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Nightmares. He was used to them — the constant anxiety over his failures on the track, the uncertainty of whether they'd renew his contract for next year, the atmosphere inside the team as a whole. His life, and his racing career in particular, had never been easy, but since his move to Red Bull it had become especially unbearable, which followed him into sleep. And since the start of the 2010 season, the last few months had grown more unbearable still — his dreams imbibed more fears, taking on a deep blue haze, a shade that matched the color of his main problem, the one there was no hiding from.
‘Haze’ was probably not the best word for it, or rather for the one who embodied that color. The creature with ocean blue eyes had been seeping into every corner of his life — not all at once, but slowly, steadily. The deeper you go, the darker the woods. Sebastian was like that. Mark too, if he was honest. They deserved each other. Or maybe he was imagining things. And now, unsurprisingly, he had followed him into his dreams.
He couldn't remember them at all — he only knew that he had been there, that he had tinted them in his signature color. It was Mark's color too, of course, but their team suits had blurred together so completely that the dreams had genuinely started taking on a similar shade — like a blue vignette on a photocard.
Mark woke up in a cold bed. Cold not only from sweat — London's damp chill had done the rest, the city that served as his temporary refuge for the duration of the season in this grand, deep blue circus.
He sat up, reached for the pills on the nightstand. Nothing heavy, no. Just sleeping tablets, because he couldn't drift off without them — not after seeing that face again.
They weren't close. Or rather — they were, but the way a hunter and his prey are close, and this time around Mark had the misfortune of being the one who was hunted.
Their relationship could be summed up in four words: unspoken things, volatility and obsession. On nights like this, Mark found himself wondering whether he occupied his teammate's thoughts the way Sebastian occupied his.
He ran through everything — from the moment he'd first driven Seb and his father to the airport after testing, all the way to their most recent points of contact. Literally. He was too old for this. Too old for the way casual touches, embraces, and kisses — from the first clumsy ones from a kid who didn't know what he was doing, to the last ones, confident on the surface but just as fragile underneath, if you knew the person giving them — Sebastian still took up so much space in his head. He was too old for it. And yet.
What else was he supposed to do?
Morning was not kind. The clock read five. Somewhere outside, a knock.
Mark dragged himself to the door, wondering who on earth could have turned up at this hour.
“Mark! I thought you were dead. You didn't answer me for a whole twenty-six minutes!” The figure on his doorstep was as disheveled as the creature from his nightmares, standing there with unknown intentions and talking with its hands. Though maybe not a creature anymore — in this light he looked more like a Cheshire Cat. Bright, but still.
“Was asleep.” The answer didn't sit well with the young man across from him, which showed immediately on his face. “Want to start by explaining what you're doing on my doorstep at this hour?”
He didn't.
“All that later.” he said, and began trying to squeeze past Mark into the flat.
Mark said nothing, just furrowed his brow and stepped aside so he wouldn't end up on the floor under the force of his uninvited guest.
Once Sebastian was inside, Mark got a proper look at him. Unlike Mark, who'd just been woken up, he was more than adequately dressed — simply, but dressed — and it was clear he'd gotten ready in a rush. His shirt wasn't ironed.
Yielding to his still uninvited guest, Mark simply followed. The flat wasn't big, so it didn't take long. Just a few moments.
And he led them to the kitchen.
“So? Are you going to tell me why you're here?” They settled on opposite sides of the small dining table. Instead of answering, Seb smiled.
“Still no? Mate, what the hell?” Mark repeated the question. His counterpart — and calling him that was generous, given that he wasn't actually saying anything — only smiled wider.
They could have sat like that for a long time — Sebastian with his smile that needed no reason, Mark with his frown. Almost like the sun and the moon, except for the fact that he, unlike Seb, wasn't glowing. Even under the sunlight from the window falling directly on Mark. Even so, if they are sun and moon it was always Sebastian who shone in everything, everywhere.
They could have continued. But at some point Mark grew tired of the silent film and stood up, planning to put the kettle on — only to say something else entirely:
“Seb, look. If you came here just to sit in silence, I won't get in your way — I'll go back to sleep.” He rubbed the back of his neck, then added, “You can stay till morning if you want.”
The kettle idea was shelved for the foreseeable future — at least a couple of hours, until he woke up again at a more civilized time for breakfast.
Of course he was curious why exactly Seb had shown up at this hour, practically on the heels of his nightmare — because even though the nightmares had become familiar, they didn't visit often enough to really call them a habit. But if he didn't want to talk, fine. This wasn't the time to start another argument, which they'd long since lost count of.
So he headed to the bedroom. And Seb followed.
He heard the footsteps clearly, so as soon as Mark reached the bed he simply turned on his heels, smoothed out a corner of the duvet, and sat on the edge — putting the questioning look back on his face.
Sebastian had stopped in the doorway. It was his style — to act without being told — but right now he was waiting for Mark to understand that he needed a verbal invitation before he'd come any further.
The wordless, one-sided standoff wore Mark out quickly enough that he simply patted the spot to his right.
“Finally.”
“Hmm? I was starting to think you'd swallowed your tongue — which wouldn't be surprising, given how much you usually love the sound of your own voice,” said Mark, while Sebastian settled in beside him, taking the invitation. “My first question still stands,” he added, once Seb had finally stopped fidgeting and found whatever position he'd decided was best.
The whole time they hadn't looked away from each other — which would have been odd, except there was nothing else worth looking at. They were alone. So they looked at each other, and Mark slowly sank into the blue of his teammate's eyes, fighting the pull of the sleeping pills so he wouldn't go down and meet that haze again.
“I dreamed about you.” Sebastian said it, and immediately broke eye contact, turning away to study the clock on the dresser. He started bouncing his leg and biting his lip — anything to take the edge off. Not that he was nervous about what he'd said. Just. Yeah.
The room went quiet again, but this time Mark didn't leave. He turned to follow the boy's gaze, tapped his shoulder to get his attention. Got it. And when Sebastian turned back, Mark took his face in both hands and said, after a small pause:
“I did too. Right before you woke me up.” He didn’t tell him that it was another nightmare.
Sebastian's eyes went wide. He opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it and closed it again. A moment later he closed his eyes too, tilting his head slightly to one side.
There was so much left unsaid between them. The best way to describe their relationship was probably a rollercoaster — or just a pendulum, an emotional one. Some days they could let themselves have this; other days they looked at each other with undisguised contempt. And sometimes they simply ignored each other entirely. If today the first option was winning, neither of them was fighting it. If tomorrow they went back to the cold war, they wouldn't fight that either. Or maybe they would. Mark had no idea what went on in that creature's head — maybe he actually enjoyed this game just for the two of them.
And so Sebastian relaxed in his teammate's hands and made a noise, sounding more like a cat purring on your lap.
“You know,” he said, opening his eyes and looking back at the man who hadn't stopped watching him. “That's why I came. Because you were in my dream. And I thought — maybe you wouldn't mind the company this morning.”
“Seb—”
“Yeah, yeah. I know what you're going to say: it's stupid, childish.” The boy cut him off again, reaching one hand toward his cheek. “But I—. It really is the only reason I came to you today. Don't ask what I was even doing in London at this hour, I honestly couldn't tell you.”
“But I—. Shh.” Mark tried to say something, but Sebastian moved his finger to his lips, tracing them. “— I think I've been quiet enough today. I just wanted to see you. You were in my dream. Where we'd forgotten all our grievances and never crashed into each other on the track again. I know. Stupid.” With his free hand he leaned into Mark's palm, pressing it closer to his cheek, then lifted both away and buried his nose in the curve of his neck, continuing in a whisper.
“Me too. Both.” And he pulled the boy into his arms and kissed him gently on the top of his head.
“Mark, you know, although I came all this way to your place, right now I just want to go back to sleep.” He kept speaking in a whisper. Mark kissed his forehead again as Sebastian lifted his face and kissed him back. The difference between their kisses was, honestly, minimal — only the landing spot changed. Otherwise the two were nearly identical — equally tender, loving, afraid of frightening something off, afraid of not being answered. But Mark did.
The kiss still wasn't passionate, not in the slightest. What was passionate, perhaps, was the eagerness with which they stayed in the embrace. They put into it everything they couldn't say in words — a hunger for stillness. There was even something innocent about it, although a long kiss on the lips, even without tongues, between lov— whatever you'd call it — could hardly be called innocent. And yet it was.
It couldn't last forever. Well — it could have. But they broke it.
“Let's go to sleep then,” Mark said, and pulled him under the duvet.
They settled in comfortably enough, though barely a minute passed before Sebastian shifted toward Mark, murmuring something about being very cold and how only one thing could possibly save him. Mark didn't mind.
“Goodnight kiss? Please-e.” Sebastian whispered into the ear of the man whose bed he'd invaded and whose body he'd wrapped himself around entirely. The answer didn't keep him waiting.
He kissed him on the top of his head for the third time, which earned him an indignant reaction from Seb.
“Idiot, not like that.”
“Then how?” Mark said, teasing, moving lower to press a kiss to his temple.
He didn't answer — just took the initiative again and kissed the corner of Mark's mouth. To which Mark responded by catching his lips properly.
It would be an exaggeration to say this dynamic was normal for them, unremarkable. But you take what you're given, right? And that's what they were doing — because tomorrow, when they woke up, they'd most likely pick the cold war back up, neither of them able to set their pride aside for more than one night. Or maybe not.
So they deepened the kiss, letting it speak for them — louder and more openly than words could manage. Seb, fingers of one hand pressed hard into his teammate’s shoulder. Mark, holding Seb's hand in his, steady.
“Happy? Now go to sleep.” And then Mark ran his free hand through Sebastian's hair.
Maybe when they woke up the war would continue. Maybe it wouldn't.