36, Sebchal with some hurt comfort/fluff
hi anon <3 ty for the request
this took wayyy longer than i hoped it would lol. i’m not sure how i feel about it, but i had a vision. i hope you like it 🫶
36. “Come with me. Please?”
Sebastian rubbed his hands together, pulling the door open. A bell chimed above, the murmur of conversing customers and smell of roasted coffee instantly surrounding him. He smiled and approached the counter, shaking the snow off his shoulders.
While he had chosen solitude, people were often nice company… he tried not to think about that too much. In any case, his visits to a café not far from his house were timely. Initially, they were once a month, then biweekly, slowly creeping into a weekly routine. The baristas were kind enough to not remember who he was, asking for his name and order each time without a smile on their face. Maybe that was why he kept returning, maybe he longed for that sense of normalcy.
He accepted the warm cup, spinning around, ready to settle in the small corner between two windows. A spot isolated enough that he could be left alone to people-watch (and eavesdrop, though he’d never admit to it).
Only this time, it was already occupied by a man with messy hair and a thick black jacket. The man held a paper cup in his hand, staring blankly at a spot on the floor.
A red beanie laid on the wooden table.
Seb walked over, catching bits and pieces of conversations he wasn’t a part of. He slid into the seat opposite, displeased when the man kept staring blankly, uncaring to the stranger that invaded his space.
“Charles, you need to start paying better attention. I could’ve been a pickpocket.”
“Yes, I know.” He blinked, raising dull green eyes to meet Seb’s. The edges crinkled slightly. “Hello again, Sebastian.”
Charles smiled, his dimples barely poking out. He looked… defeated. His shoulders were slumped, dark circles more prominent than Seb last remembered, and there was a gravelly undertone when he spoke, like the words needed to be scratched to freedom.
Nevertheless, Seb felt himself start to claw in and hold on to whatever time they had left. “How have you been?”
“What are you doing here?”
“There’s a storm coming.”
“Andrea said it’d be good.”
Charles shook his head, then huffed a laugh as he set his cup down. For a moment, he looked lighter, more like the enthusiastic boy Seb first met. “Joris thinks I need a retreat.”
This was a dry conversation – one-sided in a way he dreaded, yet Seb still clung on. It was the longest he’d spoken to someone this month.
“Well, what a coincidence finding you here, huh?”
Charles said nothing, looking back at that spot on the floor. He lifted the cup to his lips and swallowed.
He sighed. It was odd being brushed off by someone Seb knew adored him once. Distance was supposed to make the heart grow fonder, but all it seemed to do was make the ache stronger. Or at least, Seb’s ache. Maybe it was unrequited after all – a reasonable explanation for the tension budding at the table – and Charles could sense it. The boy always knew more than he let on. Besides, plenty of time had passed, if anything, simply by being here Seb was pouring salt on healing wounds.
“Right.” Seb picked up his cup, going to stand. The chair scraped against hardwood. “It was good to see you again. You don’t need luck, but I’ll be watching you on–”
Charles grabbed his free wrist, pulling him back down. “I knew you’d be here, Seb.”
Seb blinked, settling into the seat once more. He placed the cup down.
Charles’ brows pinched upward, a certain desperation morphing his face into one Seb knew all too well. “Everything is wrong. It– you…” He licked his lips and took a deep breath. “It has been horrible since you left.”
“Yes, it is. I was–I was winning. I had second-place. Why did you have to go?”
He picked at the lid of his cup. “It was time.”
“No, it wasn’t. I don’t– what do I do? Seb, please. Tell me I’m not making a mistake.” Charles shook his head. “I can’t accept that this is all I will be. I want to win, I want to be like… like you and Lewis and Michael and–and I do not want to do any of this alone.”
“I want to be a champion.”
Seb grimaced. “On the bright side, you’ve already–”
“There is no bright side, Sebastian.” He replied sternly. The sharp set of his brow made the hollow of his cheeks more prominent. “I am the champion of losers and I am sick of it.”
“Leave them. Leave Ferrari then.”
He shook his head again. “No, no.”
The twist of his lips, the reddening of his ears, the fidgeting of his hands – they all pointed to a boy struggling against impulse. Charles blurted. “Follow me next time.”
“Come with me.” He said earnestly, eyes round. “Please.”
Seb sighed and leaned forward. “Where?”
Maybe they were two lonely people, two miserable men in their own comforting bubble. Happiness might not have been on their plate, and contentment might’ve been fresh sold out on the menu, but they could always try to make their own. They had two sets of able hands and two brains that were as analytical as the other. It was possible.
Seb reached out and took Charles’ hand, smoothing his thumb over roughened and chilled skin. “Are you okay?”
He gave a half-shrug, lifting a shoulder sluggishly.
It would be a mistake to give in so easily. Thinking of Charles was dangerous. He invaded a countless number of Seb’s nights and caused many sleepless hours, sometimes extending into the early morning when the sun would seep into the room.
Charles opened and closed his mouth soundlessly. The trust was not broken, but Ferrari was a double-edged sword sometimes. A driver would learn the good and the bad at the expense of knowing who was reliable. Seb knew this.
“A storm is coming. Spend it with me. I can show you my garden. It’s a bit wilted now, but that’s okay. We can have hot chocolate and watch the snow or a movie. I have a dog, Bruno, you’ll like him.” Seb smiled. “I’d rather have you there than not. We don’t have to spend this storm apart.”
Charles looked at him, a light stain of pink high on his cheeks. “I would not like to be left in the hands of strangers if anything goes wrong.”
“I’m not a stranger. So, what do you say?”
He smiled widely, eyes brightening and dimples deepening. “Yes. I’d like that.”
