?” Nico asks, crossing his arms and squaring his stance. “I’m not going to roll over and let you win.”
“It’s not letting me win to not break my fucking face. We always told each other we’d fight clean.”
“I think you threw that out the window with your comments to the press, no?” Nico fires back.
It’s been itching under his skin for days. Nico doesn’t know what it takes, Lewis had said. He doesn’t want it like I do. He’s never had to want for anything.
It had felt like a dull knife sawing Nico’s stomach open. Never in his life had he ever thought Lewis would be one of the ones to scoff at him, to see Nico as some privileged asshole prancing around, playing at being tough. Because Lewis knows, firsthand, how wrong that is. Or at least Nico thought Lewis did.
“That wasn’t in the ring,” Lewis defends, but his eyes flash with something. Like he didn’t expect Nico to bring it up.
“It’s all part of the game, right?” Nico smiles sardonically at Lewis. “Maybe we were fools to ever expect it to go any differently.”
“Why are you speaking like this?”
“Like what?”
“Like this is it. So long, goodbye, thanks for all the fish, I guess?” Lewis scoffs. “You’re giving up like there isn’t a simple solution.”
“And what, the solution is to let you win?” Nico asks incredulously. Lewis stares back at him defiantly, though his shoulders tense up. “Why is it always on me? You’re the one who insists on fighting in my weight class,” Nico argues. “You are smaller than me. You can cut weight easily.”
Lewis stares at him. “Why the fuck would I want to cut weight when I’m winning where I am? When heavyweight is the class that matters?”
They all matter, but Nico knows that isn’t the point. Heavyweight is the class that carries, for lack of a better word, the most weight. For Lewis, it’s the one that matters most because it’s the one he can be remembered for.
“So we are here at this impasse again,” Nico says. He feels like he just went another five rounds in the ring. “I am not going to just let you win.”
Lewis narrows his eyes. “I’ve never wanted you to let me win. And I know you never have. I’ve beat you because I’m better, and that’ll never change.”
Nico remembers one of the first things Lewis ever said to him. You have to be able to keep up. It’s all Nico’s ever tried to do, since that damp day in the Hamiltons’ gym. Keep up with Lewis, keep pace, let him push you forward. But now, Nico knows he can beat Lewis. He’s always believed he could, but he can feel it now, deep in his bones. He knows Lewis like the back of his hand. He remembers everything, every side comment, every missed step, every weak spot. Lewis is beatable, but maybe only by him.
Now, he’s realizing that when Lewis told Nico he had to keep up, that’s all he meant. He never wanted Nico to be the pacesetter, the one out front needing to be chased. Nico’s stomach turns to think of it this way, as if Nico’s just another of Lewis’s adoring fans, falling over themselves wanting to be like him. That Nico’s just meant to have been the first one.
“You’re kind of an asshole, you know that?” Nico sneers and then turns on his heels to storm out.
“You’re one to talk!” Lewis calls after him, always needing to have the last word.
It feels like the ending of something, though Nico knows it’s just the beginning of something else. He’ll have all the time in the world to think about if it was worth it. Now, he has to focus on winning the tournament.
He does think about it, though. While he’s sitting around waiting, while he’s in the ring with someone else, while he’s tending to his tender knuckles. This thing with Lewis, this weight around his neck that will never go away. Their names are tied together, for better or worse. Nico has to win and win when it matters, to ever have a chance of breaking out of the long shadow that will only get longer of Lewis Hamilton.
It’s not even an overly critical match. Obviously, Nico wants to win. He always wants to win. But winning this tournament isn’t even the most important thing in the next two years. There’s the World Championship and then qualifiers for the Olympics. But if he wins this one, he gets better seeding for the Championship, which means better chances at the Olympics. It’s a tight year, and it’ll probably be the hardest year yet.
He has no competition on the national level, but he needs to go into the Games in two years in good standing. It all builds on each other, things like this. The idea of momentum seems silly, but Nico knows it’s real. And it’s never mattered more.
2016 is the first year that the IBA is allowing professionals to go to the Olympics. Nico wants it so bad he can taste it on his tongue. It’s in the air around him, the desperation he feels to get it. When he turned pro, Nico had kissed the idea of a gold medal goodbye, but now it’s here, dangling in front of him.
Lewis has one already because, of course, he does. He won one the year before he turned pro, both of them fresh-faced 19-year-olds. Nico lost in the semi-final on the other side of the bracket and watched with pride as his best friend was crowned the future king of boxing. The next Ali, they called him.
Lewis has certainly lived up to it. He’s won 7 of the past 10 World Championships. Nico has won one, in a year when Lewis broke his collarbone training. These past five years have felt like being driven into the ground, one slow blow at a time.
But this year is his. It has to be. Nico is under no illusion that he’ll be able to make it on the team for 2020, when he’s in his mid-30s. All he wants is the one. One gold medal, just like his dad. It’s his only way to carry on the family legacy. Nico can already see the two of the medals hanging next to each other in their family home.
But he knows Lewis wants it, too. Boxing is not like other sports. Legacy and prestige are so malleable; the hard stats of competitions won matter less than who you’ve beaten and on what stage. Lewis has the chance to win multiple golds and have multiple World Championships, all while beating the best boxers in the world.
Nico would never admit it, but he used to think that Lewis really did want it more. There’s a kind of single-minded drive within Lewis that Nico has always feared and admired in equal measure. Maybe Nico is finally desperate enough to feel it, too.
Nico does win the tournament. On the podium, he bites his tongue on accident and tastes blood.
2000
By March, Nico is entering into competitions.
He and Lewis go together, on weekends so that they won’t miss school. Anthony, Lewis’s dad, hauls them around, entering them into these tournaments with money scrounged up through Nico’s allowance and donations from gym members. In April, Anthony proudly presents them both new gloves with a sticker on the side, advertising some local car dealership. He tells them that they’re now sponsored athletes.
Nico has wholly given up on the fencing team. Well, he was kicked off, so the decision was made for him. But he’s grateful for the extra time to spend with Lewis, working on both of them getting better.
And both of them are better. They’ve practically surpassed what the trainer can teach them; both are winning more than they’re not, dominating the local circuit. Really, they need to start competing further out, but neither of them has the time or the money for it.
People are taking notice. There’s press at their tournaments now. Like the gloves suggest, there are businesses that want to sponsor them. Lewis has already started talking about going to the Olympics in four years. Nico feels like his entire world has shifted on its axis. Things that felt impossible a year ago are close enough to taste.
They’ve both probably outpaced what the trainer can provide them, but they still go every week. It’s good practice; other than a personal trainer, which they can’t afford, this is still their best option. Still, neither of them take it as seriously as they should, goofing off and laughing through the exercises.
Jack, the trainer, doesn’t mind too much. Sometimes, though, when the two of them are actually sparring, exchanging blows and sweating hard, Jack will frown and correct something. It is helpful. Nico has a lot of bad habits engrained in him, muscle memory from years of trying to train by himself. Lewis has them, too, and both want to win smarter instead of harder, always looking for ways to outsmart the basics.
Today, they’re circling each other with serious looks in their eyes. Lewis is staring at Nico from over the tops of his gloves, brow furrowed and eyes concentrated. Nico knows the look like the back of his hand; it matches the one he’s staring back at Lewis with.
Lewis swings, and Nico ducks. Nico counters, and Lewis blocks it easily. Nico sees an opening and goes for it, bumping Lewis’s ribs with the rounded edge of his glove. Lewis steps out of the hit, grinning down at Nico.
Jack makes a sound, and the two of them turn to him. “You two are holding back,” he says matter-of-factly. “This is not fencing; the blows are meant to land. Do not be afraid of doing damage.”
Nico and Lewis look at each other, both clearly wary. At Jack’s prompting, they raise their fists to a fighting position and circle each other. After a few half-hearted jabs at each other, Jack sighs and whistles for them to stop.
“You cannot be afraid of taking a punch. Eventually, you have to learn how to get hit and keep going.”
It’s not that Nico is afraid to take a punch. He’s taken plenty in his life, and he’s never let them stop him. But he doesn’t want to punch Lewis. The thought of it, of his fist knocking Lewis’s face off center, makes Nico queasy.
The session ends soon after that; both Nico and Lewis finished it with a punching bag session, trying to demonstrate how hard they do hit when it’s not each other on the other end of it. When Jack leaves, he makes the both of them promise to give it their all next week.
It’s silly. Nico knows that it’s boxing. That they are meant to land the hits they make and cause damage with them. And it’s not like he and Lewis aren’t rough with one another. They’ll fight over anything—the last muffin, the bed closest to the window, their favorite punching bag. Sometimes, the roughhousing ends with them on the floor, limbs flailing and elbows knocking.
But this feels different, somehow. From the look on Lewis’s face, he feels that too.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Nico says into the quiet stillness between them. It feels like a confession, but to what, he doesn’t know.
Lewis grins, toothy and wide. “I don’t want to hurt you either. We should make it a rule. No matter what, we don’t hurt each other.”
“But we never hold back,” Nico adds. “We fight fair but clean.”
“Fair but clean,” Lewis repeats. He holds his hand out. “Shake on it?”
They do, and their palms pressed together fill Nico with warmth.
“Jack is right about one thing, though,” Lewis adds. “We need to know how to take a punch.”
Nico scrunches his nose. “There are a ton more kids our age coming in now. Maybe we just have to fight with them.”
The gym has become a magnet for the surrounding towns. Nico and Lewis’s success has lifted everyone, making the gym more profitable than ever. There are people Nico’s age, or a few years younger, who look up to him now. It’s all so strange, but Nico finds he likes it. It’s nice to be recognized.
“Might not be fair to them,” Lewis smirks, all confidence. Nico grins back, knowing the cockiness extends to Nico as well.
“We can go easy on them,” Nico replies. “Let them land a couple of hits before we destroy them.”
They smile at each other goofily for a few moments, and then Lewis says, “It’s not that I don’t want to beat you. I just know I can do it clean.”
Nico rolls his eyes but doesn’t drop his smile. “We can be careful with each other. We’ve earned it.”
It feels more monumental than it ought. Like when Nico watches his parents lean their heads together and whisper to one another. Something private and significant that he knows nothing about, something his mom says she’ll tell him about when he’s older. Nico can’t wait to be older and find out.
In May, two weeks before the year ends and Nico has to return to Monaco for the long summer, Nico walks into the gym and stops in his tracks. Lewis runs right into him, not expecting Nico to be still.
“What the hell, mate?” Lewis asks.
“Uh,” Nico answers eloquently. “Why is my dad here?”
Because that is Keke Rosberg, with his shiny blond hair and familiar mustache, talking animatedly with Anthony.
“That’s your dad?” Lewis asks. “No way! I can’t believe I get to meet him.”
Lewis is way too excited about something that could be a disaster. Keke has never forbidden Nico from boxing or anything like that. But he also doesn’t know that Nico boxes. Or he used to not know. Nico has no idea how his father will react. He’s not ready for this to end. He’s not ready to lose boxing and Lewis all in one fell swoop.
His father spots Lewis first, bounding across the gym. His eyes flit past Lewis and land on Nico. From this distance, Nico can’t read his dad’s expression. His stance isn’t particularly aggrieved. He looks relaxed even, hands in his pockets and head tilted towards Anthony.
He’s not worried about Keke being mad, though Nico knows he inevitably will be. He’s been going behind his father’s back for months, spending all his money on something he knows his father would not approve of. Keke Rosberg is an understanding, supportive father. But he does not like being lied to. And Nico doesn’t want the consequences to be something he can’t give up.
Keke pulls Nico into a hug. Nico’s sprouted up even more since Christmas, and he can easily burrow his head into his father’s neck.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers before they pull apart. His dad shoots him a look, but Nico can’t read it.
Anthony watches the two of them with a fond expression. Nico wonders how much he told Keke, and vice versa. If Anthony knows that Nico is here without his father’s permission, and will kick him out. He can feel his heart in his throat.
Keke keeps whatever he’s feeling close to his chest. He thanks Anthiny and shepherds Nico out of the gym. Nico waves feebly over his shoulder to Lewis, hoping this isn’t the last time he sees his friend. There’s a rental car parked outside, and Nico climbs in without a word.
It's silent as Keke turns the key and pulls onto the main road. Nico worries his lip, gnawing at it in anticipation. He keeps sneaking glances at his father from the corner of his eye, trying to read the emotion through microsecond glimpses.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Keke finally asks, glancing over at Nico for a moment before returning to the road. “I showed up at your dorm room, and your roommate said you’d be at a boxing gym. And then I find out from Mr. Hamilton that not only have you been going there for months but that you’ve been competing.:
“I didn’t want you to tell me I couldn’t,” Nico admits, sinking into the passenger seat. “I know you want me to fence, like you did. But I like boxing. And I’m good at it! You heard Anthony, I have the talent for it!”
Keke turns to Nico for a moment before looking back at the road. His brow is furrowed, his mouth downturned under his mustache.
“Perhaps you are right,” he says with a sigh. “I didn’t like all this boxing talk when you first started. But you clearly love it, and you’re good at it. Better than you ever were at fencing, at least. So if you really want to do this, I am not going to stop you.”
Nico wants to do something ridiculous, like dance in his seat, but he settles for practically squealing, “Thank you, dad!” and leaning over to hug his father.
Keke laughs, nudging Nico off. “I’m driving here, kid, careful. And don’t think this means you aren’t in trouble. You still lied to your mother and me for months.”
Nico winces. “I can still go to competitions, right?”
“Yes, Nico, you can still compete,” Keke says like it’s obvious. “But we are going to do it properly. No more using your allowance to fund this. If you want to compete, we can find sponsors.”
“Okay,” Nico agrees, already feeling warm at the use of ‘we’. Lewis has had his dad with him through this entire process, and now Nico will, too. “Anthony already has a few on board, but I know we could get more.”
“You and Lewis have the same sponsors?” Keke asks, sounding genuinely curious. “Are you a package deal?”
Nico shrugs, turning his attention back on the road. “It’s worked out that way. Lewis is the local one, so people want to sponsor him. And so I’ve been able to get some support that way.”
Keke chews on his bottom lip. “Okay. I think that is okay for now, but moving forward, we should find you some sponsors of your own. You do not want to be tied to Lewis for your whole career.”
Nico knows his father is right, even if the thought of being forever linked to Lewis is nice. It’s all of a sudden all very real. Nico can feel it, how much more possible it is. He feels as if there is nothing stopping them now.
2016
The first time Nico ever boxed with Lewis, it felt like dancing.
Their feet flitted around the floor as if the pattern was predetermined. Dodge right, lean left, tilt back, move forward. They landed blows on each other, but they glanced off, barely registering. Nico could focus on nothing except the movement and Lewis’s eyes.
It still feels like dancing. Even with Lewis looking at him with nothing but hate. Nico’s always wondered what it’s like on the other side of Lewis. To be seen as nothing but a competitor, someone to be beaten. The number one word used to describe Lewis in the ring is ‘ruthless’. Nico understands.
But it’s still dancing. Nico can still tell from the minuscule twitch of Lewis’s shoulder, the look in his eyes, the point of his toes, where Lewis will go. Just as well as when they were 14. When Nico dodges one of Lewis’s feints, he can see the flash of recognition on Lewis’s face, and suddenly, they’re both teenagers in Stevenage, following a beat only they understand.
It’s like they’ve both been shot through with adrenaline. Nico flies around the ring, and Lewis follows. At some point, Nico can feel himself grinning. It looks like Lewis is, too. Nico can’t even keep track anymore, but he’s pretty sure he's landed more blows than he’s taken.
Lewis must realize that, too, because when the bell goes off and they part, Lewis’s face falls. Gone is the hint of the boy Nico once knew. All that is left is the ruthless competitor.
“Nothing is more important to me than winning,” Lewis had said once when they were kids. “Nothing.”
It had seemed almost silly then. Now, Nico wishes he hadn’t been so naive as to presume he was the exception.
Nico has always thought that Lewis looked down on him for not being enough—not ambitious enough, not ruthless enough, not desperate enough. That he doesn’t want it the way Lewis does, like something that thrums under his skin.
But now that he does, now that Nico is attacking this with the same single-minded focus that Lewis has always expected of him, it’s suddenly a betrayal. All because Nico refuses to believe that Lewis is unbeatable.
Because he is beatable. The referee lifts Nico’s arm, and the crowd roars.
The medal ceremony is the next day. Lewis had stormed off after the match, not even giving an interview. Nico had been too happy to think about it, walking around with a German flag wrapped around his shoulders, giving interviews to anyone who would ask.
Now, though, the buzz of it has mostly settled, and the two of them are silently ignoring one another in the waiting room for the ceremony. The two boxers from the semifinals are there as well, chatting with one another in an attempt to lessen the tension.
Nico knows that the boxing world is fascinated by the story of him and Lewis. Ever since they were up and coming boxers, who were childhood best friends and trained in the same gym. As their relationship soured publicly, the media egged it on with glee. Nico can only imagine what they’re going to print tomorrow.
The actual ceremony is—fine. Nico grins through it, Lewis smiles politely, and the two third-place finishers celebrate with each other. When he was a kid, he always imagined this moment with Lewis by his side. When Lewis won in 2004, Nico had been there on the sidelines. They celebrate together for a week.
In a way, Lewis is here with him. It’s just certainly a lot colder than Nuco ever imagined.
Somehow, when everything dies down, Nico finds himself alone with Lewis in the room they’re herded into. The other two boxers have already left, and Lewis seems to be waiting for someone, texting rather aggressively Nico still has some media obligations for Germany, a few photoshoots and the like.
Call it muscle memory, but Nico can’t help but want to drift closer to Lewis. He wants to share this. He wants to have been able to achieve this without it meaning Lewis had to lose.
“It was a good fight,” Nico tries, keeping his voice light. Lewis snaps up to look at him, jaw clenched. “I’m glad it was you.:
“The judges screwed me over,” Lewis says, fuming, not even indulging in whatever Nico is trying to start. He’s stuffed the silver medal in his pocket, apparently not even wanting to look at it. “I should have won.”
After everything, Lewis can’t even give him this. “It was a unanimous decision,” Nico says cooly.
“Well, people are calling it controversial.” Lewis always does this. Pushing the blame out, making it the consensus so he can’t be held to it. “If you didn’t want that, you should have knocked me out.”
Like that would have fixed anything. “I don’t want to knock you out. We don’t do that to each other.”
Lewis turns to him, eyes sharp. Nico realizes before it’s too late that he’s said too much. “I think we’ve stopped having rules for each other long ago.”
Nico huffs. Increasingly, conversations with Lewis feel like grasping at straws. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore. I’m retiring after this.”
It’s the first time Nico’s told anyone. Not even his parents know, but for some reason, Nico felt the urge to tell Lewis. He doesn’t know when they’ll see each other again.
Emotions flash across Lewis’s face, and it’s only from knowing him for so long that Nico is able to decipher some of them. Surprise, anger, sadness, and then back to that unreadable mask Lewis has been sporting more and more.
“Good for you,” Lewis says, and he manages to make it sound sarcastic. “Finally got the one thing you wanted, so you don’t need to be in it anymore, is that it?”
Nico resists the urge to growl. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Lewis laughs unkindly. “Ever since we were kids, you’ve been jealous that I got the emdal and you didn’t. You think this means we’re equal now? We never will be. I’m not giving up; this is a blip. A fluke. History will prove that.”
“God, do you have to make everything about yourself?” Nico sneers, even though he can’t refute most of what Lewis said. “I have a life outside of you.”
“Then why does it seem to revolve around me?”
Nico sighs, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily. When he opens them, Lewis is still staring at him. “Can you not see that this has exhausted me? I want a life outside of this sport. That does not make me less of a man than you.”
He stalks out of the room, not letting Lewis get the last word this time.
2001
Nico’s second year in England is even better than his first.
He gets there early, a month before school starts, to get back into training and start on the competition circuit. His father had entered him in a few in southern France over the summer, but it wasn’t the same. There was no Lewis across the gym, waiting for him in the final.
Lewis did visit them in Monaco for Nico’s birthday. Nico had never had a friend visit from out of town before, and he took great pride in showing Lewis around. Watching Lewis smear ice cream over his face, looking out over the Mediterranean, Nico had the thought that he never wanted to be further away from each other than they were right then.
At Christmas, his dad gives them the best gift he can. He had spoken to Anthony, Keke tells him, and the Rosbergs are coming in as investors in the gym. It’ll truly be a family affair now.
He rides the high all the way through break. Not only does it mean that he and Lewis are tied together, it means that his dad believes in him. That he thinks there is a future here for Nico, an investment that will return.
When Nico returns to England, he bounds into the Hamilton gym full of excitement. Lewis is already there, swinging half-heartedly at a bag towards the back. It’s otherwise empty; the gym isn’t technically open on Mondays, but Nico has always been welcome at any time. And now, Nico thinks with a smile, he’s basically an owner, just like Lewis.
Nico spots Lewis imminently, rushing over to hug him. Lewis hugs him back, but loosely, his arms dangling at his sides after a moment. When Nico pulls back, Lewis is staring at him strangely. Like he’s trying to figure something out.
“Did your dad invest in our gym?” Lewis sounds…angry. It’s not what Nico was expecting.
“Uh, yeah,” Nico says awkwardly. “He said he asked your dad about it.”
Lewis is frowning. “Well, my dad didn’t ask me.”
“Are you mad?” Nico asks, heart in his throat. “I thought you would be excited.” I thought we could be excited together.
“Why would I be excited?” Lewis spits. He’s pacing in a tight square. “Of course, you’re just coming in here and throwing money around and expecting to own something just because you can pay for it.”
“I’m not doing anything different!” Nico counters. “My father just invested because he believes in me. In us. He wants us to be able to hire a new trainer and get staff so that your dad has more time to focus on managing us.”
Lewis stops pacing and glares at Nico. “You keep saying ‘us,’ but this is my gym and my life. When you get bored of slumming it with us regular folk, I’m the one left behind, having to figure it out.”
Nico can feel his energy draining out of him by the second. Something that had been so exciting to him—his father finally believing in him and believing in him with his wallet—is now soured.
“Why are you so sure I’m going to leave?” he asks, annoyed that Lewis would assume that.
Lewis gestures around. “Why wouldn’t you? I saw where you grew up. Sooner or later, you’ll get tired of it here and go running back to the glitz and glam that you’re used to.”
“Lewis, this is what I’m used to,” Nico insists. He lurches forward, grabbing Lewis by the shoulders and forcing him to make eye contact. “This gym, you, your dad. This is all I know. And it’s all I want. I’d rather not do this than do it without you.”
The words feel clumsy in Nico’s mouth. There’s a feeling in his chest, in his bones, that he can’t telegraph accurately. It’s like he’s too big for his body, emotions oozing out of him where they don’t fit. He hopes Lewis can understand them.
Lewis just frowns. “Nico, it’s not that simple. You don’t get it; you’ll never get it. This,” he gestures around again, “is what I have. If it doesn’t work out for you, you can go home. There is no ‘if’ for me. It’s this or nothing.”
Nico fidgets, picking at his thumbnail. He can’t lie and say that he hasn’t noticed the difference in their lives. He knows he goes to a fancy boarding school and that no matter what, if he needs financial help, his parents will be there. And he knows that Lewis and his father sometimes can’t pay the water heater bill. But Nico doesn’t know why that means he can’t be in this with Lewis. If he has the ability to, why can’t he help?
“I understand that,” Nico says, scuffing his shoe on the squeaky floor. “My dad just wants to help us, both of us. He wouldn’t invest money out of pity. He did it because he believes in what we can do.”
Lewis sighs. He slips off his gloves, slinging them around his neck, and massaging his palms. Nico feels the urge to take Lewis’s hands in his own and dig into the sore tendons, working the tension out.
“I think we might never see eye to eye on this,” Lewis says eventually. Nico’s shoulders droop. “I know you and your dad only want to help. And if you’re right, then I hope we can prove that we’re a good investment. I just am not always gonna be happy about it.”
“Okay,” Nico says quietly. “I promise we won’t change anything without your dad. And if my dad tries, I’ll yell at him.”
Lewis smiles at him, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let’s just not talk about it. How was your break?”
Nico inwardly sighs in relief, happy to put the fraught topic behind them. He launches into a long story about his aunt, his dog, and a Christmas ham that makes Lewis laugh until the lingering darkness is chased out.
2019
When Nico turned pro, he stopped training at the Hamilton gym. He needed the support of a national federation, and Germany required that he trained in the country. But his father remained an active investor in the gym, and when Nico retired, Keke offered to transfer the ownership and responsibilities to Nico.
Nico spent a lot of time contemplating it. Of course, he would always feel deeply connected to the gym. He owes his entire life to that gym. But it’s always been Lewis’s. Nico is nothing but an interloper.
But then Keke started talking about how Anthony wants to retire, and Lewis’s career is still going strong, so there’s no one to step into the management role. Nico quickly grew listless in retirement, unmoored both professionally and geographically. He grew up in England and Monaco, came to age in Germany, and spent a lot of time in Finland. The only place he truly ever felt was home was a smelly boxing gym in a not so great part of England.
Running the gym is a good way to direct Nico’s excess energy. It’s grown a lot over the 20 years since Nico first walked through its doors, and while, due to his and Lewis’s notoriety, money will never be an issue like it used to be, there are a lot of logistical nightmares to work through when running a business. At least Nico can burn off any frustration with the punching bags.
A couple of months into the new job, Nico is working at the desk in the office, watching out over the gym. It’s busier than it ever was when Nico was a child, but that doesn’t mean there are no problems. Just different ones. He’s busy trying to juggle the staff schedules when he notices a quiet fall over the gym.
Nico looks out to the gym and sees everyone has paused what they were doing. Everybody is turned towards the entrance, where Lewis Hamilton himself is striding across the gym. He locks eyes with Nico through the glass, jaw set and eyes hard. He practically bangs the door open. His posse waits outside.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Lewis is seething, not even bothering to hide it.
“I’ve been taking over day-to-day management since my retirement,” Nicole explains as smoothly as he can. Over Lewis’s shoulder, there’s still the photo Anthony has up of the two of them as kids, sporting matching black eyes.
“What does that mean? It’s my gym.”
“It’s our gym,” Nico counters, looking up at Lewis. “Both our names are on it.”
Lewis scoffs. “Of course you think all that ownership is, is a name and some money. You don’t get to inherit this, too. You’re not the one who was raised here.”
“Wasn’t I?” He raises an eyebrow, challenging. Lewis doesn’t step down. “Besides, only one of us actually knows anything about the finances of this place. Did you know our operating license was about to expire?”
“Our,” Lewis scoffs again, like the word is sour in his mouth. “What right to have to do this?”
“Ask your father,” Nico counters, feeling mean.
“Do not bring my dad into this,” Lewis warns darkly. “Not when you’re taking everything he built and making it your own.”
“The only thing I’m doing is making sure this place doesn’t crumble into nothingness because your dad wants to retire. You come back here once a year for a photo op, and you think you know what’s going on?”
“You haven’t been back here since you went pro,” Lewis counters. He’s dropped himself into the seat, seeming to accept that this is a long conversation. “Isn’t there some gym in Germany that needs you?”
It’s said with a mocking tone. Lewis had always been aggravated that Nico got national funding from a country he had never even lived full-time in.
“This is where I want to be,” Nico answers smoothly. “And legally, you cannot stop me from being here. This is as much my gym as it is yours.”
Lewis looks like he’s swallowed a particularly sour lemon. He glances around the room, gaze landing momentarily on the photo on the desk. It’s of Lewis, Nico, and both of their dads, at some random regional tournament. When Nico saw that Anthony still kept that photo in there, his heart threatened to spill out of his chest. Lewis seems to be having a similar reaction.
“Fine,” Lewis says, leaning forward in the chair, “but I'm not letting you take this over. I want to be a partner in this.”
Nico figures he should have known when he returned to England, but it appears that he will never escape Lewis Hamilton. “Fine. If you can fit us in around your busy schedule, I’ll welcome you as a partner.”
Lewis grimaces at the word partner but holds his hand out. Nico eyes it warily, long enough that Nico sighs. “Just shake my fucking hand, man.”
Nico grabs it, perhaps too hard, and shakes it vigorously but quickly. His hand feels hot to the touch as they part. “I have a meeting with the tax guy later, but come by tomorrow and we can figure out what this looks like.”
“Why can’t I come to see the tax guy with you?” Lewis prods. “I want to be part of this business.”
Lewis had never expressed a desire to be a part of the business until Nico came on board, but Nico refrains from pointing that out. “Fine,” he agrees shortly. “We’re meeting him for lunch.”
The meeting actually goes surprisingly well. Lewis asks good questions and takes diligent notes on his phone. Nico finds himself thinking this could actually work. He figures that Lewis will still be spending most of his time training and competing, gearing up for Tokyo, leaving most of the day-to-day operations to Nico. But the strategic partnership could be good. Nico is fairly well-known, but he’s no Lewis Hamilton. And if they really want to, there are a lot of resources to leverage at their fingertips.
Lewis hangs around Stevenage for a month, visiting his dad and getting up to date on the gym’s current status. Apparently, he had already planned on being here for the month, so he doesn’t have to rearrange anything.
It’s shockingly pleasant. Lewis is calmer than he was just three years ago. He’s into meditation now, or something. Nico doesn’t know; he tunes out when Lewis starts getting woo-wooy. But it’s nice enough to lull Nico into a sense of security. Perhaps they both have changed enough for this to truly work. Perhaps they could even be friends again.
It blows up almost exactly at the month mark. Like everything with them, Nico has no idea how it started, just that it’s definitely going to end ugly.
They’re screaming at each other in the empty gym, the redesigned logos they are meant to choose from strewn over the floor. If Nico thinks hard enough, he can trace the beginning of this particular blowup to the inclusion of Nico’s initials in the new logo.
“All you’ve ever done is take things from me,” Lewis is saying, each word coming out hard. “My gym, my dream, my medal, my fucking legacy.”
“You’re legacy?” Nico laughs. “I’ve done nothing to that. I’ll always just be a footnote in your story. Isn’t that what you want?”
“What I want is my medal back,” Lewis bites. “You took everything we knew about each other and decided it was fair game. It wasn’t an even playing field.”
Boxing is a mental game. Knowing your opponent is half the battle, and Nico always knew his like the back of his hand. He still does. He still knows exactly where Lewis’s sore spots are and how to exploit them, and Nico knows Lewis could do the same to him.
“Why can’t you understand that I won that medal fair and square? You’ve gotten everything else; can you not let me have this one thing?”
“You still don’t get it,” Lewis sneers. “I don’t have everything. I have to be the greatest, or it doesn’t matter. It all has to be worth it.”
“Don’t they already call you the greatest, even without that stupid medal? The next Ali,” Nico scorns. “Ali did something with his fucking life. The only thing that matters to you is how many medals are on your Wikipedia page.”
Lewis’s eyes flash at that, clearly hurt. “I care about more than just winning, you know. I cared about you.”
Nico levels him with a stare. “You did until you stopped winning.”
“No, I did until you decided that you cared more about your fucking Olympics than you did about me.”
Nico reels back. “I’ve never cared about anything more than you.”
It’s too much, too honest, but Lewis doesn’t react. “Then how the hell would you explain it?”
“I thought we could want the same things, and it would be okay. I thought we both understood that none of it was personal. I don’t know who crossed the line first, but it was crossed, and then it was like there were no rules.”
From the look on Lewis’s face, it’s clear who he thinks crossed that line first. “If you still can’t take responsibility for anything that happened, then I don’t know how this will work.”
“You’re going to give up, then?” Nico scoffs. “Had a nice time on this little side project and now it’s time to let everyone else clean up the mess?”
Lewis glares at him. “You don’t get to judge me for the decisions I make. Not when you threw everything away for something you were never even fully committed to.”
He storms out, slamming the heavy gym door behind him. Nico screams into the empty space, listening to the sound bounce back to him. Then, he gathers all the logo options and tosses them unceremoniously into the trash.
It’s not that Nico needs Lewis to do this. He was doing just fine until Lewis waltzed in and decided he cared about this now. Lewis always does shit like this. Decides to care about something so intensely that it becomes his entire life, and then abandons it when it gets too hard.
Whatever. Nico had always planned to do this alone. He just has to go back to the original plan.
-
Lewis comes back two months later. Nico honestly wasn’t expecting to see him again, much less that soon. But he slinks back in, not with his tail between his legs but at least looking more chagrined.
“I’m not saying that everything is fine,” Lewis says. He’s sitting in the chair across from the desk, pose casual. There is no posse outside the door this time. “But I don’t want to give up on the gym. I want to retire after Tokyo, and this will be what’s left. It’s important.”
Nico studies Lewis for a moment. “We are partners in this, yes? I have put in a lot more time over the last few months than you. You have to trust me to take the lead on this.”
Lewis winces but doesn’t argue. “Okay. What’s your vision for this, then?”
“I want it to be a premier boxing destination,” Nico answers, aware of how much he sounds like a brochure. “A place that pros come to train because they know we have the resources and the infrastructure. It built two champions. It can build more.”
Lewis shifts in his seat. “You want to make it a program, basically. A training ground.”
“Yes,” Nico almost smiles. “That’s a real legacy, helping the future generations.”
“We can’t price out our neighbors,” Lewis counters. “A program on the level you are talking about would never be affordable to the families and individuals that use our gym every day. The people that supported us when we had nothing.”
“Of course, not,” Nico agrees, trying to be gentle. He is trying to make things better; he can’t bristle at Lewis's insinuation that he doesn’t care about this. “But if we have more money, we can do more community-oriented outreach. There can be children’s programming, income-based membership, free family training sessions. We have a chance to build something really good here.”
Lewis sighs, rubbing along his jaw. He’s started keeping a beard, something that Lewis tried on and off when he was younger. It grows in well now, framing Lewis’s jaw. As kids, Nico was always the one teased for being a pretty boy. Now, Nico thinks that Lewis has him beat.
“I have to get back to London,” Lewis says, snapping Nico's attention back to his words. “Don’t make any decisions without me. But I think this could work.”
Nico physically relaxes, tension leaking from his body. For the first time in a long time, he thinks about his future with Lewis, and it no longer feels so dire.
The next few months are filled with a lot of phone calls. Lewis insists on signing off on any decisions, apparently not trusting Nico enough yet to let him do anything without approval. Whatever. Nico has a feeling that will change with time.
Already, he can feel Lewis warming up to him. When Nico retired, he thought that that would be the beginning of them finding their way back to one another. But Lewis had remained a closed door, unable or unwilling to bend in any way. Now, there is nothing to keep them at odds with each other. They are working together towards something both of them can have. Nico hopes that is enough.
It’s clear that Lewis is trying, at least. And Nico is, too. They both dance around the years they spent at each other’s throats. Sometimes, even references to their childhood together are too painful, for either of them.
It’s hard to learn how to be something new to each other. Their relationship on paper is one of pure professionalism. In practice, they flit in and out of definitions, sometimes by the minute. Sometimes, it’s like they’re 15 again and trying to scheme out how they’ll afford to get to the next tournament. Sometimes, it’s like they’re 28 and they hate each other in the way only people who once loved each other could. Most of the time, it’s a little bit of everything.
Both of them are hesitant to trust. Nico recognizes the hesitance that Lewis carries around; he carries it around, too. But they have to trust one another for this to work. It’s an exercise. It’s building muscle memory, learning to trust one another again. To let each other into their decisions.
Lewis is still splitting time between London and the gym, so Nico doesn’t see him daily. But it’s at least weekly. He’s about to suggest that Lewis move over full-time when he walks in one day before the gym opens to find all of Lewis’s high-tech equipment set up in the corner, replacing the old rings.
“You’re going to be training here?” Nico asks, incredulous. Lewis hasn’t trained here since he went pro. He has some fancy gym in London decked out for whatever pretentious training regime Lewis adheres to.
“Yes,” Lewis answers, waving as the movers leave. “If this is going to be the premier gym we talked about, I have to prove that it can train a champion.”
“It already trained two,” Nico counters, an easy smile on his face to show he’s just teasing.
Lewis returns the smile. “Sure, but I think we’re a little better than Jack now, right?”
Nico laughs. “I had forgotten his name. Isn’t that crazy? So many weeks with him and I forgot the name of the man who taught me how to take a punch.”
Lewis’s smile softens but doesn’t fade. “Remember how adamant he was that we hit each other? I think he just really wanted to see some blood.”
“God, I really didn’t want to have to hit you hard,” Nico admits. “I was just a kid and didn’t know why, but it felt so wrong.”
“Yeah,” Lewis agrees, looking far away even though he’s staring directly at Nico. “I never knew how to explain who you were to me. No word felt big enough.”
Nico doesn’t think. Lewis is looking at him so softly, like they’re 19 again, and Nico wants to live in it. He aches with it, the nostalgia blanketing the entire room. He loops his fingers loosely around Lewis’s wrists, where he can feel Lewis’s heart beating just as fast as his.
With a gentle pull, Nico tugs Lewis into him. Their noses brush. Lewis doesn’t push him away, so Nico closes the gap between them, slotting his lips over Lewis’s.
It’s not fireworks, but something unspools in Nico’s chest, unraveling a knot Nico didn’t know was there. Lewis moves his lips tentatively against Nico’s and Nico encourages him, tilting his head more to the side and trying to deepen the kiss. It’s far from his first kiss, but Nico feels like it’s the most new thing he has ever experienced.
Then, Lewis rips his hand from Nico’s grasp.
“What the fuck, Nico?” Lewis pushes him off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looks disgusted. Nico feels as if he’s been socked in the jaw.
“I—” Nico starts but can’t finish, his mouth forming around soundless words. Lewis watches him expectantly.
“How long have you been wanting to do that, then?” Lewis asks, voice still raised.
Nico flinches. “I don’t—I don’t know,” he stutters out. “Years, maybe. I’m sorry.”
Lewis sighs, dropping his head into his hands. When he lifts again, he looks…resigned almost. For the first time in his life, Nico doesn’t know what Lewis is thinking.
“Don’t be sorry,” Lewis chastizes, in the same tone he used to use when they were kids and Nico would let him win. “It’s not—there’s nothing to be sorry about.”
“Really?” Nico has to ask, unable to keep the shock out of his tone.
“I can’t do this right now, okay?” Lewis says, but it’s gentle. Gentler than it’s been for a while. “I’ll come by. In time.”
Nico wants to ask when that time is, but he knows that Lewis is already being more generous than he has any right to. So he just nods and makes his way to the office. They’ll need to get a new desk in here, he thinks absently, for Lewis to work out of.
Lewis takes a week. Nico can see him from the office, training with his whole posse. More and more people are coming in, hoping to get a glimpse of sweaty Lewis Hamilton, pounding the shit out of something. Nico is lucky. He gets a front-row seat to it every day.
But Lewis doesn’t come into the office, and Nico doesn’t ask him to. They will see each other and nod in greeting, making Nico’s heart race. But Lewis doesn’t make any more towards talking. Nico wonders what the final verdict would be.
As kids, they would kiss occasionally, sometimes making out on a hotel bed in the name of curiosity. But neither of them ever broached the subject of seriously being together. In the intervening years, Nico has been with some guys, and some girls, but none of them have been Lewis. If Nico is honest with himself, he’s always thought he hit the jackpot on the first try. No one would ever be Lewis.
He doesn’t know if Lewis feels the same. For all Nico knows, Lewis is straight. Or he has a public image to maintain and will never bend on it. Or there’s the terrifying possibility that Lewis does like men, but he could never be with Nico. There’s a lot of shit behind them that Nico doesn’t want to get pushed back into.
After a week, once the gym is closed and the cleaning staff have left, Lewis slips into the office. Wordlessly, he settles into his chair across from Nico.
“Hi,” Nico greets awkwardly. He twirls the pen in his hand.
“Hi,” Lewis echoes. “I’m ready to talk about it.”
Nico’s heart is in his throat. “Do you want to start or me?”
“You can’t just kiss and make up,” Lewis says, which Nico figures means he wants to start. “That’s not an apology.”
“Well, I don’t think either of us want to apologize for anything,” Nico counters. Lewis raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. “And I don’t think that’s going to change. Does that mean we are not allowed to move forward? Together?”
He’s carefully keeping all hope, all pleading, out of his voice, but Nico can see that it still bleeds through based on the look on Lewis’s face.
“I can’t forget it, Nico,” he says quietly. It’s the most honest he’s sounded around Nico in years. “You can’t ask me to forget it.”
“It’s not about that,” Nico stresses. “I miss you. I miss knowing you. There is no one in the world who knows me like you do, and the same is true the other way around. There is nothing we can do to each other that is worse than what we’ve already done. What do we have to lose?”
The question hangs between them, heavy and unsure. Lewis eyes him warily. He looks tired. Nico wonders if he’s as tired as Nico is, worn down by the years between them. It would be so easy to just lay their weapons down and walk across this battleground toward one another.
“I think,” Lewis starts and pauses, carefully considering his words. Nico remembers a time when they never had to think about their words around one another. Maybe they are better for it now, being careful with one another. Or maybe they’re worse.
“I think,” Lewis continues, “that you were always the most important person in my life, even when we were barely in each other’s lives. And I think that I was always a little bit in love with you, even when I hated you. And sometimes I look at you and think I’ll never be able to forgive you. And then sometimes I look at you, and I miss you so much that it feels like someone cut off my hand.”
The words flood over Nico, like being doused with a bucket of water. Words like love and forgive and never and hate. He’s scrambling, like someone has just kicked his legs out from under him and he can’t make it back to his feet.
“So we are stuck here together.” Nico’s throat feels dry. “Want to do something about it?”
Lewis smiles at him encouragingly, but there’s sadness in his deep eyes. “What do we do? I feel like we’re tangled up together and there’s no way to get free. I don’t know how to stop the past from poisoning us.”
Nico nods in understanding. “I don’t know either. I don’t think anyone does, but I don’t think that has to stop us. We’re different now. We’re partners. We can want the same things, and it doesn’t have to be the end of the world. We can make each other better and not worse.”
Lewis is looking more hopeful by the second. Nico can feel it swooping through his gut. “It’s not going to be the same as when we were kids. It can’t be.”
“I know that,” Nico says. “We are different people now, for better or for worse. But I’ve always been at least a little bit in love with you, too, and I don’t know what else we can do about that but try.”
“I don’t—” Lewis starts, then stops when Nico’s face falls. “I’m scared one of us will ruin it.”
Nico shrugs. “I think that’s just being in love. We just happen to be bringing a lot more shit into it with us.”
Lewis laughs at that, the noise ripping from his throat abruptly. “That’s one way to put it, yeah. It’s—I want this to work more than I’ve wanted anything, I think. That has to be enough, right?”
Nico smiles, reaching across the desk to grasp Lewis’s hands. “I want it the same. I think that’s enough, Lewis."