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Charles isn’t entirely sure what to do with his night.
The lights of Abu Dhabi flicker in the distance, the scent of the track still on his skin, the sweat dried in his hair. He hasn’t even changed out of his clothes yet. He really should shower.
He hasn’t done anything yet except stare outside and try to keep his mind blank.
There’s alcohol in the minifridge and that’s the one thought that manages to get him into action, his legs moving underneath him to bring him to the fridge, his arms reaching out to sort through the different bottles inside until he finds the one champagne bottle, hidden out of sight. It’s been a while since he’s tasted it. Might as well.
In the end, he must have won something, still being with Ferrari while the old golden child was unceremoniously dumped, but he hasn’t been able to find solace in it. Never, really, not even after hearing the news. Mattia had tried calling him the next day, but Charles had been driving and he’d ignored the calls. Seb hadn’t reached out.
He could enjoy the season being over, but not even that felt as good as he’d hoped it would. The car would surely be better next year, maybe he’d have more chances of a podium, even a win, every race less of an uncertainty.
He sits back down in front of the window, drinks some champagne, and lets himself stare off in the distance.
There’s a knock on the door. He thinks about ignoring it, but then there’s another one, and he’s pretty sure he knows who he wants it to be, so he forces his body back into motion and opens the door.
It’s Seb.
Charles wordlessly offers the bottle, still in his hand, and Seb accepts it with a nod before taking a few sips, handing it back as he enters the room.
‘I wanted to...’ Seb starts. Charles shrugs, lifts the bottle to his mouth again.
‘Let’s go sit on the balcony.’
There’s chairs on the balcony, but they ignore them in favour of the pillows Charles threw outside earlier the weekend. He doesn’t remember why. It doesn’t matter. Charles shivers, pulls over a stray blanket, and Seb places the champagne somewhere safe while Charles tries to make himself more comfortable.
‘So this is it,’ Seb says, and Charles would really like him to shut up and never stop talking at the same time.
‘Guess so,’ he replies.
‘It’s been a year.’
‘I’m going to miss how smart you are,’ Charles can’t help but quip back. Seb laughs and it almost feels familiar, like any old evening they’d spent together, every shared moment in between obligations.
‘Maybe now you can be the smart one.’ Seb reaches out to ruffle his hair, leans into his space a little to reach. He doesn’t sit back up again. Charles grabs the bottle back from Seb’s side, using it as an excuse to lean against Seb’s shoulder. He, too, doesn’t sit back up.
They share the bottle between them in silence, Charles finishing it and putting it a safe distance away. He rearranges the blanket around him, still colder than he’d like, and Seb takes it from him, wrapping it around the both of them and pulling Charles close simultaneously.
‘I’m so proud of you. You deserved better,’ Seb murmurs against Charles’ hair after a few more minutes of comfortable silence. Charles can’t hold back the shivers.
‘I’m going to miss you,’ is all he replies with, not trusting his voice with anything else. He can already feel it wavering, a film forming over his eyes, threatening to spill down if he blinks.
‘Ah, I’ll still be around.’
Charles pretends to not feel Seb’s arm tightening around him, or himself clinging to Seb that little bit more.
‘It’s not going to be the same.’
He knows how this is going to go. It always happens the same way. The goodbyes are emotional, promises made to stay in touch, they’ll never forget each other and other empty promises, the first weeks are filled with messages back and forth until it slowly dwindles down to nothing.
Seb’s lack of response does nothing to quell his fears. Charles wishes they hadn’t finished the bottle yet. There’s more in the minifridge, but he doesn’t want to get up to get it. He’s afraid this is it, that they’ll be strangers again when the moment’s over, or maybe not strangers but not friends or whatever this is either, and he’s not willing to give it up just yet.
He’ll have all of winter break to learn how to deal with it anyway.
They sit there until their breath comes out in clouds, Seb pulling the blankets tighter around them every once in a while, whenever Charles starts to shiver again. If Charles gets closer to Seb every time that happens, neither mentions it. If Charles is basically on Seb’s lap at the moment, that’s perfectly acceptable.
‘Did you want to go back inside?’ Seb asks eventually, flexing his legs and rolling his shoulders. Charles starts to slide off of him, tries to get up, but Seb won’t let him, arms still tight around his waist.
‘I’m asking if you want to, not telling you what we’re doing,’ Seb continues and Charles really needs more alcohol to blame the flush in his cheeks on, to have a reason to give an honest answer.
‘We could stay here for a little longer?’ he tries, voice squeakier than he’d like.
‘Of course,’ Seb says, resting his chin on Charles’ shoulder. ‘We can stay here as long as you want to.’
Charles doesn’t let himself hope. He turns around in Seb’s arms, buries his head in the space where Seb’s shoulder meets his neck. He thinks he feels Seb’s lips brush his ear.
He can still see the lights of Abu Dhabi behind his closed eyelids.
Seb rearranges the blanket a final time and holds him close.