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(2012 Summer Break)
Sebastian should have seen this coming.
The moment Christian pulled him and Mark into a Red Bull media meeting with that tight, PR-fueled grin, he should have known they were about to suffer.
He wasn’t even subtle about it. Just sat there, perfectly at ease, flipping through a folder stuffed with printed headlines—all of them some variation of the same PR nightmare.
Sebastian leaned forward, skimming over the bold letters that screamed:
“Raging Bulls: Red Bull Teammates at War?”
“Webber vs. Vettel: No Love Lost in the Red Bull Garage!”
“Tension Mounts Between Red Bull’s Drivers—Can They Even Stand Each Other?”
Sebastian wrinkled his nose. “Bit dramatic.”
Mark, sitting beside him, snorted, arms crossed as he slouched back in his chair. “Yeah. Who writes this shit?”
Christian gave them both a look, unimpressed. “It doesn’t matter who writes it, what matters is that people believe it. And we need to fix that before it turns into an even bigger PR nightmare.”
Sebastian exchanged a glance with Mark, who raised an eyebrow, already looking done with whatever was about to come next.
Sebastian leaned back, cautiously. “Alright… what’s your plan?”
Christian sighed, rubbing his temples before leveling them with that infuriating team-principal stare. “You two are going on vacation together.”
A beat of silence.
Mark’s eyebrows shot up. “The fuck?”
Sebastian blinked. “Come again?”
Christian, completely unbothered, continued, “A summer getaway, just the two of you. Red Bull will handle all the expenses, set everything up. You’ll have a GoPro to record some clips, show the media that you’re friends—or at least pretending to be.”
Sebastian opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again, because surely he had misheard that.
Mark, meanwhile, let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand over his face. “Christian, mate, come on. Can’t you just photoshop us smiling together and call it a day?”
Christian, ever the professional, deadpanned, “No.”
Mark let his head fall back against his chair. “Jesus Christ.”
Sebastian exhaled slowly, wary now. “And… where are we even going?”
Christian smirked. “That’s the best part—you get to choose.”
Sebastian and Mark immediately looked at each other, mutual suspicion rising.
Mark narrowed his eyes, clearly skeptical. “We choose, huh? So, what—if we pick Antarctica, we’re off the hook?”
Christian folded his hands together, voice taking on a dangerous kind of calm. “Look, boys. I’m not asking. This is happening. You have one week. You can go anywhere, do whatever the hell you want—just don’t kill each other, and make sure we get enough footage to convince the media you’re best mates.”
Sebastian groaned, rubbing his hands down his face. “This is stupid.”
Mark muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like Christian can shove this vacation up his ass.
Christian pretended not to hear it.
Sebastian, resigned, sighed heavily. There was no getting out of this.
A week.
One week.
With Mark.
On a romantic getaway for two, courtesy of Red Bull PR bullshit.
This was going to be a disaster.
———
(Vlog Entry - Private Jet to Greece)
The video clicked on with a soft beep, flickering to life with Sebastian’s grinning face filling the frame. His blonde hair was slightly messy from the rush to the airport, and there was a mischievous glint in his blue eyes as he adjusted the GoPro and panned the camera around the luxurious private jet Red Bull had booked for them.
“Alright,” Sebastian began dramatically, shifting the lens to capture the plush leather seats, the stocked mini-bar, and the obnoxiously large number of Red Bull cans laid out on the table. “Here we are, on our forced vacation, because Red Bull thinks Mark and I hate each other.”
The camera shifted again to Mark, seated across from him, arms crossed, long legs stretched out as he leaned back in his chair with a look of disinterest.
Sebastian zoomed in dramatically.
Mark barely twitched, muttering, “Mate, if you point that thing at me the entire trip, I swear to—”
Sebastian cut him off, grinning. “—so as you can see, Mark is thrilled to be here.”
Mark groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Christian actually thinks this is going to convince the media that we like each other?”
Sebastian smirked. “Yes. And that we bonded over a beautiful, romantic holiday in Greece.”
Mark shot him a flat look. “The moment you call this a honeymoon, I’m jumping out of this plane.”
Sebastian cackled, shifting the camera back to himself. “Anyway, we are headed to Santorini! Where we will definitely not kill each other, and definitely not come back with a scandal.”
Mark muttered something in low Aussie slang, rolling his eyes.
And then—because Sebastian couldn’t help himself—he reached over and turned the camera to Mark’s lap, capturing the subtle way his fingers were drumming against his knee, like he was impatiently waiting for something.
Mark noticed immediately.
His hand shot out, grabbing Sebastian’s wrist way too fast, and suddenly, they were wrestling over the GoPro mid-flight.
The screen shook violently—Mark grumbling, Sebastian laughing breathlessly, the camera tilting at an awkward angle as they struggled.
The last thing the footage caught was Mark’s hand gripping Sebastian’s forearm tight, the tension thick for just a second too long before the screen cut to black.
———
(Arrival in Santorini)
The view from the cliffside hotel was stunning—the kind of breathtaking scenery that looked like it belonged on a postcard or in some overly sentimental tourism commercial.
White-washed buildings cascaded down the cliffs, blue-domed churches stood out against the deepening sky, and the Aegean stretched endlessly below them, its surface catching the last golden light of the sun.
Sebastian inhaled deeply, the warm, salty breeze filling his lungs. He tipped his head back, letting the moment settle around him before exhaling with a genuine, almost blissful smile. “Alright, I’ll admit—it’s kinda perfect.”
Beside him, Mark stood with his arms firmly crossed, sunglasses low on his nose, surveying the view like he was actively searching for something to be annoyed about.
“Enjoy it while you can, mate,” Mark said, voice dripping with grizzled endurance.
Sebastian turned, catching the look of mild exasperation on his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Mark sighed, already bracing himself. “You do realize we have to share a room, right?”
Sebastian’s smile froze mid-sentence.
“…What?”
Mark, entirely too calm, pulled out his phone and held up the hotel reservation email, the screen illuminating the words that confirmed Sebastian’s impending nightmare.
Sebastian snatched the phone, scanning the details.
📌 “Santorini Luxury Suite – One Bed, Private Balcony, Romantic Ambiance”
Sebastian’s stomach dropped.
“No. No way. We’re Red Bull drivers—we should each have our own rooms!”
Mark shrugged, entirely unaffected. “Yeah? Tell that to Christian’s PR team.”
Sebastian gestured wildly at the screen. “They labeled it as ‘romantic ambiance’—DO YOU SEE THAT?”
Mark sighed, rubbing his temple. “Mate, you saw how packed the island is. Every decent hotel is booked. This was last-minute. It’s all we got.”
Sebastian let out a highly undignified noise, storming into the suite like a man determined to find a loophole in the laws of physics.
The moment he stepped inside—
Yep. There it was.
One large, ridiculously overdone bed, framed by soft golden lighting, fluffy pillows, and a goddamn towel swan sitting dead center.
Sebastian stopped dead in his tracks.
“No. I refuse.”
Mark, leaning casually against the doorway, smirked. “Unless you wanna sleep on the balcony, princess.”
Sebastian turned, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t tempt me.”
Mark chuckled, shaking his head before tossing his bag onto the chair. “Relax. It’s just a bed, mate.”
Sebastian shot him a pointed glare, dragging his suitcase toward the closet with far more aggression than necessary. “Fine. But if you so much as breathe on my side, I’m kicking you off.”
Mark snorted, already unzipping his bag. “Yeah, yeah.”
Sebastian ignored him, setting up his things on the farthest side of the room, determined to establish boundaries—except, of course, for the fact that the bed was very much in the middle of the room, which meant there was absolutely no ‘far side’ to escape to.
(Later that night, one of them would wake up far too warm, a solid arm draped across their waist. Neither of them would talk about it.)
————-
(Exploring the Island: Definitely Not Romantic (Except It Was)
After the whole one-bed debacle, Mark and Sebastian decided to take their minds off it for the time being by exploring the island.
The streets of Santorini were as expected bustling with life, every corner alive with the hum of conversation, the scent of fresh seafood curling through the air, and the warmth of the Mediterranean sun spilling over the narrow cobblestone alleys. Bright blue domes stood out against the whitewashed walls, and every now and then, the soft sway of bougainvillea climbed across doorways, vibrant shades of pink and red breaking up the endless stretch of white.
Sebastian, unsurprisingly, was thriving.
Mark? Mark was tolerating it.
“This,” Sebastian declared, adjusting the GoPro as he turned in a slow circle, “is day two of our totally-not-forced vacation, and we’re currently exploring—”
Mark, walking beside him, shot the camera a flat look, arms loosely crossed. “Sebastian is dragging me around while he acts like a tourist.”
Sebastian turned the camera on himself, grinning unapologetically. “What? It’s beautiful! You’re just grumpy because you’re too Aussie for this.”
Mark snorted, shaking his head. “Mate, I’ve been to Greece before. You’re acting like you’ve never seen a white building and a blue sky.”
Sebastian ignored him, panning the camera toward the cliffside view, the sea stretching out endlessly below them, sun glinting off the water in a way that made the whole scene look almost unreal.
“Look at that view!”
Mark followed his gaze, reluctantly.
Alright. Maybe it was nice.
But then—
Sebastian, completely distracted by a display of handcrafted jewelry in a shop window, stepped directly into the path of a passing tourist without realizing it.
The moment unfolded in seconds—
Sebastian barely had time to react before a firm hand wrapped around his waist, yanking him back with a swift, instinctive pull.
He froze.
For a moment, all he registered was the solid press of Mark’s chest behind him, the heat of the older man’s hand still gripping his side, fingers splayed firm against the fabric of his shirt.
Neither of them moved.
Sebastian, blinking rapidly, tilted his head up to look at Mark, whose expression was somewhere between mild exasperation and… something else entirely.
The grip on his waist lingered for just a second too long before Mark finally muttered, low and unimpressed, “Jesus, mate. You’re gonna get yourself killed if I don’t keep an eye on you.”
Sebastian’s face heated instantly, and he stumbled back a step, knocking Mark’s hand away. “Shut up.”
Mark felt a small smirk pull at his lips before he started walking ahead like nothing had happened, entirely unfazed.
Sebastian, however, stood there for a second too long, lips parting slightly, his mind scrambling to reboot.
Finally, with an aggressive shake of his head, he muttered something unintelligible in German under his breath and hurried after Mark, pointedly not thinking about the way his waist still tingled from the touch.
—————
(Looking for a restaurant)
Mark was hungry.
No—Mark was starving. And if Sebastian did not pick a damn restaurant in the next five minutes, Mark was going to physically drag him into the nearest taverna and force-feed him bread.
“Seb,” Mark called, trailing after him as the younger man strolled leisurely down the narrow, winding streets of Santorini. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his patience running dangerously thin. “Any of these places will do.”
Sebastian, several steps ahead, barely spared him a glance. “No, no,” he said, dismissive, as he turned his head left and right, scanning the nearby restaurants with far too much focus for a man who should simply be sitting down and eating.
Mark exhaled sharply, already done with this entire process. “What exactly are you looking for?”
Sebastian hummed, rubbing his chin in mock consideration. “Something nice,” he mused, nodding to himself.
Mark blinked at him. “Seb, they’re all nice.”
Sebastian scoffed, turning just enough to shoot him a look of pure condescension. “Mark, we are in Greece. I refuse to eat somewhere boring.”
Mark threw a hand toward literally everything around them. “Seb, we are in bloody Santorini. There is no boring place here.”
Sebastian ignored him, coming to a sudden stop outside a small, rustic taverna nestled between two stone buildings. The outdoor tables sat under a striped awning, with locals enjoying leisurely meals, carafes of wine gleaming in the sun.
Sebastian turned to Mark, nodding firmly. “This one.”
Mark rubbed a hand over his face, exhausted. “How is this one any different from the last three places we passed?”
Sebastian grinned, already smug. “I like the chairs.”
Mark opened his mouth, then closed it. He inhaled deeply. Counted to three. “You like the fucking chairs?”
Sebastian shrugged. “They look comfortable.”
Mark, very genuinely considering throwing himself into the sea, took a long moment to process this information. Then, after a sharp exhale, he gave up entirely.
“Fine. Whatever. We’re eating here.”
The Greek waiter nearby, who had clearly overheard this entire conversation, let out a chuckle, clearly entertained by their dynamic. As he led them to a table, he turned to Mark with an amused smile and said, in a thick accent, “Your boyfriend has good taste.”
Sebastian lit up, grinning like a menace as he clapped Mark on the back. “See, mate? He gets it.”
Mark shut his eyes briefly, inhaled deeply, counted to three, and then exhaled. “He’s not my—oh, for fuck’s sake.”
He was this close to turning around and walking straight into the sea.
But ultimately, they ended up eating there.
————-
(Back at the Hotel)
The last recorded footage of the day featured two very tipsy Red Bull drivers lounging in their suite, their previously dignified PR-friendly trip rapidly unraveling into complete disaster.
Earlier that afternoon, Sebastian had gotten it in his head that they absolutely needed to buy a bottle of Santorini’s finest wine before heading back to the hotel.
Mark, predictably unamused, had sighed, pulled out his black card, and wordlessly handed it to Sebastian like a tired husband appeasing his reckless spouse.
Sebastian, of course, had grinned, grabbed the most expensive bottle he could find, and cheerfully promised he’d ‘pay Mark back someday.’
That had been hours ago.
Now, they were in hotel robes, draped over the couch, both of them several glasses deep, and—if the GoPro footage was anything to go by—Mark had completely given up pretending to hate his life.
Sebastian, legs tucked under him, panned the camera toward Mark, zooming in on his relaxed posture, the way his wine glass hung loosely in one hand, the soft flicker of candlelight making him look unreasonably good for a man who had spent half the trip complaining.
Sebastian tilted his head, lips quirking into a slow smirk. “Alright,” he slurred slightly, shifting to a more comfortable position. “Tell the fans something they don’t know about you.”
Mark, tipsy enough to not immediately shut him down, lifted his glass, took a slow sip, and then exhaled through his nose.
“I think you’re a pain in the ass,” he said finally, words slightly lazy, “but I actually—”
He stopped.
His brows furrowed, like he had just caught himself saying too much.
Sebastian, half-draped over the arm of the couch, raised his eyebrows. “But you actually…?”
Mark blinked, clearly deciding in real time whether or not to be honest. Then, with a slow shake of his head, he muttered, “Nah. Forget it.”
Sebastian grinned, leaning in slightly. “No, no, what was that? You like me?”
Mark let out a long-suffering groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I said forget it.”
Sebastian wiggled his eyebrows, leaning closer. “He likes me.”
Mark, deadpan, grabbed a pillow and threw it directly at Sebastian’s face, effectively cutting off the video.
(Red Bull PR team, reviewing the footage later: “We are so unbelievably fucked.”)
————-
(Morning of Day 3 In Santorini)
Sebastian woke up too warm. Which was already wrong, because he distinctly remembered cranking the AC up to full blast before going to bed.
The second thing he noticed was that something was pressing against him.
His sleep-addled brain took a moment to catch up, still fogged with exhaustion as he tried to register why the weight around his waist felt too solid, too heavy, too warm—
And then it clicked.
Mark.
Mark, who was supposed to be on the other side of the bed.
Mark, who had somehow rolled over, shoved the pillow barrier out of the way, and was now wrapped around Sebastian like a goddamn heat-seeking missile.
Sebastian blinked hard, his heart lurching into his throat as a whole new kind of panic set in.
Because Mark’s arm was around his waist.
Because Mark’s chest was pressed against his back.
Because Mark’s breath was warm against the back of his neck, slow and steady in deep sleep, completely unaware of the absolute psychological crisis he was causing.
Sebastian froze, his entire body going rigid, his mind racing at breakneck speed as he pieced together the catastrophic reality unfolding in real time.
1. They had both agreed to keep to their sides of the bed.
2. They had even placed a pillow barrier in the middle, like responsible adults who understood the severity of the one-bed situation.
3. At some point during the night, Mark had apparently decided fuck that, bulldozed over the pillow, and latched onto Sebastian like a damn koala.
Sebastian’s pulse thundered in his ears as he carefully, very carefully, tried to inch away.
Which turned out to be a terrible fucking idea.
Because the second he moved—
Mark grumbled sleepily, his grip tightening, pulling Sebastian in closer.
Sebastian’s entire soul left his body.
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.
This was not happening.
Mark’s hand had somehow ended up resting on Sebastian’s stomach, fingers loosely curled against the fabric of his shirt, warm and solid and so, so unfairly comfortable.
And the worst part?
It felt natural.
Too natural.
Like this wasn’t an accident, like Mark did this all the time, like—
No. No, no, no, absolutely the fuck not.
Sebastian lay there, staring at the wall, internally screaming, refusing to acknowledge the way his face was slowly heating up.
Thirty excruciating seconds passed.
Then—finally—Mark shifted, inhaling sharply before stirring awake, his breath grazing the shell of Sebastian’s ear before he blinked his eyes open.
Sebastian’s brain short-circuited.
And because he was a certified idiot, his immediate solution to the problem was to pretend he was still asleep.
A long pause stretched between them.
Then, in a very slow, very deliberate movement, Mark’s arm retracted.
Sebastian forced his breathing to stay even, kept his expression perfectly neutral, waiting.
He heard Mark sigh. Then a muttered, “Fuck,” followed by the rustle of sheets as he climbed out of bed.
Seconds later, the sound of bare feet shuffling across the room, the quiet click of the bathroom door shutting.
The moment Sebastian was alone, he exhaled sharply, stuffing his face into the pillow with a muffled, horrified groan.
What the fuck was that.
-————
(First Activity of the day is screwed over by the Red Bull PR Team)
After the impromptu morning incident—which Sebastian was absolutely not thinking about, not at all, not even a little—he had thrown himself into getting ready as fast as humanly possible.
Mark, to his credit, hadn’t said a word about it. He had simply grumbled something about jet lag, stretched entirely too much for someone who just committed a war crime in his sleep, and disappeared into the bathroom.
Now, dressed and caffeinated, they had made their way through a very awkward breakfast in the hotel lobby, neither of them addressing the fact that they had basically woken up cuddling, before heading off for their first scheduled activity of the day.
Which brought them to the Santorini tourist office—and their latest nightmare.
Sebastian stood at the counter, scanning their reservation details on the office computer. He felt his entire brain short-circuit.
📌 “Red Bull Couple’s Getaway Package – Private Tour for Two!”
Sebastian nearly choked on his own spit.
Beside him, Mark, who had been reading over his shoulder, let out a loud, suffering groan. “No. Absolutely not.”
Sebastian, biting his lip so hard he nearly bled, turned his head slightly toward Mark. “It’s Christian’s fault,” he whispered, voice strangled.
The cheerful Greek woman at the desk—somewhere in her mid-forties, absolutely radiating enthusiasm—clasped her hands together, beaming.
“Ah!” she exclaimed. “The Red Bull honeymooners! Welcome!”
Sebastian struggled to contain his laughter, but Mark—Mark just stared ahead, unmoving, like a man who had just been handed his own death sentence.
Slowly, painfully slowly, Mark turned his head toward Sebastian. It was the kind of slow-motion glare that made it feel like a horror movie moment.
“Sebastian.”
Sebastian, very visibly shaking from the effort of not laughing, shrugged. “Hey, not my fault this time.”
The tour guide, still delightfully oblivious, handed them their itinerary, speaking in the same warm, welcoming tone as before.
“You’ll be enjoying our sunset sailing tour, followed by a private vineyard wine tasting, and of course—” she paused for dramatic effect, smiling widely, “—the romantic beach picnic!”
Sebastian, unable to help himself, burst out laughing.
Mark, pinching the bridge of his nose, exhaled deeply, as if he was summoning every ounce of patience left in his soul. “I hate Christian so much,” he muttered under his breath.
Sebastian, wiping actual tears from his eyes, turned to the now slightly confused but still very excited tour guide, flashing her his most charming smile.
“This is perfect,” he said, grinning ear to ear. “We love it.”
Mark kicked him.
————-
By the time they reached the beach stop on their sailing tour, Mark was already at his limit.
It had started innocently enough.
They had been given matching towels, and when Mark refused to pose for a “cute beach picture,” Sebastian—the absolute menace that he was—kept fake-pouting and calling him his grumpy vacation husband.
Then, Sebastian stole Mark’s sunglasses.
Then, Mark threatened to drown him.
And then, Sebastian pushed it too far.
The final straw?
Sebastian—smirking like a little shit—strolled up to Mark as they stood by the shoreline, dramatically trailing his fingers down his arm before sighing dreamily.
“Oh, Mark,” he gushed for the GoPro, “I’m so lucky to spend this romantic holiday with you!”
Mark, expression immediately going blank, calmly set his drink down, grabbed Sebastian by the waist, and—with absolutely zero hesitation—threw him into the ocean.
There was a high-pitched yelp, followed by a very loud splash.
Sebastian resurfaced seconds later, gasping, eyes wide in outrage. “YOU—”
Mark—standing at the edge of the water, arms crossed, sunglasses now back in place—smirked down at him. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”
Sebastian splashed water at him. “ARSCHLOCH.”
Mark just laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Serves ya right, mate.”
———-
(End of Day 3)
When the boat docked for the sunset sailing tour, Sebastian had forgiven Mark for throwing him into the ocean.
Mostly.
(Only because Mark bought him an overpriced drink afterward.)
They stood at the edge of the deck, the sun dipping low, casting the sky in a ridiculous blend of pinks, oranges, and golds.
Sebastian had the GoPro tucked away, just watching the sea, the wind tousling his hair.
Mark, standing beside him, sighed. “Gotta admit, this is nice.”
Sebastian grinned, nudging him. “See? You’re enjoying this!”
Mark snorted. “I said it was nice. Don’t push it.”
A beat of comfortable silence.
Then, without thinking, Sebastian reached out—just a small movement—grabbing the sleeve of Mark’s shirt.
Just for a second.
Mark turned to look at him, brow raised, but he didn’t pull away.
Sebastian exhaled, still staring out at the water. “Maybe Christian was right.”
Mark frowned slightly. “About what?”
Sebastian hesitated, then looked up at him with a rare, genuine softness. “That we needed this.”
Mark’s expression shifted, something uncertain flickering behind his hazel eyes.
Sebastian saw the way Mark’s fingers twitched—like he was about to reach out but thought better of it.
Instead, Mark cleared his throat, taking a step back, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t go getting all sentimental on me, mate.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes, grinning. “Oh, shut up and enjoy the view.”
————
(Day 4 - Final Day)
Sebastian woke up feeling strange again.
Not hungover, not jet-lagged, not wam, just… off.
The past three days had been a whirlwind of bickering, sunburns, stolen sunglasses, Mark throwing him into the ocean, and the weirdest PR nightmare of their careers—and yet, this morning, there was a weight in his chest that hadn’t been there before.
He turned in bed and—oh.
Mark was already awake, sitting on the edge of the mattress, arms resting on his knees, staring out at the sea through the open balcony doors.
Sebastian didn’t move, just watched him for a moment. The way the golden morning light traced his profile, the way his hair was still a little messy from sleep.
It hit him then—how easily he had settled into Mark’s presence.
Too easily.
Too comfortably.
Sebastian cleared his throat, shifting under the covers. “You look like you’re contemplating throwing me off the cliff.”
Mark snorted. “Tempting.” But there was no bite to it, just something soft, something unspoken lingering in his voice.
Sebastian sat up, stretching, and as he did, Mark turned slightly, his gaze dropping to Sebastian’s exposed collarbone, lingering for a fraction of a second too long before he looked away.
Sebastian noticed.
Sebastian felt every bit of it. But he didn’t push. Not yet.
———-
If there was one thing Sebastian learned about Mark Webber this trip, it was that Mark got weirdly thoughtful when he drank just enough.
They were at the vineyard, seated across from each other in a private tasting session, the sunset painting the world in ridiculous warm colors, and Mark was lounging in his chair, rolling a half-full glass of deep red wine between his fingers.
“You ever think about what comes next?” Mark asked, voice quiet.
Sebastian blinked. “Like… next season?”
Mark’s lips quirked, but it wasn’t a real smile. “Yeah. Or after that.”
Sebastian frowned, setting his glass down. “Mark…”
Mark didn’t look at him, just kept his eyes on the horizon. “Just saying. This job, this whole life… it’s not forever, mate.”
Sebastian’s stomach twisted. “Are you retiring?”
Mark let out a low, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Not yet, mate. Just… thinking.” He finally turned to Sebastian then, and something in his expression made Sebastian’s breath catch. “You ever wonder if we’ll still know each other after all this?”
Sebastian’s fingers curled around the stem of his glass, heart pounding.
Because that was the thing, wasn’t it?
They had spent so long being teammates, rivals, two forces constantly crashing into each other—but what happened after that?
Would they still be in each other’s orbit when there were no more Red Bull colors between them?
Sebastian swallowed. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
Mark hummed, gaze dropping to the table between them. “Yeah. Me neither.”
There was a long silence, the kind that felt like it was holding too much.
Sebastian wanted to break it—say something stupid to make the moment lighter—but Mark suddenly reached forward, his fingers brushing over Sebastian’s wrist.
Sebastian froze.
The touch was light, barely even there, but it sent a shockwave through his entire body.
And for a moment, Mark looked like he wanted to say something, but then—
He pulled his hand away.
Sebastian exhaled sharply, realizing too late that he had been holding his breath.
———-
They didn’t plan to end up on the hotel rooftop, but somehow, they did.
The night air was warm, the stars stretching above them, and the streets below were still buzzing with life.
Sebastian had a Red Bull can in his hands—not that he needed it after all the wine—but it was more of a distraction than anything.
Mark was leaning against the railing, looking entirely too good, his shirt half-unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up, eyes flickering with something Sebastian couldn’t quite place.
“You ever regret it?” Mark asked.
Sebastian tilted his head. “Regret what?”
Mark’s fingers tapped against the railing, his jaw tightening before he muttered, “Not letting certain things happen sooner.”
Sebastian’s pulse skyrocketed.
Mark wasn’t looking at him, but Sebastian was looking at Mark. Really looking at him.
Sebastian set his drink down, stepping closer. “Mark—”
Mark turned just as Sebastian reached him, and before he could think, before he could stop himself—
Sebastian kissed him.
It wasn’t soft.
It was messy, breathless, built from years of tension and unresolved words, Mark gripping his shirt, Sebastian pressing closer, swallowing the quiet noise Mark made in surprise.
For a split second, Sebastian thought Mark would push him away—but then Mark kissed him back, pulling him in like he had wanted this just as badly.
Sebastian’s hands curled into Mark’s shoulders, fingers digging in, and Mark’s hands slid down his back, pulling him flush against him.
When they finally broke apart, panting, Mark’s forehead rested against his.
Sebastian exhaled shakily, heart hammering.
Mark huffed out a breathless laugh, voice low, teasing, but still rough from the kiss. “Yeah, alright. Maybe this trip wasn’t a complete waste.”
Sebastian grinned, breathless. “Took you long enough to admit it.”
Mark’s fingers traced along his waist, and Sebastian shivered. “Shut up, Vettel.”
———-
(Back at the Paddock after summer break)
The summer break was over.
The moment Mark and Sebastian stepped back into the Red Bull garage, something was… different.
Not in the obvious, immediate way that would spark headlines—there were no outright declarations of peace, no dramatic changes in their public interactions.
But if you paid close enough attention—if you really looked—you’d see it.
It was in the way Mark’s hand brushed against the small of Sebastian’s back when they passed each other, the way Sebastian’s gaze lingered just a second too long when Mark wasn’t looking. It was in the way they stood closer than before, in the quiet, effortless familiarity that hadn’t been there pre-summer break.
And people noticed.
Jenson Button was the first to narrow his eyes, watching as Sebastian nudged Mark with his shoulder—playful, casual in a way that shouldn’t have felt so natural coming from them.
“You two look…” Jenson trailed off, inspecting them like they were a scientific anomaly. His gaze flickered between them, scrutinizing every interaction, every touch, every micro-expression. “Different.”
Sebastian took a slow sip from his Red Bull can, his smirk just shy of too smug. “Do we?”
Jenson’s frown deepened. He turned to Mark, but the older man wasn’t meeting his eyes, instead focused on adjusting his gloves—because suddenly, that was the most interesting thing in the world.
Jenson squinted. “Yeah. And I don’t like it.”
Lewis Hamilton, having been half-listening, glanced over and immediately zeroed in on the proximity between them. His brows lifted as he nudged Nico Rosberg with his elbow. “Mate, tell me I’m not crazy, but doesn’t it look like they—”
“—went on a couple’s retreat?” Nico finished flatly, arms crossed as he observed them with the unimpressed skepticism of a man who had seen too much bullshit in his lifetime.
Lewis snorted. “Exactly.”
The real red flag, though, was when Sebastian casually reached for Mark’s water bottle, took a sip, and handed it back without a second thought.
Mark didn’t even blink. Just took the bottle and drank from it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Jenson recoiled. “Okay, what the actual fuck?”
Nico made a guttural noise of disapproval, shaking his head. “Nope. I refuse to accept this timeline.”
Lewis, meanwhile, was grinning. “Well, well, well. This is interesting.”
As if on cue, Christian Horner walked by, catching sight of them mid-stride before coming to an abrupt halt.
His gaze dragged from Sebastian to Mark, his expression unreadable as he slowly exhaled, rubbing his temples like he was suddenly experiencing the worst migraine of his life.
“I don’t want to know,” he muttered, before promptly turning on his heel and walking the fuck away.
Sebastian grinned, pleased with himself.
Mark, shaking his head, hid his own small smile.
They were back at work.
Back to racing, back to competing, back to chasing each other down the track like their lives depended on it.
But now—everything was different.
And maybe—
Just maybe—
They liked it that way.