Work Text:
Once the adrenaline from the race had worn off, Stoffel was in agony.
It had hit during debrief; one minute he was listening to the engineers discuss various set-ups, the next he was laying face-first on the table as wave after wave of red-hot pain tore through his body.
To his left, someone was yelling about paramedics and hospitals while to his right, someone was calling his name. Blinking back tears, he lifted his head to meet his teammate's eyes.
Nyck’s face was clouded with concern, worry and fear dancing in his eyes as he brought a hand up to wipe the tears off Stoffel’s cheeks.
“It’s gonna be okay,” the Dutchman mumbled, whether it was aimed at himself or Stoffel, the Belgian couldn’t tell.
Almost hesitantly, Nyck pressed a kiss to Stoff’s forehead, as if he was afraid of touching his teammate for fear of causing him more pain.
There was a commotion just outside the garage and Nyck pulled away as a paramedic replaced the Dutchman in Stoffel’s peripheral.
Within moments, he was getting bundled into an ambulance and sped off to the hospital.
The next few hours morphed into a blur; tests and exams rolled into one hazy, pain-filled dream. It wasn’t until a nurse shot his IV line full of morphine did the cloud clear slightly, for all of five minutes until the medicine knocked him out.
He came to slowly, turning his head away from the bright light that was seeping in behind his eyelids. He lifted a hand to rub away the sleep in his eyes and peeled his eyes open, coming face-to-face with his teammate.
Nyck was perched on the edge of the visitor’s chair, having changed out of his team gear and having abandoned his phone in favour of sitting forwards on the seat, as close to Stoffel as he could get without physically touching him.
“Heya Stoffie,” the Dutchman smiled, relief clouding his face. “How’re you feeling?”
“Sore,” Stoffel yawned. “What’s the damage?”
“Four broken ribs, one broken arm, a fractured leg and a grade II concussion.”
Stoffel let out a low whistle, but Nyck continued.
“But thankfully it wasn’t worse, the car was completely wrecked, I mean, you know, you were in it, but verdomde hel-” Nyck blew an angry huff out of his nose.
Stoffel reached his unbroken arm out towards Nyck. The Dutchman instantly grasped onto it, as if it were his lifeline.
They sat in silence for several minutes, Nyck gripping onto Stoffel’s hand as if his life depended on it and the Belgian happy to let him do so. Their relationship was built on physical contact, the act just came naturally to them.
This time, however, it was different. This was no simple clap on the shoulder on a shared podium, or a hug for a social media picture; no, this was a private thing, something that was just for them. Something to remind them that while the job was dangerous, there was always one thing that would pull them through.
Love.
And while it might not have been the worst crash either of them had endured, nor were Stoffel’s injuries the worst either had suffered, it was still enough to make the unsaid declarations of love present in their eyes that much more important, that much stronger.
For, at the end of the day, love was their driving force.