Archive of Our Own ^beta

The kid, Gabriel—a name Nico later learned from a parcel left at the wrong door—was something like sunshine incarnate. Nico observed that Gabi was probably twenty-one, a student judging by the textbooks and the ‘Uni of London’ hoodie he wore on laundry days. This gap was a canyon, fueling Nico's internal resistance: Gabi was Too young. Too lively. Too... everything Nico had forgotten how to be.

He wasn't supposed to look. His mind, still scarred by the betrayal of an eight-year marriage, told him he needed solitude, not distraction. Yet, he found himself distracted. He noted when Gabriel laughed in the lobby or waved at the concierge. The attraction was real, and it was hard because it completely violated his need for a clean, emotionally sterile environment. He recognized how ridiculous it was—a man his age, freshly divorced, getting distracted by the pretty boy across the hall who probably thought of him as some middle-aged fossil. This self-recrimination anchored the hard and slow nature of his unwanted fall.

-------

Meanwhile, on the other side of the corridor, Gabriel Bortoleto had experienced a fall that was fast and immediate. Gabi had been living in his apartment for three years, drawn by the skyline and the city's chaotic energy. His room reflected this energy: fairy lights, glowing monitors, and a mechanical keyboard that clicked loudly while he streamed.

Gabi was 21. Streaming had started as a joke, collaborating with friends like Ollie and Kimi, and eventually Max and Lando, building a loyal community. Despite the fun, Gabi was carrying a really big crush on his neighbor.

The neighbor, whom Gabi only knew as Tall, quiet, eyes a shade of green that could cut glass, had moved in two months ago. Gabi saw a slight sadness in the older man—the kind found in people who’ve seen too much—which only deepened his fascination.

Gabi’s crush was so intense it often betrayed him on stream. His friend Ollie once teased him when Gabi glanced offscreen, commenting, “Neighbor’s home,” prompting Gabi to immediately flush and change the subject. The truth was, the small, mundane interactions were enough to make Gabi’s core feelings undeniable. Nico had a charming habit of holding the elevator door open, and sometimes Gabi would hear him humming to himself in the corridor. It should not have been enough, but these small instances were sufficient to make his stomach twist the way it did, confirming the speed and physical impact of his feelings.

-------

The first formal meeting occurred late one evening. The faint scent of cinnamon and pumpkin wafted from Gabi’s apartment, accompanying the sight of Gabi in an oversized jumper, hair messy, cheeks flushed from laughter.

“Hey,” Gabriel said, his voice soft but confident. “You’re my neighbor, right? 4B?”.

Nico nodded, introducing himself: “Yeah. Hülkenberg. Nico,”. The name felt momentarily foreign on his tongue, as if speaking it aloud confirmed that his isolation had just been breached.

“Gabriel,” the boy replied, holding out his hand with a lopsided grin. “But everyone calls me Gabi.”.

The handshake was warm. To Nico, the smile that followed was lethal. This brief contact fractured the defenses Nico had been slowly building for two months, confirming the depth of his hard fall.

 -------
As October wore on, Gabi’s fast-track feelings accelerated into chaotic energy. He was buzzing with energy, planning a Halloween party with his friends Ollie, Kimi, Isack, and Liam. Decorations—stray fake cobwebs and boxes of fairy lights—began cluttering the corridor. Gabi spent the last week obsessing over the party playlist, knowing it was partly an excuse to maybe, just maybe, invite the guy across the hall.

Yet, the speed of Gabi's crush made him clumsy and nervous. Every time he saw Nico, he froze. He would mumble a quick ‘hey’ and scurry back into his apartment before his heart could betray him. This inability to act was the inverse reflection of how fast and intensely he had fallen.

Meanwhile, Nico had reluctantly agreed to his own small, quiet gathering. Sebastian had insisted he couldn't “wallow forever” and needed to be around people “who don’t want to punch your ex”. The plan was simple: Nico, Sebastian, Fernando, and expensive rum. Nico didn’t expect the night to be worth remembering, but fate was already aligning the pieces.

That evening, the tension of two months of intense, internal observation and overwhelming crush culminated in a simple synchronicity: their doors opened at almost the same time.

Gabriel emerged, barefoot, trying to balance a pumpkin-shaped punch bowl. His face was smeared with orange glitter from his decoration efforts. His heart performed the stupid stutter-step it always did when Nico was near.

Nico stood opposite him, controlled and composed in a black shirt, his hair still damp, holding a bottle of wine.

“Oh… hey!” Gabi said, startled but maintaining his smile. “Halloween prep.”.

After confirming his quiet plans with friends, Gabi voiced the hope that had been fueling his crush for weeks: “Cool. Well… if it gets too quiet, we’ll be across the hall. You’ll probably hear us anyway.”.

It was here that Nico’s hard and slow resistance finally failed him. He looked across the hall and gave a reply that surprised even himself: “I’m counting on it,”.

And then Nico smiled—genuinely, for the first time in weeks.

Gabriel grinned back, feeling the tremor of his fast fall validated by that single expression. They stood flustered and smiling on their own sides of the door, having set two stories on a slow, inevitable collision course.

------

The night began with glitter and good intentions.

By midnight, it was chaos.

Gabriel’s flat, now looked like Halloween had exploded inside it. Cobwebs, both real and artificial, hung precariously from the ceiling, and a fog machine hummed ceaselessly in the corner, lending the air a thick, slightly mysterious quality. Fairy lights, blinking in a chaotic symphony of orange and purple, stretched across the windows, casting shadows that danced to the bass-heavy playlist pulsing through the walls. Someone—Gabi suspected Isack—had drawn a ghostly figure with a marker on the fridge, and it was already smudged beyond recognition.

The apartment was filled with Gabi’s closest friends: Ollie, Kimi, Isack, and Liam. The energy was high, fueled by the music and the pervasive sense of freedom that comes with knowing the only thing waiting tomorrow is a colossal hangover.

Ollie was sprawled over the couch. He was supposed to be a vampire, but the black cape looked like he’d snatched it off a low-budget theatre costume rack. Kimi was half asleep on the floor, clutching a plastic skull like a strange comfort doll. The only two people who seemed relatively sane were Isack and his boyfriend, Liam, sitting side by side on the armchair, sharing a drink and occasionally laughing at the more raucous displays.

And then there was Gabriel. Poor, twenty-one-year-old, lovestruck, irredeemably distracted Gabriel. He was sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of them, his cheeks flushed crimson with a potent mix of vodka, tequila, and a mild, pervasive sense of humiliation—a result of a recent, forgotten dance move.

The alcohol had been flowing freely. The centerpiece of the evening, the pumpkin-shaped punch bowl, was nearly empty. It was filled with something bright red and sugary that had long since lost any trace of its original ingredients—it could genuinely have been cranberry juice or paint thinner, but no one cared anymore. Gabi had gotten drunk quickly, feeling his limbs grow pleasantly boneless.
Despite the chaotic joy, Gabi was fighting an internal battle. He was supposed to be having fun—and mostly he was—but every time his gaze drifted toward the apartment door, that quiet, familiar ache stirred again.

He knew exactly what was happening across the hall. He’s probably next door right now. Reading. Drinking something neat and grown-up. Gabi imagined Nico, composed and calm, maybe listening to the bass bleed through the walls and laughing at the chaos.

He hated how his heart reacted to the mere thought of his neighbor. He’d seen Nico earlier, when their doors opened simultaneously, all in black, sleeves rolled up, hair still damp. Nico looked like trouble disguised as calm—a dangerous anchor in Gabi’s whirlwind life. Gabi knew Nico was a man you could fall into by accident and never find your way back from. And Gabi, deep in his drunken bravery, was already and utterly smitten. This rapidly developed crush meant that every shared glance across the hall was enough to send him reeling.

“We need more music! Less sitting!” Kimi mumbled from the floor, shaking his plastic skull.

“No, no, we’ve reached a crucial developmental stage,” Ollie announced suddenly, sitting up with renewed, slightly terrifying energy. He squinted through the dim, fog-laced air at the remaining dregs in the punch bowl. “We’ve reached the official point of no return, my ghoulish comrades. Which means—”

Ollie grinned, raising a glass sticky with red fluid.

“Truth or dare,” he declared.

A chorus of immediate groans filled the room. Liam, predicting the incoming recklessness, buried his face dramatically in his hands. Kimi made a sound of protest. Only Isack smirked, looking like the devil himself in the dim light.

“Let’s make it interesting,” Isack said. “No boring truths. No easy dares.”

“Define easy,” Gabriel said, leaning back on his hands.

“You’ll find out,” Isack promised, his eyes glinting. “We always do.”

And so, the classic, inevitable spiral began. The alcohol had erased inhibitions. The early dares were quick and meant only to raise the immediate level of discomfort and chaos:

One round resulted in a dare to text an ex. Liam refused but took a shot of pure tequila instead.
Another dare required chugging what was left of the punch—a feat Isack happily undertook, proving that the punch was indeed likely paint thinner.
Ollie dared someone to wear his fake fangs for the rest of the night.
When it circled to Kimi, he was dared to dance on the coffee table. Kimi, fueled by the party’s energy, did so, gracelessly but enthusiastically, leading to everyone’s howling delight as he narrowly avoided falling into the fog machine.

By the time the game circled back to Gabriel, his head was spinning pleasantly. His laughter came too easily, his inhibitions long gone. The room glowed soft and warm around the edges, protected from the cold, sober world outside.

“Your turn, Gabi,” Ollie slurred, waggling his eyebrows like a cartoon villain. “Truth or dare?”

Gabriel grinned, lifting his chin, a mixture of alcohol-fueled pride and recklessness defining his expression. “Dare. Obviously,” he said.
The pause that followed was dangerously thick.

Isack and Liam exchanged a slow, knowing glance. Kimi perked up immediately, a triumphant smirk curling on his lips—the look that says, We’ve been waiting two months for this.

“Oh no,” Gabriel said, the first sliver of sobriety cutting through his alcohol haze. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because,” Isack said, drawing out the word, his voice low and pointed, “you’ve been making moon eyes at your neighbour for months, and we’re bored of watching you pine through the walls.”

“Wh—what?” Gabi stammered, the heat rising to his face instantly, even through the liquor. “No, I—”

“Oh, come on,” Liam laughed, finding Gabi’s denial hilarious. “Every time you hear footsteps outside, you freeze like a cat. It’s adorable.”

Kimi, acting as the judge passing sentence, pointed a shaky finger at Gabi. “Your dare is to go across the hall and kiss your hot older neighbour.”

The room exploded into howls of laughter, cheers, and exaggerated gasps. The chaos had reached its zenith, leaving Gabi standing at its epicenter, utterly exposed.

------
Nico Hülkenberg sat back in his minimalist armchair, letting the familiar scent of rum and lime settle over him. The glass was cool against his palm, the golden liquid soothing in its warmth. He had sought this kind of peace: contained, controlled, and quiet, a deliberate counterpoint to the chaos that had defined the end of his eight-year marriage. His apartment in West London was meant to be a temporary refuge, a clean slate for someone pretending he wasn’t falling apart. 

Tonight, the peculiar kind of loneliness that came with divorce—heavy, suffocating, and reeking faintly of old perfume and betrayal—felt blessedly distant. Sebastian was sprawled on the sofa, telling a long, winding story about his latest classic car restoration project, his hands moving animatedly to illustrate engine parts. Fernando sat nearby, half-listening, offering a dry commentary every few minutes while scrolling through his phone.

It felt good, in a way—familiar. This was the easy banter, the uncomplicated history, the kind of friendship that didn’t demand explanations. They knew enough to know when not to pry, but Nico knew Seb had that look—the one that said we’re going to talk about it eventually.

The only intrusion on the quiet ritual was the faint, rhythmic thump-thump-thump bleeding through the wall from across the corridor. Gabriel’s flat, 4B, was clearly in the throes of a Halloween party. Nico had heard the influx of guests—the shrieks of laughter, the heavy electronic beats, the muffled shouting. He imagined the fog machine humming ceaselessly and the messy cobwebs hanging precariously. It was the sound of youth, of carelessness, of a life he felt infinitely distant from.

“So,” Sebastian started, taking a slow sip of rum and raising an eyebrow, “how’s the new place? You seem… less haunted”.

Nico smirked faintly. “That’s a low bar”.

Fernando chuckled, setting his phone down. “At least you’re drinking rum instead of red wine alone. Progress”.

“I’m surrounded by optimists,” Nico said dryly, taking another sip. The rum helped soften the edges of his thoughts, but it couldn't fully erase the memory of the past two months spent watching the light under the door across the hall. He had been so focused on his self-imposed isolation, on his hard and slow struggle against an inappropriate attraction, but now, with the protective haze of alcohol and friendship around him, the topic felt unavoidable.

“Any cute neighbours?” Sebastian asked, attempting a casual tone that didn’t quite succeed. “These places always have a few.”

Nico felt his grip on his glass tighten—a subtle, involuntary physical reaction that didn't go unnoticed by Fernando.

“There’s… someone,” Nico admitted, the words escaping before he could clamp down on them. “Across the hall.”

Fernando’s posture immediately shifted. “Oh? Do tell”.

Nico sighed, accepting his fate. He chose his words carefully, trying to minimize the impact, but recognizing the truth in every syllable. “He’s… young,” Nico said simply. “Probably still in university. Loud sometimes. Always smiling”. He forced a casual shrug, trying to dismiss the seismic internal shift the boy represented. “The kind of person who reminds you the world still turns”.

Sebastian’s gaze, which could usually slice through granite, was sharp and knowing. “And you haven’t said hello?”.

“I did. Once,” Nico admitted.

“Let me guess,” Fernando cut in, anticipating the answer with clinical accuracy. “You panicked and walked away”.

“Something like that,” Nico muttered, smirking despite himself. He didn't elaborate on the overwhelming, deeply inappropriate feeling that accompanied every interaction, the feeling that told him this connection was dangerous and risked undoing all the self-control he’d been trying to rebuild since the betrayal. He couldn't explain the depth of his fall—slow and hard because it was fought every single day.

He was about to deflect the conversation completely when the music next door seemed to swell, followed by an immediate, muffled roar of laughter and cheers.

And then came the knock.

It was a delicate sound: three soft taps. Hesitant. Almost musical. It was completely unexpected.

The room went still, the sound of Seb telling a joke dissolving into the bass bleeding through the wall.

“Expecting someone?” Fernando asked, his eyebrow arched in question.

“No,” Nico said slowly, setting his glass down on the side table. “Not at…”

He stood up, walking across the expensive carpet toward the heavy, lacquered door. The moment felt cinematic. He paused, taking one last steadying breath, preparing to tell off a drunk party guest for noise complaints, or perhaps just to politely send Gabi back to his friends.

He opened the door.

And everything that followed felt like falling.

Standing in the hallway light was Gabriel. He was backlit by the fairy lights and the chaotic energy from his flat. He was wearing a shirt faintly covered in glitter he didn’t remember applying. His curls were messy, his eyes were glassy with drunken courage, and he was smiling too brightly.

“Hi,” Gabriel said, swaying just slightly. “Happy Halloween!”.

“Gabriel?” Nico blinked, taking in the sight of his adorable, chaotic neighbor. “Are you—”.

He didn’t get to finish the question.

Because the next second, Gabi moved.

It wasn't a calculated approach; it was a stumble forward, quite literally, as if the alcohol had removed the concept of balance. Gabi grabbed Nico’s shirt for purchase, his hands fisting in the fabric. He was close—too close. Nico felt the immediate, overwhelming heat radiating off him, the scent of sugary punch and warmth.

And then, without hesitation, without even thinking, Gabi pressed his lips to Nico’s.

The world spun.

Nico’s hand, which had been resting on the doorknob, lost all function. The glass he had managed to retrieve earlier slipped from his fingers and landed safely on the carpet, forgotten. The hallway light cast them in gold, emphasizing the shocking reality of the collision.

For a split second, Nico was frozen—stunned, breathless, his brain struggling to process the impossible scenario: the sweet, young neighbor he had been fighting to ignore for two months was full on kissing him. Then, something instinctive took over. He couldn’t explain it—maybe it was the residual loneliness, maybe it was the rum, or maybe it was the realization that the attraction he had fought so hard had finally breached his defenses.

He didn’t know what to do in that moment really except to kiss back as good as he got.

It was clumsy because Gabi was struggling to maintain his footing, and it was sweet and wild—the kind of kiss that tastes like sugar and bad decisions and everything you didn’t know you’d missed. Nico’s own fingers instinctively found Gabi’s waist, steadying him, the warmth between them burning through the October chill and shattering the quiet reserve he had maintained for months.
And then, through the stunned silence of both apartments, came the unmistakable sound of whistling.

First from Gabi’s flat—Nico could clearly hear Ollie’s high-pitched cackle echoing down the hall.

Then from his own living room, where Fernando muttered, “Finally,” followed immediately by Sebastian’s very dignified applause.
Gabi broke away, breathless, blinking up at Nico with a dazed smile that was pure intoxication and sincerity.

“Oh,” Gabi said softly, realization dawning slow and heavy. “You’re real”.

Nico huffed a sudden, disbelieving laugh, still holding Gabi steady against him. “You’re very drunk”.

“Probably,” Gabi admitted easily, leaning into him like gravity had a personal grudge. Then Gabi’s expression, previously goofy, became unexpectedly genuine, cutting through the haze of the alcohol. “But you’re… really handsome, you know that? Like unfairly so. I think about you way too much”.

Nico swallowed hard, his pulse hammering against his ribs. The confession—a product of the truth or dare game—felt terrifyingly honest, breaking through the polite barriers they had maintained. This was the vulnerable, chaotic reality of the neighbor he had been struggling to keep at arm’s length.
“You should probably sit down before you fall over,” Nico managed, his voice a little rougher than he intended.
“Can I fall into you instead?” Gabi asked, dead serious, blinking up at him.

Nico stared at him, the weight of the moment heavy with the feeling of inevitability. Then, the laughter returned, low and disbelieving, the kind of sound that hadn’t escaped him in years.
He gently guided Gabi inside, closing the door behind them, shutting out the immediate cheers and noise. “Come on, Romeo”.

Across the hall, the shouts of Gabi's friends confirmed the execution of the dare: “He did it! He actually did it!” and “That’s my boy!”.

Inside Nico’s flat, Sebastian raised his glass, utterly unbothered by the sudden interruption and the subsequent chaos next door. “To new beginnings,” he said dryly, clinking it against Fernando’s.
And somewhere between the laughter, the lingering warmth, and the scent of cinnamon and rum, two lives that had been orbiting quietly for months finally collided—messy, unexpected, and utterly inevitable.

-------
The night didn’t end quietly.

After that first explosive kiss—the one that stopped both their worlds spinning just long enough to make them deliciously dizzy—Nico Hülkenberg had to forcibly clear his apartment. He didn’t quite remember the moment he manually closed the door on Sebastian and Fernando’s amused faces, but he definitely remembered throwing them out with a muttered “out, both of you, now.”.

Sebastian, still grinning like the devil, lifted both hands in mock surrender. Fernando, meanwhile, offered a final wink while murmuring something about “don’t do anything I wouldn’t”.

As expected, they went straight across the hall. They were instantly absorbed into the glitter-drenched chaos of Gabi’s party, where the music thumped relentlessly. Fernando could be heard laughing—actually laughing—and Sebastian quickly settled into conversation, forming an unholy alliance with Gabi's friends.

Meanwhile, inside Nico’s quiet, minimalist apartment, things went utterly silent.

Gabriel stood near the door, cheeks flushed, eyes unfocused with intoxication and surprise. Nico was still half in disbelief, his pulse drumming against his ears.

Then Gabi broke the tension, giggling, the soft, helpless sound that escapes when your brain short-circuits.

“I can’t believe I just kissed you,” Gabi confessed.

Nico exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can’t believe it?” he challenged gently.

Gabi grinned, swaying slightly. “You’re like… this serious, mysterious guy. I didn’t think you’d kiss back,” he admitted.

“Neither did I,” Nico admitted.

But the conversation didn't stretch to cover cooking attempts or ridiculous neighbors. The admission of his vulnerability—the crack in the façade of the “serious, mysterious guy”—was enough to eliminate the need for words.

They settled near the couch. The initial, reckless kiss had shattered the internal barriers Nico had maintained for two months. This connection, this hard and slow fall he had fought against, was suddenly real and immediate, and the desire to lean into it was overwhelming.

One touch led to another.

In the quiet space, the intimacy quickly escalated. One kiss turned into two, then three, then enough that they both forgot to count. This was not a soft, unhurried night of conversation, but a fierce, dizzying collision of unspoken desire. Gabi’s hands found the skin beneath Nico’s shirt, and Nico’s fingers were tangled in Gabi’s curls, pulling him closer. The kissing was clumsy, sweet, and wild—tasting of sugar and bad decisions.

In the heat of the moment, seeking to mark the unexpected reality of their coupling, they became reckless. When they eventually stumbled toward the bed, the trail they left wasn't just clothing; it was a scattering of evidence: bruises and deep, blossoming hickeys left against collarbones and the slope of shoulders, indelible marks confirming the intensity of their physical crash.

Eventually, somewhere between the fading sound of the party next door and the city’s late-night sigh, they fell asleep—tangled in blankets, hearts steady for the first time in a long while.

--------

Morning came cruelly.

Gabriel woke to sunlight stabbing through the curtains like a personal attack. His skull throbbed, a brutal hangover headache kicking in. His mouth felt dry and his limbs felt heavy.

For a second, Gabi lay perfectly still, cocooned in warmth, trying to ignore the chaotic memories. Then his hand shifted, brushing against something solid and warm. And breathing.

Oh no.

He cracked one eye open. Nico’s bare shoulder was right there, inches from his face, rising and falling with a slow, steady rhythm. The air smelled of rum, soap, and comfort.

“Oh God. Oh, no. No, no, no,” Gabi whispered silently.

He was in Nico’s bed. His ridiculously handsome, freshly-divorced, too-old-for-him neighbour’s bed. And Gabi was—well, not dressed in anything that would help his case.

I’m going to evaporate. I’m going to die and ascend out of sheer humiliation.

He sat up too fast, groaning as the room spun violently. His movement stirred Nico awake.

“Mhm?” Nico’s voice was low, sleepy, and rough in a way that momentarily made Gabi’s soul short-circuit. Nico blinked, focused, and froze just like Gabi had.

“Gabriel?”.

“Hi,” Gabi squeaked, his voice cracking. “Um. Morning”.

The silence that followed was excruciating.

Gabi scrambled, grabbing the nearest blanket and wrapping it tightly around himself like a human burrito. “I’m going to… um… bathroom. Or window. Whichever leads to an escape route,” he muttered, stumbling toward the hallway.

Inside the bathroom, Gabi pressed his palms against the sink, forcing himself to look up at his reflection.

The sight was damning. His hair was wild, his eyes glassy, and his lips were still faintly red. But it was the angry, blooming marks on his neck and the exposed skin of his chest that made him freeze completely. The small bruise on his collarbone, which Gabi had previously mentally excused as “maybe from a button, maybe from fate itself”, was clearly just one of several dark, unmistakable hickeys left in the rush of the night. He looked like a man who’d walked straight into a storm and wasn’t sure he wanted to come out of it.

“Idiot,” he muttered to his reflection. “You absolute idiot. You kissed him, you slept in his bed, and now—”.

He stopped, breath held.

In the mirror, Nico’s reflection appeared in the doorway. Nico had not gotten out of bed; he was sitting up against the headboard, his bare chest visible above the blanket, hair tousled. He was simply watching Gabi, observing his panicked reflection from the depth of the bed.

“Gabi,” Nico started, his voice low.

Gabi stayed frozen, meeting Nico’s gaze in the glass. The older man’s eyes were unreadable, but held no trace of anger—only quiet intensity.
Nico broke the silence first, his tone cautious, soft: “Do you… remember much?”.

Gabi whispered, still staring at the damning marks on his reflection. “Bits. There was kissing. A lot of it”.

Nico nodded, his lips twitching slightly. “You weren’t,” Nico stated, his voice carrying an unexpected weight. “Drunk, yes, but not gone. You knew what you were doing. So did I”.

That quiet honesty hit harder than any hangover. Nico sighed, leaning further back on the pillows, maintaining eye contact with Gabi's reflection. “I’m not going to blame it on the alcohol, if that’s what you’re worried about”.

“You remember?” Gabi whispered, terrified.

“All of it,” Nico confirmed. “Every kiss.” Something tender, definitely not regretful, flickered in his eyes.

Gabi couldn't move. He was caught between his reflection, his blanket, and the intense gaze of the man in the bed. The weight of “I think about you way too much” now felt horribly exposed.
Then came the knock.

Loud, rhythmic, and impatient.

Followed immediately by Sebastian’s unmistakable voice: “Nico! Open up before we start assuming scandalous things!”.

Gabi nearly jumped out of his skin. “Oh my God”.

Nico groaned, closing his eyes in utter resignation. “Of course”.

And before Nico could even get out of the bed to stop them, the door burst open.

Fernando Alonso strolled right in, wearing sunglasses despite being indoors and holding a half-empty coffee cup. Sebastian trailed behind him, looking far too amused.

“Well, well, well,” Fernando announced, surveying the scene. “What do we have here?”.

Sebastian smirked, eyes flicking from Nico in the bed to Gabi in the bathroom doorway, still wrapped in the blanket. “You weren’t answering your phone. We thought you’d died”.

“Clearly not dead,” Fernando retorted, enjoying the spectacle. “Very much alive. And compromised”.

Gabi made a noise between a squeak and a dying bird. He instantly yanked the blanket tighter, bolted toward the bed, and dove beneath the covers, burying himself completely. “Nope! Not doing this! I’m invisible!”. Nico was still in the bed.

“Too late, kid,” Fernando called cheerfully after him. “We saw everything”.

Sebastian leaned against the wall, utterly unbothered. “Morning, sunshine,” he said to the blanket lump. “Fun night?”.

Nico, who had finally swung his legs out of bed, pinched the bridge of his nose in exhausted exasperation. “You two are children”.

“Correction,” Fernando corrected him, grabbing a bottle of water. “We are concerned friends. Who happen to be excellent judges of chemistry”.

Gabi groaned loudly from beneath his protective fortress.

The chaos multiplied when Fernando, ignoring Nico’s flat “No”, texted Gabi’s friends. Within ten minutes, Kimi, Liam, and Ollie stumbled in like a parade of regret. Still in their partial costumes, clutching water bottles, they stopped dead when they saw Nico and the distinct lump of blanket that was Gabi. Liam grinned: “You actually did it”. Kimi smirked: “And survived”.

Sebastian, already helping himself to coffee in the kitchen, declared that everyone needed a “proper breakfast anyway”. The apartment quickly became a battleground: someone managed to burn toast, Fernando, wearing sunglasses indoors, tried to fix the protesting smoke alarm, and Ollie, wearing a pair of Nico’s slippers, decided they were “for the vibes”.

Amid the noise, Gabi’s misery was complete. “I hate all of you,” he muttered. Fernando, utterly unbothered, leaned against the wall and asked innocently: “So. When’s the wedding?”. Nico simply stared at him, deadpan: “Fernando”.

Nico accepted a mug of coffee from Sebastian, who pointed out: “And yet you keep us around,” earning a reluctant but genuine smile from Nico. The morning blurred into laughter and constant teasing.
Finally, Gabi emerged from his blanket sanctuary, his hair sticking up in every direction. He sat at the kitchen table right beside Nico, their shoulders brushing in a “quiet echo of the night before”.

------

By mid-afternoon, the friends began to disperse. Sebastian and Fernando eventually took their leave, still teasing as they went, followed by Gabi’s friends, who promised loudly “to never let him live this down”.

The door closed, and the resulting silence was immense. Gabi stood in the middle of the room, messy-haired and slightly blushing. Nico—tired, amused, and oddly at peace—handed him another cup of coffee.

Gabi glanced sideways at Nico, his voice soft enough only for the older man to hear. He had to know the reality now that the alcohol and the adrenaline were gone.

“So… what happens now?”.

Nico looked at him—"really looked"—and for the first time since the whole divorce mess began, he didn’t overthink the situation. His earlier reluctance to “blame it all on alcohol” was gone, replaced by the admission that he remembered “All of it. Every kiss”. He just smiled, small and genuine, a visible sign that his hard and slow fall had reached an unexpected, yet desired, destination.

“We start with coffee,” he said simply. “And we figure it out from there”.

The chaos had softened into something quieter, transforming into “not certainty, but possibility”.

Nico then asked, lightly, “Still want to move countries?”.

Gabi hesitated, then offered a small smile, the genuine crush still evident in his eyes. “Maybe not. I kind of like the view here,” he admitted.

Nico chuckled softly. “Flirting already?”.

“Just practising,” Gabi said, his eyes gleaming with youthful mischief. “In case my neighbour’s into it”.

Nico met his gaze, a profound warmth blooming beneath the fatigue.

“He might be,” Nico confirmed.

Inside, two people who should have remained strangers shared a laugh, a cup of coffee, and a morning they knew they would never forget. Outside, the rain started again.