Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mornings have never treated Sebastian well, and never will treat him well, no matter how often he’s up at ungodly hours. Every time he wakes up he’s yet again reminded that he’s not a morning person; he’d much rather pull an all nighter and get more work done over night, which still leaves him less sluggish than ripping his consciousness out of his dreamworld. 

So that’s what he did today. No, he does not regret finishing that presentation that’s due tomorrow. Yes, he regrets not having changed his clothes since yesterday morning. Thankfully the smell of coffee on him is so overpowering that it’s not too bad, but he still can’t wait to go shower after this shift. And sleep. 

He’s truly running on pure fumes when the bell above the door jingles for the first time that day, and a customer steps in. It’s not someone he knows, but he already knows that it’ll be someone he’ll remember; there’s something about the cold expression on his face and the nonchalant pride he carries, next to the fact that Sebastian would straight up describe that face as handsome. 

“Good morning!” he greets, glad that the habitual customer-skript takes over while he tries to rip his eyes away from that jawline. “How can I help you?” 

“Good morning,” the other replies, words a little too mumbled for him to understand without context, but he gets it—it’s fairly early in the morning, so he doesn’t hold it against him. 

Instead of looking at the menu, the stranger straight up asks, “Do you serve cold brew?” 

Sebastian shakes his head, no. They used to have cold brew months ago, when it was still warm outside—or as warm as it gets in London—and even then, the drink barely got any attention. They ended up drinking the rest of it whenever they closed, just to avoid excessive waste. 

If the other is disappointed, he’s not letting it show, wholly indifferent as he murmurs, “Bwoah.” 

“I could get you an iced americano though?” he cuts in, ever the one who wants to solve a problem. When he receives a shrug and an accompanying, “Sure,” he views it as a success anyway, used to introverts, both as customers and classmates. 

He gets to the drink, espresso slowly dripping into the cup below with satisfying little drops. “You live here, by the way? I’ve never seen you around,” he asks for the sake of a little conversation, and the fact that there’s something about the other that his brain has just deemed as interesting for no apparent reason. 

Sebastian is curious. And nosy. And stoic; he’ll get what he wants, information in this case, and doesn’t care about the implications of how. 

“I guess.” And if that isn’t vague. Sebastian wants to press further, but he takes a second too long to interrupt the other. “How much is one of those reusable cups?”

“Twelve pounds. You want one?” 

“Red, if you still got it.” 

“Of course I do.” He grins as he fetches it, less of a customer service smile and more of a genuine one. He finishes up the rest of the drink quickly, kind of sad that this could be their one and only encounter, when it strikes him. 

He passes the closed cup over, taking the twenty pound bill from the other’s hand. Their fingers briefly touch. “You know,” he says, mostly talking to himself as he counts the pennies of change, “I can set up a batch of cold brew for tomorrow.” 

“Hm?” 

“Under the condition that you come back tomorrow morning, of course. You’re like, the only person that has asked for this. In months. Don’t get a lot of people ordering iced drinks in winter anyway.” 

The ice cubes in the cup clatter as he swishes the liquid around in a swirl. “Sure.” 

Sebastian’s head snaps up, eyes shining too enthusiastically. “Really?” 

“Why not.” 

“Well, okay then.” He hands back the coins, pleasantly surprised once more when the other immediately punches them into the tip jar next to the register. “Thank you!” 

He hums again, wordlessly making his way to the door. Sebastian gets no reply when he calls, “See you tomorrow.” 

The stranger is already ten minutes gone when Sebastian realizes that he totally forgot to ask for a name. 

The rest of the morning goes by easily enough; it's a Thursday, so most people just come in to grab a quick takeaway coffee before rushing to work. It's the midday that truly gets interesting, when students come in after school to fetch a snack, work on homework, or just loiter. The encounter from this morning is still on his mind, but a voice strikes through his thoughts while emptying the dish washer. 

“No, dude, you don't understand—”

“How do you make a child cry?! She was fine, and all she does is look at you, and boom—”

“I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!” 

Sebastian doesn’t even attempt to stifle the laugh that bubbles up his throat. The taller of the two teens—Ollie, if he remembers correctly—is already as red as one can get, eyeing the room for anyone they know.

“Kimi!” he exclaims once he's found no one, whisper-shouting. He bends down to the other as he does so, grabbing him by his shirt halfheartedly. “Can you not let the entire world know I’m a failure?”

“I did not say anything like that.” Kimi is trying his best not to start cackling right then and there, the tips of his mouth turned in an upside-down smile. He glances at Sebastian, who, as unhelpful as he is, only gestures back with a cutthroat motion that says it’s-over and whistles out some air. 

Kimi ends up failing horribly. Sebastian watches as the teen falls apart at the seams, making out the exact moment he loses a hold of himself. In an instant he’s wheezing, holding onto his friend for dear life as the café lights up with their voices. 

Sebastian has always loved being an instigator, happy to fuel any fire in his way. He leans over the counter and looks down at the two boys—though usually Ollie towers over him—pretending to take a picture with an imaginary camera. He’d actually record it if he could, but he values data privacy a lot. 

“And here we have local teenagers wreaking havoc: Stealing goods, disturbing our peaceful quiet, and making children cry. Beware! Before they get you too.” 

Kimi has tears in his eyes at this point, and Ollie is trying to disappear into the ground. There’s an elderly couple at a table next to them, and they fondly smile at the two, taking the situation with humour as well. That’s just how it goes; here, at least. Most people that go here occasionally know that students fill the tables more often than not, so they don’t expect the place to radiate a calmness that you’d find somewhere else. 

The place isn’t targeted towards those that appreciate the cozy lightness of most cafés, but much more to those that appreciate the comfortable mess of a hangout worthy garage, though much better lit, and more of a coffee smell than the lingering smell of mold and stale furniture. 

There are various band posters on the wall, accompanied by some respective discs, both as wall decor and shelves. Sebastian doesn’t even know what figurines are splattered throughout the shop, seeing as most of them are Jenson’s work and not his, but he’s taken the liberty of plastering bee stickers everywhere like they’re tags you’d see outside on graffiti walls. 

One of the walls in specific is covered in blackboard foil which a lot of people have taken a liking to, covering it in patchwork art. Though the occasional penis sneaks itself on there, everyone respects each other’s space, avoiding drawings as best as possible. Ever since a teenage group of girls has asked to post a picture of the wall to their instagram—With credit, of course, they had insisted—more people have been coming in, profiting the business. After a while, Jenson and Sebastian had decided to add a sticker with a QR-code to the Instagram of the café, as well as a hashtag to post their artworks under. 

He can hear Jenson’s voice echoing through his head: Never say no to free marketing.

So yes, they’re fairly popular. Whether it be the easy goingness of the owners, the mismatched but somehow complimenting furniture, or the enthralling vibe overall, doesn’t matter. If it works, it works.

“Are you guys okay to order, or do you need another minute?” Sebastian asks the boys, drying a cup off before setting it away. 

The guitar solo of Crazy Train by Ozzy Osbourne plays in the background as the two teens try to breathe through their giggles, looking anywhere but at each other to avoid bursting back out into laughter. 

“Oh my god, okay. I’m okay,” Ollie breaks their wheezing, resting his hands on his knees for support. “I just want a herbal tea.” 

Kimi follows right after, still giggling, but this time in a more manageable amount. “I—I just want a small cappuccino. In-house. It’s your turn to pay, by the way,” he whispers the last part to his friend, just as audible as the rest of his reply. While the two argue about who owes who money, Sebastian gets their drinks ready. Ollie ends up paying anyway and the two settle in at their usual spot at the wall—Sebastian gives them two cookies on the house. 

It’s already closing time once the two leave, and Sebastian is tired enough to ignore the details, making quick succession of closing. He’s still thorough as he cleans out the portafilter though, but that’s where he draws the line—he sweeps the floor and wipes off the tables, leaving the rest to future him. 

He trudges up the stairs to Jenson and his apartment, finding the right key on his chain without even looking. The hallway light is on when he steps in, so Jenson must be home. “Hellooo,” he calls, his shoes abandoned at the doorstep. 

Jenson peeks out the kitchen, already wearing a pyjama with the batman logo printed all over it. “Hungry?”

“Ughhh,” he groans, blindly walking past him. “Later.” 

“You’re gonna forget.” 

“I won’t. Shut up.”

“Your loss.” 

Sebastian throws himself on his bed as soon as he’s reached his room, phone in his hand. He squints against the bright screen in the darkness, only to get a whiff of some message from Mark—he decides that he’s already had enough and turns off his phone, letting it drop onto his chest. 

He wakes up a few hours later, sweaty and with clothes sticking to him uncomfortably. His phone is heating up right beneath him, battery basically depleted, and he realizes that he’s accidentally slept through a scheduled call with Mark. He shoots him a half-apologetic message before plugging the phone in to charge. His stomach complains loudly, and he realizes that he does still need to feed himself. 

When he checks the kitchen at midnight, Jenson has left a tupper filled with leftovers in the fridge, the note addressed to him with I told you so. 

On that sliver of hope that the stranger actually comes back—because it hit him right before sleeping that maybe he'd just agreed so it'd be less uncomfortable, only to never appear around that block ever again—Sebastian goes and actually showers in the morning; he forgot to do so yesterday evening. He wears his good clothes too, creases visible where the shirt had been folded. Putting on some cologne might've been too much, but what's done is done.

God, he has issues. But it makes him feel better about himself and about his decisions, so he’ll take it. 

He opens the shop with much more vigor that day—there’s almost a skip in his step as he sweeps the floor, music filling the silence. 

Sweet Child O’ Mine by Guns N’ Roses plays when the stranger does step in, maybe a little after 7:30. They've only been officially open for a few moments, so he doesn’t hear the bell jingle, fully immersed with singing along at a low volume. 

“Am I interrupting something?” 

Sebastian does not shriek, nor does he screech or scream or whatever you could describe the noise that escaped him. He turns around frantically from where he was setting out pastries, scrambling for his phone to turn the volume down. 

“Oh mein Gott.” He breathes, pressing his lips into a thin line. “How’d you get in here so quietly?” 

The expression the stranger wears could actually be described as amusement—it’s the most his face has revealed so far. It's the faint lopsided smile with the lightly squinted eyes that had Sebastian blush in the end, not just embarrassment. 

“Maybe you just need to turn your music down. Might make everyone around you go deaf too, at this rate.” 

“Are you insulting my taste in music?” 

“Nope.” He steps closer to the counter, putting the cup he bought yesterday on it, hand laying on top of it for a moment longer. Sebastian's eyes drift down to it for a second. “I like it. I meant the volume.” 

“Sureee,” he drawls, heart finally getting over the jumpscare. “I assume you want your coffee in there?” 

The other hums, as expected, and Sebastian snatches it away. He makes quick business of pouring the cold brew in and going back to the front. They exchange cash just like yesterday, change ending up in the tip jar again. This time, before the other can leave, Sebastian asks, “Who am I putting in the effort for, by the way?” 

His eyebrows rise a little. “Kimi. I thought I told you.” 

He grins, amused to have a Kimi be so different from the other. “Well, you didn't. Sebastian, most call me Seb. Nice to meet you.” He holds out a hand, glad that Kimi doesn't hesitate to shake it—his hands are cold from holding the cup, but the grip is nice and firm, not too long. His own hands feel feverishly clammy in comparison and he hopes Kimi doesn't mind. “Will I see you again tomorrow?”

Kimi considers for a moment. “When do you usually open?”

“At 7:30.”

“Bwoah, probably not. I’ve got work pretty early most days.” 

Most days sounds like we might only see each other once a month to Sebastian, his mind prone to exaggerating. And he can't have that, not when he thinks he could actually get to know this person, so he blurts, “I’m here by 6:45 usually, I can open the door at 7?” without thinking. “You just have to make do with having to watch me clean.” 

Kimi makes a vague gesture that could be both a shrug or a nod. “You don't have to.” 

“I want to?”

“Okay. See you,” he says while leaving the shop, giving Sebastian no chance to ask for clarification. 

He really needs to work on his reaction time. 

The kitchen still smells like oregano and tomato, the leftovers of dinner stored away in glass Tupperware. Sebastian is sitting on his designated chair, one leg pulled up against his chest, while Jenson is on dish duty.

“Hypothetically speaking—”

“Hypothetical, sure.”

“—hypothetically speaking, if there was this really cute guy—” Jenson halts at that, turning around and drying his hands immediately. The dishes are left abandoned in the sink. Sebastian can do nothing but watch as he crosses his arms and looks at him like a disappointed father.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s a hypothetical.” 

“We both know it’s not. Go on.” 

Sebastian stares at the glass he just emptied, still feeling dehydrated. His mouth feels like a desert, tongue going over his teeth like emery paper. “So, if there was this really cute guy, and he’s been there in the morning twice already—” 

“Customer,” Jenson throws in, and Sebastian nods. 

“Yeah. He asked for a cold brew, and we didn’t have any—cause who the fuck orders coldbrew when it’s cold and wet—so I made him an iced Americano instead and told him that if he comes back tomorrow—which was today—I’d get him that coldbrew. And he came back again. So he got the cold brew.” 

He knows that most of this isn't worth mentioning, but it’s easy to get off track. Especially when he hasn’t spoken to anyone about this and every thought just blurts out. Jenson is used to it. “Okay then.” 

Sebastian tips the glass back and forth, finger dancing around the rim. “I asked him when I was gonna see him again. You know, normal question. Nothing special. He said that we probably won't see each other much, cause he's got to get to work really early, and since I'm such a gracious being, I offered opening a little earlier for him?” 

A pause, and then Jenson is laughing at him. Not just a small giggle, but a full wheeze that has Sebastian's cheeks running red from embarrassment. “What?!” 

“Seb, you can't be serious. You barely get your arse out of bed at 6:30, what do you mean open early for a single guy. Speaking of, do you even know if he's single?” 

“That's. That's not the point. I'm not done, okay, he just—he didn't even properly answer. So now I don't know if I need to open early. It's not really opening early either, you know—more like I open the door while I'm opening,” he tries to justify his actions, realization settling in that he might've been a little pathetic. “...I told him he can watch me clean or something.” 

“Watch you clean.” 

The glass fully tips over, and Sebastian's reflexes almost throw it off the table instead of catching it. He sets it down on the other side of the table, out of his reach. “It sounded better this morning!” 

Jenson is giggling again. He pats Sebastian's shoulder, leaving behind a little residue water by accident. “You're hopeless, mate. ‘Open early’, or whatever it is that you wanna call it—but I'm not making sure you get up when you sleep through your alarm again.” 

“We both know you're lying.” 

“You're too confident about that.” 

Sebastian falls out of bed that morning, heart beating in his chest and sweaty hair clinging to his forehead. Panic is flooding through his veins, but he doesn’t immediately know why—he’s mostly just disoriented. It’s still dark outside; upon checking his phone, he realizes he woke up in the middle of the night. It’s only 3:40 am, way too early, but he doubts he can get back to bed now—he never can after having a nightmare. Besides, it gives him more time to work on an assignment, plus more time to get ready for work. 

His heart settles back into a manageable rhythm as he opens his laptop, finally going through the countless messages from Mark he’s been paying no mind to. He sighs as he remembers why he's been ignoring them, a groan escaping with each one he opens while wiping the sleep off his face. In the end he mostly just reacts with a thumbs up to most messages, but bluntly expresses his disdain when something doesn’t make any sense—the essay he started yesterday gains 3–4 paragraphs too before he ultimately has to get up. 

It hasn’t completely escaped his mind that he has to get up earlier than usual, so he leaves himself with enough time to take a quick hot shower too—Jenson would tell him to shower cold, both to properly wake up and save some money, but he’s not a masochist—and go look for some fresh clothes. Sebastian feels like nodding off again while he brushes his teeth, closing his eyes for a short duration until Jenson knocks on the door. 

“What?!” he mouths through the foamy toothpaste in his mouth, choking on it as he’s ripped from dream-limbo. He spits it out before coughing, Jenson cackling in the background. To humour the other, he unlocks the door, still trying to catch his breath. “Wh—what do you want?”

“Oh, you know. Just checking you’re actually awake.” 

“You heard me shower.”

Jenson feigns exasperation, a hand on his chest like he’s a guilt-tripping mother. “God forbid I make sure you don’t drown by accident.” 

Sebastian flips him off while he washes off the residue, flicking some of the water on his face while he squeezes past him. 

“Hey!” 

"Deseeeeerved!" he drawls, quickly grabbing his keys and halfheartedly slipping into his shoes. Stifling a laugh at Jenson’s excessive groaning, Sebastian makes his way downstairs, almost tripping when a shoe comes loose. 

“Don’t fucking die,” Jenson calls after him. He’d left the door open by accident during his escape plan, but at least he’s not being chased. 

“Yeah, yeah—go back to bed,” he tells his roommate, moving out of his vision. 

Opening today is restricted to getting the portafilter ready and the pastries out so they can defrost—the rest can wait until Kimi is here. It’s not like he ever gets anything besides his coffee either, so Sebastian isn’t actually as stressed as he thought he’d be yesterday night.

Sebastian knows that he told the other 7am, but he still can’t stop himself from opening the door 10 minutes earlier, a little too excited about this. He’s in the middle of fighting the packaging of some coffee grounds—because of course he suddenly loses sight of any scissors they own—when Kimi steps in, the bell chiming above him. 

It is in fact exactly 7am, and Sebastian must admit, he’s a little impressed. “Just a sec!” he calls, abandoning the bag in the storage room as he rushes to the front. “You're like. Actually here, wow.”

Half of Kimi's face is hidden under a scarf, making it difficult to tell if he's smiling at all. “I thought I made it clear I'd be here.” 

Sebastian squints at him, trying to figure out if that was sarcasm. “...you didn't even nod.” 

“Mwoah.” He shrugs, finally pulling the piece of fabric out of his face. There's little droplets of condensation clinging to it, and his cheeks and nose have that rosy flush from the cold. “I'll just take the cold brew again, by the way,” he says, handing his cup over. 

Sebastian smiles at him. “You got it.” He's thankful the order is so simple: he’s literally just pouring the prepared beverage into a cup, which means the risk that he runs into something is fairly low. It's a bad habit he can't shake; he tries to cut a corner short, and instead gathers more bruises. 

“You okay?” Kimi’s monotone voice snaps him out of his thoughts. 

“Uh? Yeah?” 

“You look tired, that's all.” 

Okay. So he didn't expect to be called out like that, nonetheless from a guy he's known for three days, which leads him to believe that maybe his night was a little tougher than he had made it out to be; the eye bags he'd seen in the mirror this morning didn't even look that bad.

“I know I look like shit, you don't have to point that out to me.” 

“Your words, not mine. You still look good, just tired, as I said.” 

The compliment flies over his head at first. “I—well, thanks, handsome,” he responds when he realizes, exhaustion inhibiting any shame as he compliments him back. “I just didn’t sleep that well.” 

“Alright then.” 

“You know, I slept even less the first time you came in, so I'm surprised you noticed.” Sebastian puts the lid on top of the cup and pushes it over to Kimi, who's already put the cash on the counter. 

They both hesitate before grabbing their respective belongings, but Kimi is the first to break the silence. “...you know that you don’t have to open early?” Just for me goes unmentioned. 

“Oh. Oh, no, no—” Sebastian sputters, cashing in the five pound bill and handing him back some coin change. “This was just like. A one time thing. My bad sleeping habits will stay bad whether I open early or not. I promise.” 

Kimi immediately puts the change into the tip jar like the last two times, picking up his cup and taking a sip. 

“I'm in university if that makes it more believable,” he adds, another attempt at convincing when there's no reaction from Kimi. 

“Fair enough. I can relate.” Sebastian is glad for the answer, which also gives him a vague age bracket for the other. He'd ask directly, but once again, Kimi is already stepping away, back into the wet cold, successfully evading actual conversation. 

“Uni too?”

“Basically. See you tomorrow?” Kimi ask-farewells before actually disappearing. 

Sebastian wants to answer yes, of course, but tomorrow Jenson is opening, and he's so forgotten about that. “Uh, I'm not in tomorrow morning. Sorry. But Jenson will be here—” Jenson is so going to kill him, but he owes him for covering the week prior. “—and I'll be back in three days.” 

If Sebastian wasn't actually just hopefully delusional, he'd say that Kimi just deflated a little. It's difficult to make out anything with that winter coat on though. “Alright. See you next week, then.” 

He gives him the brightest smile he can manage and a little wave, cursing himself after for his inability to stay cool. 

The day passes on like normally, and Sebastian is truly thankful for the regulars that come in, as understanding and appreciative as ever, because as soon as he's closed and back in his bed, he passes out like a dead man, exhaustion having increased over the day. 

He briefs Jenson later, right during dinner, begging him to do him this one favour—he’s asked him to do worse, honestly. 

Jenson, a little too enthusiastic, agrees without kicking up a fuss, smiling brightly. Sebastian feels like he's made a mistake. 

Today

Jenson (07:11)

YOU DIDNT FUCKING TELL ME THAT “MISTER CUTE GUY” IS KIMI????!!

Sebastian (07:12) 

…you KNOW HIM? 

Jenson (07:12)

yes, I fucking know him. are you serious?

Sebastian (07:43) 

I'm serious

he's cute

Jenson (08:03)

he's BLOND, red flag

Sebastian (08:05) 

you're blond?? I'M blond??

Jenson (08:06)

did I say we were ANY BETTER!

Sebastian (08:06) 

:( 

Sebastian (10:27) 

yuo don’t happen to have his number, do you?

Jenson (11:13)

you’re not getting it.

Sebastian (11:17) 

[Image attached]

Jenson (11:21)

…

Sebastian ends up getting the number anyway, and officially gains another regular customer in the process.

Kimi is there every time that Sebastian is on shift. He doesn’t know if he’s in on Jenson’s days—he keeps on forgetting to ask—but it’s something. Slowly, but surely, Sebastian pulls words out of Kimi, whether he likes to or not. They make nice conversation, even if conversation sometimes means Sebastian rambles about everything and nothing, but Kimi listens to every little detail and provides actual advice if Sebastian can’t figure it out himself. The time from 7:00 to 7:15 belongs to them and them only, and Sebastian finds himself getting out of bed easier knowing that Kimi will be there soon. 

But one day, his nice little routine changes once more. 

It’s afternoon by now; just at the cusp of closing time, actually. Most of the high school students have left already, off to whatever sport or other activity they’ve got in the afternoon—there’s a football field not too far from here, where he too had spent his time a lot when he was younger. He ought to check that out again, maybe drag Nico along. 

No one hates some easy wins, after all. Maybe there’s a chance to get two whole teams going; if Nico is going, then Lewis is going too—if he somehow manages to convince Jenson that he wants to spend some quality time with him, Fernando shouldn’t be too far either. 

“Excuse me?” 

Sebastian's head swerves back up from where he’s been cleaning the espresso machine. He’s so going to forget about asking football after this. 

“I’m Max.”

Of course Sebastian recognizes the blond teen in front of him. He’s been coming to the café at least thrice a week, always ordering a double espresso even though he’s holding a red bull can every time he comes in, together with a pretzel. One time he’d worn a sports shirt with the logo of his school and Sebastian had thought about mentioning it—after all, he had graduated from that same school two years ago. It’s nice to put a name to his face. 

He takes a second to wipe his hands clean with his apron. “Yeah? How can I help you, buddy?”

“Uhm, I was just wondering.” Max seems jittery—nervous, though it might also just be his caffeine intake. Maybe Sebastian should plain up refuse to serve him anything that’s not food or hot cocoa next time. “Are you looking for employees?”

“Ah,” he sighs, roughly wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. There’s not even any sweat, but the pressure helps him think. 

Jenson and him had contemplated and discussed employees, but always settled on sharing the entire load of work between the two. Making a profit while having to pay other people a living wage was difficult—especially since the café isn’t Sebastian’s passion project. He’s mainly here because Jenson had another bed in his apartment and he’s merely a pathetic student trying to survive. Working here basically pays his rent. 

Besides that, he got to base the decoration. He's still incredibly proud of the amount of Save the bees! stickers he’s hidden in the building. 

“I’m a hard worker, I swear! I can do the dishes, clean, whatever you want me to do. I don’t really—I don’t know that much about making coffee, but—” Max rips him out of his thoughts, ranting in this unbothered unprofessional way only teenagers can manage, “I learn really quickly too.” 

Sebastian snorts before he can stop himself. Max flushes a little, shrinking in on himself, mumbling a quick apology. His eyes widen and he straightens up. “Sorry,” he repeats himself, clearer this time, looking back at him. 

“Nah, you’re okay. It’s just—you want to work here, out of all places? Really? Even though there are better options in the area?” There’s a Coffee Republic down the road that would probably pay adequately, next to the Dunkin’ that’s a ten minute bike ride from here. They’d look better on a resume for later too. 

Max nods. “I like this place. And I need a job, so.” 

“That’s not really something you should say in a job interview, you know. Something about professionalism.”

The teen seemingly shortcuts and this time Sebastian does laugh while pointing at him. “Mein Gott—I was joking. Though you still shouldn’t.” He smiles while Max relaxes again, a sheepish look on his face. “Look, I’ll be straight to the point with you. We don’t really take applications—”

Max tries to intervene, frantically taking off his backpack and rummaging for some paper. Sebastian is quicker. 

“—but I’ll mention it to Jenson. Co-owner. I can’t promise anything though.” 

The hopeful and grateful smile Max shoots back at him basically decides for him. 

When he confides in Kimi the next day, the man is surprisingly supportive—Sebastian is conflicted at sacrificing their time together. They’ll still see each other, of course, but it’ll be different; when he voices that worry, Kimi just replies, “Any time with you is just as good as any other. As long as you’re there, it’ll be perfect.”

That night he lies in bed staring at the ceiling, repeating that line over and over in his head until he finally passes out.

Yesterday

Sebastian (19:03)

god forbid i have a beer every now and then

Jenson (19:18)

not in your coffee??

Sebastian (19:18)

im an inventor, okay

Jenson (19:19)

you’re a shitty inventor. do you know how difficult it was to understand what you were trying to say over text?

Sebastian (19:21)

you managed FINEE with those typos, don’t be dramatic.

you haven’t seen what I’m capable of

Jenson (19:23)

I don’t want to see what you’re capable of

Today

Sebastian (17:43)

what do you think about a coworker

minijob

do you guys call that minijob as well

whatever

just a kid

Max? you might know him, blond fella, lanky, a little skittish, incredibly caffeinated (note, don’t give him free coffee)

Jenson (17:51)

sounds like a small-tall you tbh

change of heart? whats up with you?? feeeeeelingggg sappy?

Sebastian (17:58)

small-tall. seriously.

anywho

 (arschloch)

he seems nice. and a little desperate. apparently knows nothing about coffee ro catering, but he, and i WUOTE, saysd “I’m a hard worker, i can do the dishes, i can clean, whatever you want me to do”

but he’s nice enouhg

Jenson (17:59)

i dont cook i dont cleaaaannn

ill think about it

im out with nando right now

talk later?

Sebastian (18:04)

joaa sounds good

what lyric did you just recite, you know i don’t listen to that stuff

asnerw?

Sebastian (18:08)

fine

im gonna take a power nap

Jenson (18:21)

diva down. sleep tight <33

Sebastian (18:22)

<33

Sebastian (18:30)

OMG REMIDN EM ALTER, FOOTBALL!!!!

Jenson (18:31)

this isn’t sleeping???

Max wasn't lying when he said that he doesn't know a single thing about coffee, except for which coffee bean provides you with the most caffeine to keep you awake on a long school night. 

Since the shop is run by two owners only, there's no real system in place to teach new hires, but Sebastian makes do with improvisation. They've both come in a little earlier than usual opening today—the clock reads 6:12 right now, and Sebastian stifles a yawn—just so Max has some more time to memorize the first steps. 

“Come on.” 

Sebastian, while not overly interested in coffee beans and where they come from, recites everything he knows as they go through the inventory. 

Max seems to suck the information up like a sponge, not struggling the least as he rambles along; it's quite nice to have someone listen so intensely and genuinely interested. Won't be too long until he's got the new kid roped around his bees. 

“How about we make some espresso first, hm? So we’re properly awake.” 

Max doesn’t even nod, still too shy to really speak up, simply standing there until Sebastian moves first. 

He’s extra meticulous as he explains step for step how to use the portafilter, always the fan of explaining why something has to be done a certain way, instead of just saying how it works. It’s done him well in the past—especially when he was a kid himself, ever so curious about everything, asking about anything—and Max seems like the type to actually want to understand something. 

Despite being so quiet, Max seems grateful for everything. “Thank you,” he mumbles as Sebastian hands him the cup, cradling the porcelain like he’s scared he’ll drop it. 

They settle into a rhythm of Sebastian explaining something, sipping on their respective coffee, Max asking a question or two and then moving on. They get through most of what Sebastian would describe as ‘Important to know’ before the first customer appears. 

“Morning,” Kimi greets as he steps in, not the least bit surprised when it’s not only Sebastian behind the counter. 

Confused, Max checks the time. “I thought you opened at 7:30?” 

Sebastian shrugs, waving Kimi in. “It’s a new development.” He puts his hand on Max’s shoulders, squeezing them lightly. “Kimi! Good morning—this is Max. He’s gonna help out around here, so be nice,” he tells him, as if Kimi doesn’t know about Max anyway. 

The other plays along, giving Max a nod in greeting. Sebastian had rambled about their new employee the past few days, and Kimi—the poor soul—had stayed to listen each time, even giving him encouraging words here and there. Kimi saying You'll do just fine has been turned into a mental mantra. 

“Welcome!” Max quips, shoulders tense. Sebastian pats him on the back before pulling him along to the register, trying to shake out the nerves. 

“Just the usual, Kimi?” Of course, he already knows the answer, moreso asking for Max. 

“Yep.” 

“Okay then, one cold brew coming right up.” He gestures for Max to look at the screen, instructing him through punching in the order. They make a quick thing out of finishing the drink too, Sebastian detouring slightly when he explains that customers can bring their own cup to be filled. 

“That's it, basically.” 

Max nods in reply, and while Sebastian thanks Kimi for his patience, Max wishes him a nice day. 

“That wasn't too bad, was it?” 

“Uhm. No it wasn't.” He's wringing his hands together nervously. 

Sebastian pats him on the shoulder reassuringly. “Don't worry, you did good. I'll be with you the entire time until it clicks. You're smart, you just need to get into the flow.” 

Max shrugs the hand off, though Sebastian is sure he didn't mean it in a rude way. He doesn’t mention it anyway, not when there’s still a job to do—he was never that good with keeping things overly professional. It was never his style. 

They get back to it, take a handful more orders; Max slowly gets comfortable in the motions of taking orders and making the easy drinks, clarifying once or twice. 

Sebastian would be happy to say that the rest of the shift is just as boring as the beginning, but he forgot to add Daniel to the calculation. 

Nicknames for certain regulars are a common thing. At least as long as he can’t quite remember their actual name, which happens more often than one would think.

So, for the longest time, Sebastian referred to Daniel Ricciardo as honey badger in his mind. It's a nickname he'd once got wind of in school halls in his graduating year, people mumbling about some transfer that was sickly sweet to everyone, with thick skin no insult could pierce. The nickname stuck until he finally asked the younger man for his name—he’s got to admit, honey badger has a ring to it. 

It's what he introduced Daniel to Max as. Daniel had stepped into the café like he owned it, radiating with that positive energy that always surrounds him; Sebastian only just mentions him being a regular when he steps to the counter, thankfully no other people in line.

Recognition flashes in his eyes. “Ohhhh, dude, you work here now?” he asks, a bright but mischievous smile spreading on his face. 

Max shrinks in on himself. Sebastian couldn’t picture him reacting any other way—though the implication that Daniel knows Max tickles his curiosity. When Max doesn’t seem to be making a move to answer, Sebastian steps in. “It’s his first day. You two know each other from school?” 

“Boy do we know each other.” Daniel grins from eye to eye, rubbing his hands together. Sebastian raises an eyebrow. “We’re mates, aren’t we?” 

Max doesn’t answer the question, instead asking, “What can we help you with today?” voice cold. 

“Oh, just a Latte is fine.” 

“You got it.” Sebastian is the one replying, but Max is quicker at getting to the drink—he saw an opportunity to escape and he used it. “What’s up with that, Danny? Are you bullying kids?”

“Whaaat? Noooo,” he he pulls the vowels, looking anywhere but Sebastian in exaggeration. “I would never. What do you hold me for?”

“A bully?” 

“You.” He points a finger at him, reaching over the counter to almost touch him. Sebastian dodges the motion. “Better shut it.” 

“I can’t have you annoying my employees, you know. I might call the cops.” 

“You?! Vettel, calling the cops? Yeah right.” 

The two share a laugh as Daniel holds his card against the reader. “No, but seriously. What’s up with that?”

“Nothing, really. He just won’t talk to me. I didn’t do anything, I promise.” 

“Sure. Is this you choosing a new introvert to adopt?”

Daniel shrugs. “I want to. He won’t let me. It’s kinda funny, actually, like that one time—”

Max comes back with the Latte, lid already on and pushes it to the far side of the counter. “Have a nice day,” he says, in the most passive aggressive customer voice he can muster. 

“I’m gonna have a nice day when you finally hang out with me. Come ooooon, please?”

Max actually sounds mad when he says, “No. Leave me alone.” 

Daniel and Sebastian share a look. Then the former one sighs, grabbing the Latte dangerously by the lid—seems like Max secured it enough though, seeing as it holds the weight. “Fine. But this isn’t over. See you, Max. Seb!” He waves as he walks past the tables and then salutes when he’s out the door, only visible through the glass wall. 

Max glares at him the entire way and Sebastian can’t help but be reminded of an annoyed cat that’s been petted too much. “What’s up with that?”

“You heard his version. He doesn’t exactly talk quietly.” 

“Okay, but I want to hear it from you.”

“It’s just—” his cheeks are red and his fists are clenched as he explodes, “—I don’t understand him.” 

“Yeah, that’s not unusual when it comes to Daniel.” 

“No, like, what’s his deal? I don’t know him. He just came up to me one day and started bothering me.”

Sebastian can’t help the smile that appears, trying to hide it behind a hand. Max goes on, “I can’t even stop him. It’s like he cherry-picked me to be his next victim. You know, you can’t even hide from that dude, he will find you. Do you know how creepy that is? Having someone you don’t fucking know talk to you every day?

“It gets even better. He’s got this group of people following him too, so whenever he talks to me—more like talks at me ‘cause like hell I’m responding—I’m suddenly fucking crowded by people I never wanted to interact with in the first place. I like my peace and quiet, thank you very much.”

Sebastian’s hand drops, revealing his inability to keep himself together. 

“What are you laughing at? What’s so funny?” 

The fact that the first time Sebastian hears and sees Max show more than just nervosity as an emotion. The fact that Max is openly ranting about something—someone. The fact that, of course, Daniel Ricciardo is the source of this character outbreak, because when is he not. “Nothing. Eh, I just think he likes you.” 

Max blushes even more, though this time more out of shock than anger. 

“Wait, that’s not what I meant,” Sebastian laughs at Max’s expression, boiling over, “‘likes’ as in ‘he finds you interesting’. As a possible future friend.” 

“But I didn’t do anything to warrant that. I want him to stop whatever he’s trying to do.” 

“Maybe you did. Maybe you didn’t. And he’s not just gonna stop talking to you because you told him no—at least not in a way that’s gonna overstep lines that aren’t to be overstepped.” 

“He talked to me while we were both fucking pissing in a school bathroom.” 

The deadpan voice does it. Sebastian cackles, holding himself up by the counter. “Mein Gott, he didn’t. Look, he’s a nice—admittedly weird—guy. Maybe give it a try: Talking to him. He means well. And if it really bothers him—I’ll try to make him stop. Keyword being try.” 

Max groans, head in hands, doing nothing to stop Sebastian from giggling to himself. 

Max, over the days, has slowly loosened up. It takes him three shifts to not constantly avoid Sebastian’s hand when it reaches over to reassure him, and it takes him maybe two more to answer with more than yes or no when the older tries to make small talk. Sebastian is enjoying it; it’s a nice change of pace to his usual day to day, especially when Max has that particular oddness about him that makes things interesting.

Right now, the kid is staring. He’s not even trying to hide it, but somehow the action goes unnoticed by everyone; except for Sebastian. 

“What are you looking at?”

“Uhm—nothing.” 

“Mhm,” he drawls. “Nothing.” Sebastian raises an eyebrow, prompting Max to continue. 

“Okay, not nothing, but. It’s not important.” Instead of explaining, Max just points over to a single table on the right. The top of it is covered in various papers, some markers and candy, a respectable mess in its own right. A worn down book sits on top of everything, half-covering a laptop. Behind it, the secondary school student Kimi—or small Kimi, as Sebastian has affectionately dubbed him in his mind after Kimi had appeared in his life—is hitting his head against the tabletop. 

“I think he’s studying.” 

“I think he’s losing his mind.” When Sebastian was his age, he believed that studying for university would be different. Turns out that it’s the exact same thing, just that now he can tell himself Oh, you picked this life. Suffer. while going through it. “So. What’s got you thinking about it so intently then?”

For some reason, the counter seems to look awfully interesting to Max right now. He traces the wooden grains with his finger, only to wipe whatever residue was left on the tip off on his apron. “Walked past him to ask if he needed anything, just so I could get a look at what he’s crashing out over. It’s just analysis.” 

“And?”

“I know analysis.” 

Okay, well. Seems like Sebastian is going to have to mention it directly. “Go ask him if he needs help with studying, then.”

“I can’t do that.” Max scratches at his jawline absentmindedly, a habit Sebastian has tried to break. It goes against all sorts of health regulations, and he wants to jump Max every time he does it. He ignores it this time, for the sake of the conversation. “I don’t know him. I’ve seen him maybe once or twice on school grounds, he’s like a grade or two below me? But. Never talked?”

Ah. Sebastian had almost forgotten how difficult it is to get over that first barrier of anxiety that accompanies making friends—especially when you don’t have a lot of other friends yet. 

“I’m also working right now, if you forgot.” And now he’s just looking for excuses. 

“That’s no problem.” He smiles at the other, putting a hand on his shoulder. Max still doesn’t look up. “It’s slow anyway, come on, I got it.” 

“You sure?”

Yes, he’s sure. That doesn’t even need any saying when he just full-on pushes Max in the direction, handing him a plate of biscuits to set down for the two. 

Hesitantly, Max makes his way over, glancing back at Sebastian occasionally with such a pathetic look on his face that he almost feels bad. He shoos him away each time. 

From the distance he can’t make out what exactly they’re saying, but Kimi’s expression tells him enough. Slight recognition flashes through the younger’s eyes and once Max asks him what he’s working on, he’s back to his animated self as he rants about graphs and functions. 

Max, ever the active listener, is wholly immersed as he multitasks filtering through the notes on the table. He seems to be sorting them while the other isn’t even noticing, and then cuts into the monologue when he’s found the source of the problem. 

Kimi’s eyes light up when Max seems to have asked the right question, and even Sebastian can make out the relieved Yes! from the distance. When he starts explaining, Kimi takes notes and erases whatever was on the page before that. He doesn’t even hesitate when he asks Max to elaborate on another task, shuffling to the side on the bench he’s sitting on and patting on the now free space. The joys of being extroverted, it seems. 

The two sit side by side after that, snacking away on the treats Max brought with them. They fall into a sort of rhythm in which Max shows Kimi how to go through a calculation, then makes him follow each step with an example—Max is incredibly patient throughout, explaining each mistake the other does with understanding and guiding him to the correct solution. 

In another life he’d make a great teacher. Sebastian is sure of that. He leaves the two to it, occasionally bringing over more biscuits to check in on them while cleaning. It really is slow today. Must be the terrible weather. 

Sadly, the café closes soon; something Sebastian is usually overly enjoyed about. This time he’d love to keep the two here longer, Max’s anxiety about talking to others easily fading away by the other’s company, but he, and Max, need to get home. 

The teens haven’t even realized that most of the customers, spare some walk-ins, have left already, some of the chairs already lifted onto the tables so Sebastian can sweep under them. So he walks over, a bag with some leftover pastries in his hand, and drops it on their notes. 

Whatever they were giggling about falls into the background as Kimi profusely apologizes upon noticing how late it is, swiftly swiping his notes into a stack that’s surely going to leave creases in each and single paper. “I am so sorry. I didn’t even see that it’s gotten so dark, you know, with the whole day being moody and all—”

“No, it’s okay,” Sebastian assures him, picking up the bag with goodies and holding it out to him. “For you. Good luck on your test, yeah?”

Kimi, to be expected, grabs the bag without hesitating. Something about growing boys and their endless hunger. “Thank you so much.” He moves to dap up Max, who’s confused at first but awkwardly recovers in time. “You too, man, especially thank you! See you tomorrow?”

“Mhm. See you tomorrow. Good luck!” Max calls behind him as he leaves, though the kid is already sprinting away through the rain. 

Sebastian ruffles Max’s hair a little harshly, though jokingly in the end. The way the younger tenses for a short moment doesn’t go unnoticed. “Told you it’d work.” 

Instead of being annoyed, Max just hits him back, laughing as he tries to avoid his next attack. 

Closing with Max, he learns, is starting to become his favourite part of work. 

It’s almost midnight when Sebastian gets a call. He’s been mindlessly staring at the blank screen of his laptop for the last hour, trying to will the words of his essay into existence—to no avail—so it snaps him out of whatever trance he had gotten himself in. He checks the time before picking up and has half the mind to be mad, because who the fuck calls someone at this hour, and he’s fully prepared to put as much snarl and snark into his voice as he can. 

When he finally does look at the caller ID and realizes it is Max out of all people, that anger turns into concern. 

“Max? What’s up?” 

There’s a breath on the other side of the line that has Sebastian’s back straighten up. “Uhm,” the voice is shaky, uncertain and quiet, “I—I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“Nope,” he chips, feigning casualness for the sake of appearing calm. “I was working on something for uni, but I’ve been going nowhere.”

“Sorry, then.” 

“It’s fine. Thanks for calling, it’s like a little break. Why’d you call anyway?” 

The verbal silence stretches for a few seconds. Sebastian turns off the music that was still running in the background, cutting off the chorus of Welcome to the Black Parade by My Chemical Romance to hear better. There's the sound of cars rushing past in the background—though it could also be the wind and rain—next to Max's laboured breathing, which is slowly steadying itself. 

“Are you outside right now?” 

“...yeah.” 

“At—” He glances at the clock on his laptop. 00:03. “At midnight? In this weather? Don't you have school tomorrow?” 

“I've kinda got a—” he pauses, trying to figure out the right word to use, “—a situation?” 

“Okay. How can I help you with your situation?” 

Sebastian can vividly imagine how Max is probably biting his lip on the other end, unnecessarily touching his face in an attempt at self-stimulation. He's already trying to figure out his next question to pry more information out of Max when the kid blurts, “Can I crash at yours?” in a tempo that makes it difficult to understand, like he had to get it out now or he'd back out. 

For a second, he's stunned. “Oh.” He moves his laptop to the side and gets up, deciding that this conversation has to be held while up and moving. “Sure?” 

“Really?” 

“I—yeah. We've got a couch. I don't think Jenson will mind either, and if he does I'll kick him in the shins.” 

“Okay.”

“Okay?” 

“Okay. I'll be there in thirty.” 

His eyebrows furrow at that. “Where are you?” 

“Uh. Near Aldi.” 

“That's less than a thirty minute walk.” 

“No, the other one.” 

“You're in the South Ring? Yeah, no. I'm picking you up.” He's got the phone clamped between cheek and shoulder, slipping into his shoes. The backside of them is flipped inside, so he pries those out and ties them. “Ten minutes tops.” If he speeds a little. No one will care.

“That's not a ten minute drive,” Max states. Sebastian was fully expecting him to say something like no, it's okay, I can walk, predicting some resistance, but the kid just sounds tired. 

He's running down the stairs, jumping off the last three with the elegance of a drunk elephant. “It's not a thirty minute walk either. I'm the adult, I get to decide what's better.” 

“Like when you decided to put coffee beans in a mixer?” 

It was nothing but a test. The coffee grinder had been fine, but Sebastian was curious and bored. It made for good entertainment. “The mixer is fine, I fixed it.” 

He views it as an achievement when Max snorts on the other side of the line. When he sits down in the car, it's freezing—he turns up the heater to a maximum. God knows how cold Max is right now. 

“I'm driving now. See you at the parking lot, yeah?” 

“Sounds good. Thank you.” 

“No problem.” 

Somehow he cuts the driving time down to seven minutes. Max is all curled up on top of the curb, knees pulled up to his chest, backpack hugged against the side. It doesn't look too comfortable, but the kid seems content enough with how his face is hidden in his too-thin jacket, hood doing its best to keep droplets out of his face. 

Sebastian leaves the keys in when he gets out, shivering at the cold air that hits him. He didn't bother grabbing a jacket, so he's left with the T-shirt that he was going to sleep in. Wordlessly, he holds out a hand to Max, who accepts. 

The kid groans a little when he pulls him up, knees seemingly stiff already, and the two dryly laugh it off when they crack. The warmth inside the car greets them heartily; Max relaxes into the warm cushions of the passenger seat while Sebastian gets them back to the apartment. 

There's no need to rush this time, so Sebastian lets himself enjoy the night drive. Something is still bothering him though. “What were you doing out?” 

Max's head shoots up. Looks like he's dozed off. “Repeat that?” 

“I was just wondering what you were doing out on a Sunday night.” 

Max hums, looking out of the window. He's been doing a lot of thinking-before-speaking. “My Dad,” he begins, treading carefully, “I kinda… pissed him off. It happens. He told me to cool off, threw a backpack at me, and said, and I quote, ‘Don’t show your damn face before you know how to respect me again, or I'll—” Max swallows, abruptly ending the sentence. “You know.” 

Sebastian doesn't know. He's had spats with his own father, but he's fortunate to be able to say that he never got kicked out, even when they had to pick him up from the police station. Max doesn't talk a lot about his family—this might be the first thing Sebastian has heard of his father—so he doesn't go, No, I don't know. 

Instead, he asks, “Well, have you cooled off yet?” 

Max shivers. “I'm plenty cold.” 

“I'll make some hot cocoa. Get that couch set up. Figure out the rest later.” The car pulls up to the side of the road while he says that. Sebastian hops out, eager to get back inside, but Max is a little reluctant as he gets out of the car. He trails after Sebastian as they walk up the stairs, always a step behind. Sebastian can feel the eyes on him following his every step—probably anxious about doing something wrong. It’s like Max is that skitty kid again that asked for a job. 

“Welcome to our simple—” He kicks some trash away. “—abode. Toilet is down that hall to the right. My room is right next to that, so if you need something, just knock.” Max nods along, taking in the room. It’s not a lot, but it’s well lived in; the scratches in the floor tell stories, as do the walls plastered with pictures. 

After leaving a cup of hot cocoa with Max, Sebastian does his best to set up an acceptable bed. He manages to find a clean pillow somewhere, but there’s only two comforters in their household, so he gets his fluffy weightened blanket instead and hopes Max doesn’t mind. Max has dried his hair and changed into a spare pair of Jenson’s pyjamas during that, and while they’re around the same height, he looks ever so small in them. Jenson will survive a day without them. 

“You got everything you need?”

Max considers for a moment, before glancing down at the pants he’s wearing. “Lightning McQueen? Seriously?” 

“Not mine. Also, don’t disrespect him.”

The younger of the two giggles. “Sure. But, uh, yeah. I think I’m fine. This is more than enough. Better than a bridge, at least,” he adds on, like he’d actually considered that before calling Sebastian. 

“I’d surely hope so.” The clock reads 01:43 now, and Sebastian is finally feeling a little tired. Maybe he won’t need melatonin tonight. “I’mma call it bedtime now. If I’m not bothering you by six, wake me up.” 

“Wake you up?”

“It’s either you waking me up by shaking my shoulder, or Jenson waking me up by pouring water on me.”

“What if I—”

“You don’t get to pour water on me. I’m letting you sleep here.” 

Max sits down on the makeshift-bed, pinching the blanket between the tips of his fingers and getting a feel for it. “I’ll let Jenson wake you up.” 

Sebastian is glad Max’s cheekiness didn’t take too long to come out again, so he gives in. “Fine. No breakfast for you then. Sleep tight, Max.”

“Good night,” he replies, with a tired smile and dropping shoulders. 

Sebastian drops on his bed, half-open laptop forgotten on the desk, and passes right out. 

The next morning goes by smoothly—if you ignore the fact that Jenson and Max have too much fun scaring Sebastian to fucking death. 

Instead of water being poured on him, the two have the genius idea to sneak into his room and blast an airhorn right next to his ears. He startles awake, choking on the gasp he just inhaled, all while Jenson is cackling. Max follows suit after a few seconds, giggles filling Sebastian’s bedroom as he tries to calm his own breathing. 

“Alter. Ehrlich—” he barks a laugh incredulously. “What the fuck. What the fuck.” His eyes are wide open as he stares at Jenson, hair an absolute mess. Jenson is holding onto Max’s shoulder, trying to stay upright, but Max himself is slowly crouching down to handle the ecstasy so early in the morning. 

Sebastian doesn’t even think when he jumps out of bed and tackles Jenson, somehow managing to get him into a headlock—Max falls at the same time. Sebastian is worried that it’ll stop their laughter, but Max explodes with more lighthearted gasps, so Sebastian goes for him next, ruffling his hair, not without Jenson escaping and grabbing Sebastian in return. 

They’re a true mess on the ground at 6:13 in the morning, and it takes them a good bit to get themselves together and the ringing in Sebastian’s ears to fade. 

The three have to move quickly after that, time almost forgotten, rushing to get done. Sebastian still manages to look at the couch before they leave though, everything neatly stacked up, and can’t help but feel a little sad that this is a one time thing.

When Kimi steps in that morning, Sebastian and Max keep on glancing at each other and breaking out in little giggles. The confusion on Kimi’s face is enough to escalate the whole spiel—they never end up providing him with any context. Max leaves for school soon after, so Sebastian ends up telling Kimi the entire story anyways.

Today

Max (19:19)

hej seb

Sebastian (19:32) 

hey bud

what’s upß

Max (19:33)

my situation just got another situation

Sebastian (19:33) 

??

are you okay?

Max (19:33)

yes, im okay

just

look im so sorry but could i stay over again

i get if not

like totally

i can ask someone else

Sebastian (19:36) 

no, you can stay over

really, it’s fine

do you need me to pick you up?

Max (19:43)

no ill walk this time

fr

15 minutes?

Sebastian (19:44) 

let me know if you need me to come get you anyway

do you have pyjamas this time, or do I need to steal the lightning mcqueen one again?

Max (19:48)

lol no i have some stuff

Sebastian (19:49) 

alright if you say so

When Max comes up to the doorstep with dark circles under his eyes and a slowly bruising cheekbone that he’s badly hiding with a hood, Sebastian has a feeling that this isn’t the time to push. He simply hands him the blanket from last time, the same pillow, and lets him set up the couch himself this time. 

“You can stay here for as long as you like,” Sebastian mentions, trying to go for sounding absentminded as he hands him a cup of hot cocoa. “Or come over whenever you want. I don’t care when, at what hour. I won’t ask why, as long as you’re safe.” 

The welling tears in Max’s eyes don’t go unnoticed even though he’s looking down at the ground, nodding. Sebastian ruffles his hair softly when he leaves the room, giving him some privacy. Right before the door clicks shut, Max clears his throat and chokes out, “Thank you.” 

“Anytime, Max,” he replies, and closes the door. He stays for another second, only to make out quiet sniffles, followed by semi-controlled breathing. 

He feels sick to his stomach as he heads for his own room, shifting from one side to the other in his bed. Sleep doesn’t take him that night.

The next morning is quiet. Jenson pretends like everything is like it's supposed to be, not minding the third person in their space at all. It's his shift today, so Sebastian should be able to sleep in, but he's up early for some reason; maybe it's anxiety, but Sebastian blames it on habit instead. When he makes his way to the kitchen, Max is already sitting at the table, opposite to his spot, cradling a hot cup of tea tightly in a way that should leave his palms red, but not quite burning. It smells like a blend of lavender and chamomile, calming, steam hitting his face in a way that must feel heavenly. 

“You never make me tea, Jenson,” Sebastian pouts, grabbing his favourite mug with an Eintracht Frankfurt print and putting on the kettle again. 

“Yeah I do.” Jenson moves around him flawlessly, finishing up a sandwich. “You just forget to drink it and then complain about it being cold.” 

He wags a finger at him, even though he knows he’s in the wrong. “I would never.” 

“Would.”

“Would not.” 

The next, “Woul’,” from Jenson is muffled. When Sebastian looks over, Jenson has already stuffed his mouth with the sandwich. “Go’a ru’.”

Sebastian exclaims something in disgust and motions for him to disappear. “Shoo, go.” Jenson waves the two a goodbye, Max is the only one to reciprocate the wave even though Jenson can’t even see it anymore. His sleeve slides down a few centimeters, revealing bruises once more, shaped like fingers, though the kid doesn’t notice—Sebastian certainly does. He laughs lightheartedly, though it sounds hollow to his own ears. Max smiles back, hand wrapping around the cup again, but he still doesn’t make any sound. 

The kettle—as old as it is—finally starts to actually cook the water too, brightly bubbling along. He turns it off before the switch can bounce back on its own, filling his mug and letting some herbal tea steep. The tag says it’ll take 5-15 minutes—which shouldn’t even be allowed, because that range is way too broad—so he looks for something to fill that time.

Since Sebastian is the older of the two, he decides to pretend like he has his life together; he sets out some bread and goodies for breakfast, putting down a plate in front of Max too. Max stares a little blindly first, not moving his hands from the cup, but as soon as Sebastian has cracked open the new jar of chocolate spread, he goes for that too. 

The two eat in silence, spar the radio that’s running in the background—Sebastian can’t even tell what song is playing, it’s just that quiet. They sip at their tea respectively, not quite yet wanting to break the no talking phase they’ve got going on, until Sebastian’s phone chimes up with a bubble popping sound from the back of his pocket. 

He's still young enough to not care for phones at the table, so he quickly checks his notifications; it's Daniel, so it leaves him pleasantly surprised. He moves to reply; Max has perked up at this point, not-so-subtly staring. 

Today

Daniel (7:23) 

mate, you busy today? 

Sebastian (7:23)

why are you awake

it's 7 fucking am on a saturday

Daniel (7:24)

okay well I didn't expect you to answer this quickly

why are YOU awake then? hm? right back at ya 

Sebastian smiles to himself as he considers his next reply.

Sebastian (7:24)

got a situation

Daniel (7:25)

situation?

Sebastian (7:25)

yeah, I’m a father now

Daniel (7:25)

????? what the hell are you on about dude

I’m not calling you daddy

Sebastian (7:26)

yeah you are

anway

why’re you asking if I’m busy

Daniel (7:27)

I heard lewis, nico and nando were goin to the park

the one with the skating rink

and I felt like bombing that meet 

and I know you LOVE being annoying

like me

Sebastian (7:27)

I’m not annoying at all

Daniel (7:28)

don’t lie to yourself

Sebastian (7:28)

it’s so early, why is everyone so accusative

Daniel (7:29)

that rhetorical?

Sebastian smiles to himself and puts the phone down, screen facing up. Daniel will probably hate the fact that he’s online but not answering. He’d been absentmindedly munching on his bread, and it seems like Max is done as well; he’s just politely sitting there, hands under the table, simply looking at him, waiting for something.

“Do you have plans for today?” he asks, breaking his bread apart into little pieces. 

“Uh.” Max clears his throat and it sounds a little dry despite his cup being empty. “No?” 

He’s still smiling, Sebastian realizes, and quickly concludes that it might make this seem weird. “Just asking ‘cause I’m going out today. Skating. Used to do that a whole lot when I was your age. I also wanna stalk my friends.”

The reaction he gets out of Max at that was totally worth it. “Kidding, of course. But the offer stands—I have an old board too, if you want. You can also stay in, if that’s what you prefer—I, nor Jenson, wholeheartedly mind. Watch TV or something, or like, play a videogame. We’ve got an Xbox.”

With a glint in his eyes, Max asks, “Fifa?”

He nods, plopping a piece of bread into his mouth. “We do have Fifa. Haven’t had anyone beat me in a while though, so.” Competitiveness bubbles inside him, along with the cockiness of always winning. 

“Oh, you’re on,” Max says, rubbing his hand together. “You’re never beating me. I’m gonna set new records left and right, just you wait.” 

Sebastian gets up, starting to clear the table. “You know what?”

“What?”

“I beat you at Fifa, I get to pick what we do—aka, you come skating with me and my friends.”

“And if I beat you?” Max has followed suit, loading his dishes into the dishwasher and handing Sebastian whatever is left on the table to sort into the cabinets.

“You pick whatever we're gonna do today. Stay in the entire day and play Fifa or something, if that's what you really want.” 

Max holds his hand out, smiling like he’s just won the lottery. “It’s a deal.” 

Today

Daniel (7:32) 

so, what do you say?

???

?????

I can literally see you online

??

???

Daniel (8:56)

seb you suck
?????????

Sebastian (9:11)

when are we meeting up?

Daniel (9:23)

YOU SUCK

11:30 maybe smth like that

Sebastian (9:31)

alright, we’ll be there

Daniel (9:33)

I thought jenson was on shift today?

Sebastian (9:43)

;)

Turns out that Max has never touched a skateboard before in his life. Sebastian’s plan was originally to just skate to the park, but the two end up taking much longer than fifteen minutes, walking the entire way instead. “The ground there is better for learning,” he had argued. 

Aside from that, Sebastian has always been convinced that walks are good for you, both mentally and physically, and he feels like this will be good for both of them. 

The gravel crunches beneath their shoes. Max has taken a liking to kicking a specific rock as it seems, running after it when he kicks it a little too far to the side. At some point the entire thing morphs into a little game of the two, taking turns at kicking it forward—Sebastian picks the rock up when they hit some grassland and can’t continue. It gets a spot in the pocket of his jacket and is already getting warm from him playing with it. 

They walk for another minute maybe, when Sebastian finally spots Daniel, sitting on a bench. He stops Max in his tracks by holding an arm out in front of him and puts a finger to his own lips and then points at Daniel. “Shhh.” Max, confused, looks to where he’s pointing—and then furrows his eyebrows as he realizes who Sebastian meant when he said friends. 

“Seriously?!” he exclaims, though he still has half a mind to whisper instead of actually scream at Sebastian. His hand gestures to Daniel as well. “Him? We’re meeting up. With him.”

“You said, and I quote, ‘It’s a deal’.”

“I thought you had other friends.” 

“I do!” He throws a dramatic hand to his chest. “That’s who we’re stalking. With Daniel, admittedly.” 

Max squirms, looking uncomfortable. “I didn’t think you’d actually stalk someone.” Instead of looking at Sebastian, he’s glancing at Daniel while absentmindedly picking at his nailbeds. 

“Okay, well, we’re not. It’s just fun to say. We just want to surprise them and graze them with our presence.” He grins, baring his teeth, and looks back at Daniel. “And my dear friend Daniel doesn’t know how to be patient, so I’m—we are gonna pay him a lesson.” 

Max does nothing more than raise an eyebrow. 

“Get behind him. Scare the shit out of him. View it as payback for talking to you in the restroom.” 

“Throw a rock at him?” He seems to warm up to the idea, if only to torment Daniel.

“Maybe a pinecone, sure,” he humours him, starting to sneak up at their target. Max silently follows suit, his feet so light that even Sebastian couldn’t tell he’s there—he looks away for a second and suddenly Max has actually picked up a stick and some leaves from the ground too.  

Sebastian wordlessly counts down from three with his fingers once they’re close enough. Daniel has no idea still, happily tapping away on his phone, back towards them. It’s perfect. Max jumps ahead as soon as Sebastian gives him the go.

“BOO!” Sebastian yells, lightly hitting Daniel over the head—Max has abandoned the throwing-something-at-him-plan and has instead shoved the foliage under Daniel’s jacket. The man shrieks, jumping up to try and get the leaves out, the moist sensation probably anything but pleasant. 

It’s hilarious to look at as he jumps around, arms flailing around his back to get the dirt dislodged. Sebastian is openly cackling, dapping up Max to celebrate their success, who joins into the laughter. Daniel has gone as far as to pull his shirt off, just bare skin in this godforsaken temperature. 

“You fucking heathens!” At the looks of it, Daniel isn’t the most agile, failing to get his upper back with his hand, spinning around in circles like a dog chasing his tail. He’s still smiling though, so Sebastian finally moves up to help him brush it off. 

“Bwoah, okay, wait, stop moving—”

“I swear there’s a fucking insect on me somewhere, I can feel it—”

“I’m getting it!” It takes a second to find the ladybug that’s been threatening to get into Daniel’s locks. He’s overly gentle as he lets it climb onto his hand, then holds it out for Max to take. “Come on, get this little guy somewhere safe. And Daniel, put your shirt back on, no one wants to see this.” 

“Let’s be clear, you love whatever this is. Take a good look while you can.” He gestures to himself and then finally relents to put his shirt back on. Meanwhile Max is cradling the ladybug, watching it run over his hand over and over again. 

After throwing his jacket back on, Daniel finally seems to realize who’s standing next to him. “What.” 

Max, still enthralled with the ladybug, waves nicely, though his vengeful smile betrays him. “Hello, Danny.”

Daniel turns to Sebastian, confusion apparent on his face. “What is he doing here?”

“We’re here to hangout, what did you think?”

“No, like,” he comes closer to him, whispering to him with a hand over his mouth, “how’d you convince him to this?”

Sebastian shrugs. “Oh, just won a bet.” 

“You didn’t win anything,” Max throws in, the reminder of his loss hurting his pride again. He sounds so genuinely annoyed that Sebastian smirks at him teasingly.

“Well, you’re standing here, so.”

“Maybe I wanted to come with you.”

Daniel points at himself, amused at the situation. “Even though I’d be here?”

“Well, I didn’t fucking know you’d be here, klootzak.” Max crosses his arms without thinking—the ladybug flies away before it can get crushed. “I never would’ve come if I knew.”

“Ouch.” 

Sebastian pats Daniel’s back empathetically. “You’ll get over it, Danny, don’t worry.” 

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that,” he fake sobs, head in hands. Sebastian goes along with the bit, comforting him, until his phone interrupts him. 

It’s Nico. Daniel and Max naturally fall silent next to him when he picks up.

“Hey, Britney."

“Get over here.”

“Over where? I’m at home.”

“Sebastian, we can literally see you,” Nico tells him deadpan in German. Sebastian squints around the park until he spots the group and waves shamelessly.

“Didn’t know you were here,” he lies in their mother tongue. Max snorts behind him, prompting Daniel to ask what he's saying—Max ignores him. 

“Uhuh. Sure. What are you doing here then?” 

“Teaching my friend how to skate.” 

“Not a bad lie, actually—”

“It's not a lie—” Still looking over at Nico, he throws his arms up. 

“—don’t believe you one bit. Anyway, are you coming over here or not? And is that Daniel next to you? Doesn't matter, look, we've got an argument to settle, and—” 

Sebastian takes the opportunity to turn back to Daniel and Max, just to give him a visual to watch while he tries his best to listen to Nico's monologue. It's starting to become difficult since Nico doesn't know how much information is unnecessary, therefore dragging it out—Sebastian quickly gives up, deeming it not worth it.

On the side, Daniel keeps on trying to poke Max in the ribs or kick him in the shins, only for Max to exaggerate his reaction and kick or hit back twice as strongly. He can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up as Daniel groans in pain, slapping a hand on his own mouth to keep down. 

“What the hell are you laughing at?” 

“Oh, nothing, it's nothing. Just peachy. I'll be there in a second, yeah?” That's what gets Max's attention, in the middle of twisting Daniel's wrist back uncomfortably—Daniel breaks free from the grip and puts some distance between them when the younger’s grip lessens suddenly. 

“You’re leaving?” Max asks.

“Uh.” Sheepishly, he lets his hand go through the back of his own head. “Kinda? Nico asked me to come over, we got busted.” 

“Ah, shit.” 

“Yeah. I’ll make it quick though, so you two won’t have to wait for too long.” Max’s head snaps to him, face pleading to not let him alone with Daniel. Sebastian throws an arm around Max’s shoulders and pulls him close to whisper, “Give him a chance. Spend some time with him, and if he really annoys you that much, you can come over and leave him here to sulk on his own. I like him for a reason—don’t judge him before you really know him.” 

“You owe me.” 

“Eh, I don’t. I won the bet, remember?” 

“You owe me a rematch.” Max sighs and Sebastian finally steps away from him again. He gives Daniel a wink, wishes the two fun and then turns back to run over to Lewis, Nico and Fernando, leaving the two alone. 

Max glares after Sebastian as he crosses the lawn, already annoyed. He considers running after him immediately, but he feels like he should do this—if not for himself, then for Sebastian. To keep him content. The last thing he wants is for Sebastian to hate him.

“Are you ever going to tell me what Seb was talking about?” Daniel asks next to him, bouncing his foot up and down like a disturbed bunny.

“He said something about teaching me how to skate. But he dipped out, so that’s falling through, I guess.” His foot flips the skateboard up by the nose, somehow actually managing to catch it with his hand even though he’s never done it before. It’s one of Sebastian’s old ones, the deck wholly worn out, but the griptape feels nice as his thumb goes over it. 

“Aw, mate, don’t worry. I’ll teach you!” Daniel grabs Max by the arm and drags him to the skatepark a few meters away. Max can’t even plant his feet into the floor to resist him, giving in and following. 

The ground is nice and seemingly new smooth concrete. The soles of his shoes even glide a little on it; he’s pretty sure that if he took a run-up, he could slide right across for a few meters. The ramps themselves are made out of wood and tuned with metal at the bottom and even though the skating park is fairly new, every single one of them is already covered with graffiti. 

Daniel takes the board he’s been holding and throws it on the ground, a little too roughly. 

“Be careful,” Max reprimands, pulling it closer with his foot. “That’s Seb’s old one.” 

“Well, I figured—but I didn’t expect him to lend that thing to anyone, honestly. He seemed kinda attached to it last time he had it.”

“Did he now.” It’s stated rather than intonated like a question. He’ll be careful with it, then. He wouldn’t want to break anything of Seb’s. 

Daniel makes an, “Eh,” sound, shrugging. “It’s not that deep. Just get on the old thing, hop hop.” Max rolls his eyes in response. 

The first time he gets on the board the damn thing slips away, and he almost slips with it, squeaking in surprise. Daniel catches him at the last moment, and he pathetically clings to the other’s forearm as he gets back up. “Let me go.”

“You’re the one clinging to me. Come on, try again, don’t be shy to hold my hand, I don't bite.” He grins. “Unless I feel like it.”

Max groans, but his hand wraps around Daniel’s when he steps on the board again. The balls of his feet shift across the wood, trying to find a way to balance himself out—he gets it after a few seconds. 

“There you go. Give it a shove.” He follows the request, but the board slips away again, launching itself into the opposite direction of where it was supposed to go. 

Max curses, but runs to get it back. Another try shows itself to be futile again, and at this point he’s growing more and more agitated. “This is fucking bullshit.”

“Are you left or right handed?” Daniel asks instead of reacting to the profanity, making jazz hands. 

“Right?”

“Ah, that explains it. Try the other side.” Daniel demonstrates how to stand on the board this time, with the other foot at the front. Max follows suit, and this time it seems way easier—he even kicks himself off the ground without flailing. It doesn’t quite get a smile out of him, but it sure is close. 

“Good job, Maxie!” Daniel praises, patting him on the back. Max finds that he doesn’t even mind the nickname that much, even though he hasn’t been called that in ages; the last person must’ve been his mother, or something. 

The two spend the next minutes making sure that Max is steady on his feet—he ends up with dirty jeans and maybe three or so scrapes, but they barely hurt, seeing as endorphins fill him enough to override the pain. Daniel turns out to be quite funny as well with his jokes and sidemarks, so it’s not only the new skill acquirement that’s making him happy; he’s actually enjoying himself and the time with Daniel. He’s almost disappointed in himself, but right now, he couldn’t care less. 

They end up in some corner of the skating park, sitting on their respective boards and rhythmically rocking from side to side. Daniel is happily yapping along while Max mostly just listens and watches some bird on the sideway pick away at the remains of a sandwich. 

“I’ve been talking about myself too much. I probably look super self-absorbed or something, jeez.” 

“Super self-absorbed," he agrees, simpering. 

“Okay, well, your turn. Do you do anything in your freetime?”

“I—” I actually kart, he wants to say, but he hasn’t been karting for a while. He misses it—having a real hobby, something that he could push himself in, something that made it easier to interact with his father, gave him a chance to look like he’s worth something. “I used to kart, actually. If that counts” 

“No shot. That’s sick. And yes, it counts. Did you take part in competitions too?” At his nod, Daniel goes on, “Surely you won some as well.”

When he thinks back to karting tournaments, there’s the sensation of sweat clinging to his hair under his helmet, the constant concentration to get the most out of each curve on his mind, the overjoyous rush of adrenaline from a win running through his veins. 

This time when he replies, there’s a confident, genuine smile on his face. “A few? What a joke.” 

“Ohhh, okay then,” Daniel teases, poking him in the side with his elbow. “Got a little champion in my presence then.” 

“You do, actually.” There's an album in his photo gallery that should display at least some podium pictures. He pulls his phone out, Daniel vibrating with excitement next to him. 

His face goes a little white when he opens the album, confronted with the face of his father, never smiling, always a hand on his shoulder. That previous joy he got from reminiscing is replaced by the fear of never delivering to his father’s expectations, taking a risk and failing pathetically, letting even the smallest mistake happen only to be graced with harsh consequences. 

He sucks it up even though his stomach churns uncomfortably and turns the display so Daniel can look. “See?” He swiped to the left a few times, going through some WSK series wins. 

Charles makes a few appearances here and there—George too. Max admittedly hasn't looked through these pictures in a while—there aren't a lot either, his father always arguing that sentiment isn't needed for success—so it causes him to feel bad. He can't tell what about it makes him feel bad exactly, but it feels like a sickening pull back to those times—when his father was still content with him from time to time. 

“Is that your Dad?” 

Max hums, almost painfully.

“He could at least smile a little, wow.” Daniel takes the phone to zoom into the man’s face. “Look at him—his kid just fucking won gold, at least look a little proud.” 

Something inside Max shifts. He doesn’t know if it’s defending himself or his father when he says, “He was proud of me. We worked hard to get to this point. He’s just. Bad at expressing that.” 

“Is he not proud of you now?” Daniel’s eyes feel like they’re staring right through him and his thoughts, reading him like he’s an open book. 

Max, taken aback, grabs his phone again and puts it away. “What? That’s a weird fucking question.” 

“No, I just—I’m sorry.” Daniel gives him some space, rolling to the other side. “You said ‘was’, that’s all. Just don’t even answer that.” He slaps his own forehead in embarrassment and leaves the hand there, resting over his eyes.

Max lets silence ring for a moment. At some point some random kid falls from his scooter and starts sobbing, and his mother picks him up to comfort him. 

“He’s—” Max starts, and he can feel how Daniel perks up to face him again. “—godverdomme, I don’t know, like, how to say it in English. I don’t know how to say it.” He doesn’t know what to say at all. It’s just a weak excuse.

“It’s fine.” Instead of the usually enthusiastic tone in his voice, Daniel’s voice drops to something gentle. “You don’t have to justify anything. But you know, if it matters to you, I’m pretty proud of you for getting the hang of skating that quickly.

“And I’m certain that Sebastian is proud of you as well. Not necessarily proud of anything specific, but if I had to pick, I’d say he’d be proud of you today for staying with me.” 

There’s a lump in his throat that’s steadily growing after Daniel says that, and it’s threatening to stay there, if it wasn’t for said person coming back. The man returns, grinning like crazy with the rest of his friends in tow. At some point Max had even considered that they’re fake, only a made-up story to get him to hangout with Daniel, but it seems like they actually exist. 

Daniel gets up first and holds out a hand to Max. The teen stares, hesitating for a moment, but then grabs it and lets himself be pulled up. Daniel doesn’t let go just yet, pulling him close to pat him on his back—too many people have been doing that recently, and Max still doesn’t know how to feel about the constant physical contact he’s confronted with. 

“You’re not half bad, Max.” 

“You’re not horrible either, Daniel.” He finally steps away when the other group is close enough, and while Daniel goes to greet the others, Sebastian pulls Max aside. 

“Aaaand?”

“And what?”

“Did you survive or not?”

Max gestures to himself in reply. “Well, I’m alive. Barely.” He displays his palms, sore as they are. “But it was… fine. Skating, I mean.” 

Sebastian hums. “I’m glad. You wanna say hi to the others, or?” His voice is low so his friends don’t overhear the question, seemingly actually asking. Max thinks about it for a few seconds, but he honestly can’t really bring himself to talk to any more people right now, so he shakes his head no. Sebastian gives him a thumbs up and tells him to wait for a second as he waves his friends goodbye. They reply in a chorus of goodbyes themselves, and Daniel even smiles specifically at Max when the two bow out. 

On the way home, Max continues to practice, skateboarding the way back instead of walking. At some point Sebastian holds an arm out to him and he grabs it, so now he’s just being pulled ahead, occasionally steering the board from left to right. 

“So,” Sebastian begins. “How would you rate the day?”

It wasn’t as awkward as he had expected it to be, and Daniel has this sort of vibe that just makes you open up and engage; maybe that's why he'd hated him so much in the beginning. Spending time with Sebastian must've made him soft or something. But he learned something new, spent some time outside and socialized a bit, even if it was out of his comfort zone.

All in all, Max would describe the day—time with Daniel—as good.

That's not the version that Sebastian gets though. All he tells him is, “It could've been worse.” 

Sebastian smiles brightly at him, just as bright as Daniel does, and responds, “Daniel worked his magic, hm?” 

Max can do nothing but blush and look away. 

Once they’re home and both of them have showered, they settle on the couch to play a movie. Max hasn’t really been paying attention, the bad CGI distracting him too much. 

Additionally, there’s one thing that’s been plaquing Max’s mind all day, and if there’s one thing Sebastian has shown him, it’s that he can ask any question without repercussions. He’s still nervous when he voices his thoughts, though. “Uh, Seb?”

“What’s the matter?” Sebastian himself is stationed on the couch like no one’s watching, stretched along the cushions without a care in the world. He hasn’t turned around though, gaze fixated on the screen. 

“I was just like. Thinking.”

“Yeah?”

“You know—I get it if you don’t trust me to stay at your apartment. Alone.” And that gets Sebastian’s attention. He leaves the volume on, but fully turns around. “I can go somewhere else during the day while Jenson and you are out. Come back when you guys come back.”

Sebastian’s face morphs into pure confusion and terror. “What the hell gave you the impression that we don’t trust you?”“Just. This morning? I know you gave me two options, of staying in with you or going out with you, and it just crossed my mind that you wanted me, like—not supervised, but do you get what I mean?” 

“Max.” He flinches at the stern sound, wanting to disappear into the cushions. He should’ve stayed quiet. “No, Max,” gentler this time, but he barely notices, “that wasn’t my intention. I didn’t ask you to come with me ‘cause I thought you’d steal from us or something like that. I thought the distraction would be nice. Get out a little. Do something, instead of rotting away in bed for a day, though you can do that as well if you’re tired.” Sebastian pokes him with his foot, and it faintly reminds him of his sister. “Believe me when I say that we want to have you around and trust you.”

Max nods, exhausted, more mentally and emotionally than physically. “Okay.” He pokes Sebastian back, satisfied when Sebastian nods to himself and returns his attention to the movie. Max misses most of the plot—he’s out like a light after the next two scenes. He wakes up once in the middle of the night, room dim enough that he can still see everything; the moon is shining through the window. A blanket has been wrapped around him, and he knows that it wasn’t there when he fell asleep. 

Max has been staying with them for a few days now. He still hasn’t explained a lot, but enough has been implied—he can’t go home, or won’t go home for either comfort or even safety reasons—and that’s enough for Sebastian to let him claim the couch.

But Max seems to breathe lighter nowadays. And for the time being, Sebastian wants to keep it that way. They open together before Max runs off for school—Sebastian makes sure that he always takes a snack with him—and then double-body in the afternoon to work on assignments, sitting at the kitchen table. Sometimes Jenson joins the two, though instead of sitting down, he usually ends up cooking dinner for everyone. 

Sebastian is about to ask Max to wipe the counters clean, but before he can even utter a word, the younger one ducks behind the counter with a barely held-back, “Shit.” His voice cracks in that typical teenage way as he does so, and honestly, Sebastian would’ve laughed if he wasn’t confused by the behaviour—so he's forced down just as quickly by reflex, knees cracking from standing for too long. It’s embarrassing since he’s not even in his thirties. 

Usually, Max would tease him for being old while he exaggerated a groan. If it’s late and the two are closing, they’d end up chasing each other around the tables too, right until Sebastian lunges for Max and holds him in a headlock until he apologizes. They're a giggling mess of Dutch and German by the end, funny insults always easier to find in their native language. 

“It’s Charlie,” Max whispers instead, like it explains everything and doesn’t need further explanation. Like Sebastian knows exactly who that is, and between the Charlies he and Max know, he’s pretty certain none of them share a surname. Sebastian notes the way his cheeks flush and how the teen tries to spare glances through the display case, storing the information for later interrogation. 

He mouths back: “Who?” 

The other's mouth opens, then closes again, a contemplating look on his face. He ends up shaking his head. “I’ll explain later, you just—you gotta hide me.” 

Curiosity glints in Sebastian's eyes as he squints, until he's smiling sickly sweet at Max. The man has made up his mind, getting back up again and shamelessly looking for the someone Max has spotted. Most customers are seated, so it's way too easy to identify the Charlie that was discussed. 

He was fully prepared to slip into his curated customer service role, but instead Sebastian is caught off guard—because he does in fact know this Charlie. The only difference is that he knows him under Charles and hasn’t seen him in years; the last time had been at a funeral, where the two hadn’t even talked a lot. 

Guilt fills his chest and he gives Charles a sincere smile instead. “Charles!” he greets, fully disregarding how Max perks up beside him. “Na? How’ve you been, how can I help you?”

It seems as if Charles is just as surprised, a mantle of nervosity falling off his shoulders. “My God, Seb? I never would’ve expected you here.”

“I kinda co-own this place. Mostly so I don’t have to pay rent, but sometimes I think paying rent might be better.” 

Charles laughs a little, albeit awkward. “Yeah, I wouldn’t know. I’m excited to move out for university, but I’m not excited for the adult-responibilities part of it.”

“Enjoy your teenage years while you can.” Yep. He’s getting old. “Anyway—you want something? It’s on the house.”

“Oh! I couldn't—” 

“Charles!” a voice hushes, though the whisper is just as loud as a shout. 

There’s another teen peeking through the entrance, halfway behind the door, wood acting more like a shield than a hiding spot. “You done?” 

“I—no—”

“Hurry up then. I'm hungry.” 

Sebastian giggles, and waves Charles’s friend in. Said friend squints at him, then walks in until he’s stood next to Charles. 

“Carlos. Be nice. Family friend,” Charles reprimands, red from the embarrassment of the entire shop looking at them. His friend is entirely unaffected, staring down Sebastian with a certain level of expectation. 

Sebastian holds up his hands in a I-mean-no-harm-motion before grabbing two sandwiches and two cookies, putting them into separate bags so they don't ruin each other. “No allergies?” he asks on hindsight, glad when he sees shaking heads. 

“For free.” He passed the bags over to the pair. Carlos doesn't hesitate for even a second, grabbing the bag and ripping it back open to savour a bite of the sandwich, not before picking out the slices of tomato.

“Oh gracias, thank you.” 

“No problem.” 

“You finish up here,” Carlos whispers to Charles, before dipping out and waiting outside. 

Charles takes his respective bags too, thin fingers clenching around the paper. He doesn't move besides that. 

What's it with people not voicing their thoughts? “...Did you need something else?” 

“Uh—no. No, I'm okay Seb. Thank you though. I'll see you around?” Charles turns away before Sebastian can tell him goodbye. 

Suddenly, he turns back around. “I've got a question, actually.” 

“Shoot.” There it is. 

“I heard someone mention a blond guy that works here. Max?” 

Mentioned Max stiffens below him, and Sebastian tries not to cackle. The idea flashes in his mind to point down at him, to snitch, but he doesn't. He feels too nice today.

“Yeah? What about him?” 

A bolder seems to be lifted from Charles’s shoulders as he cheers with a small, “Yes!” and animatedly rips out a page out of his notebook. He scribbles something down while Sebastian can only raise an eyebrow, glancing at a confused Max on the ground. 

“I need a favour. Could you give this to him?” He holds out the piece of paper. Unfolding it reveals a phone number, and next to it IT'S CHARLIE, PLEASE MESSAGE is written in all caps. 

He nods. “Of course. You know him or something?”

“We used to be friends. At least I think we were. It's weird. Complicated. I haven't seen him in a while.” Charles looks at the ground, notebook clutched tightly in his hands. “He just disappeared. I couldn't pass this up.” 

Sebastian smiles softly. “I'll make sure he gets it. And messages you too.” When he notices Charles’s other friend impatiently pacing outside, he points in his direction. “I think someone's waiting for you.” 

His head snaps back up, and he's out the door just as quickly. “Thanks again, Seb!” And he's gone. 

Max scrambles to his feet, staring in disbelief. “What was that? You know Charles?” 

“You know Charles? From where? Why the hiding?!” he retorts, fully invested now. He has a million questions that are buzzing to be let out, but he holds back in hopes of Max explaining by himself. 

“We went to middle school together. Had this back and forth of annoying and besting each other, you know? I—I just didn’t expect him to be here. I haven’t seen him in ages.” 

“So your first instinct is to hide?” 

“I don’t know! What if he didn’t want to see me? Worse, he hated me, or—or he didn’t even remember me.” 

Sebastian holds out the piece of paper like a triumph, pinched between index and middle finger. “You heard him, didn’t you?”

Max stares at his hand like it’s not real, then looks to the door Charles had just stood in. 

“Is this another Danny situation? Him annoying you?” Sebastian doesn’t feel like it is, but asking for clarification is probably better. The kid is full of surprises. 

“I—no.” He takes the scrap into his own hand, analyzing the handwriting in awe. “I never thought he’d consider me his friend.” 

Sebastian nods sympathetically. “Don’t let him go then. Message him later. He seemed pretty hopeful when I told him you work here.” 

“Yeah. I think I will.”

Life is… treating Sebastian well. Each day goes by without him complaining too much, except for the usual worries about Max he expresses to Kimi every now and then, but the kid is actually making progress—making friends. 

All in all, the boy is settling in well, both in the apartment and at work—the regulars gradually take a liking to him, which seems to lift Max’s spirits too—he smiles more easily, genuinely. Whatever skittish kid had introduced himself to him is almost gone now, replaced by a passionate young boy who won't shut up if prompted.

Sebastian did that once, by mistake. He was rambling along about fuels and how bad they were for the environment—and Max had gotten wind of it. The teen had jumped at the opportunity, started leading the conversation—or rather the monologue—to motors and different machinery, then managed to involve motorsports as a whole, successfully drifting from the topic they'd started with. 

Sebastian had been so caught off guard that he didn’t want to interrupt the monologue, listening and nodding along as needed. Max had ended up stopping on his own accord, a blushing mess when he realized that he’d gotten away with himself. Instead of laughing, Sebastian had lightheartedly reassured him that he had enjoyed it, patting him on the back in passing. 

It wasn’t the last time either. A few more reassurances later and Max started initiating conversations, started biting back with insults that didn’t hurt, started acting the age he was.

Slowly, but surely, Max had blossomed. 

Sebastian watches that progress fade away in seconds at the scene in front of him, teeth grinding against each other from the tension in his jaw. 

The man in front of Max towers over him—not only in height, but in presence too. There's something in the way he holds himself and the scrutinizing gaze that forces adrenaline through Sebastian's body, hairs standing up from the goosebumps that cover his skin despite him not even being the target. And while he feels like running, fighting, moving, Sebastian can see clear as day that Max has frozen in place right in front of him. 

It’s not a surprise to him when the boy chokes out, “Dad?” 

There’s a resemblance not in demeanour and expression, but rather faintly in appearance; if Sebastian hadn’t seen Max flip out at a disrespectful customer with that same exact look on his face as his father is nursing right now, he’d never be able to tell that they share the same cheekbones and eyes. 

“I’ve had enough of your antics, boy.” He moves to grab Max by the arm, and the teen flinches back before he’s even properly lifted his hand. His father—Sebastian can’t recall ever hearing a name—doesn’t let it distract him, instead trying again more rigorously. His hand clasps around Max’s arm and the grasp looks like it’ll leave his skin black and blue. “You’re coming back with me. Home.”

It hurts to see that Max isn’t even trying to defend himself. But Sebastian knows enough to know that Max shouldn't—can’t go back without repercussions. If Max leaves now, they'll probably never see each other again; he just knows that whatever happens now carries finality. 

Max’s father is already half way out the door when Max manages to look back at him, eyes begging Sebastian to do something, anything. 

Sebastian could barely say no to the kid when he first met him. 

That hasn’t changed at all. Really getting to know Max has only made the sentiment grow stronger.

His feet carry him before he can think about it, but the intent is clear enough that it grounds him. Max can’t leave. Not today. Not with the man that calls himself his father. His own hand clasps around Max’s, gentle but firm, not hard enough to hurt, but instead to reassure. 

His other hand rips the older’s hand off, surprise probably the only reason his grip had lessened in the first place. Max shuffles behind him; Sebastian, despite his own meager height, does his best to shield him. 

“Sir,” he tries to appeal with respect, despite having none to spare for the man. “Please, calm down.” 

“Mind your own business.” He’s reaching for his son again, but Sebastian pushes Max away before the two can make contact. 

“This sort of is my business.” He doesn’t know what to say. What to do. He wasn’t prepared for a situation like this—doubts he ever could’ve expected something close—but Max is relying on him. “He’s my employee. On shift. Come back later if you need to, but I think it's for the best if you leave. Now.” 

“Don't stand in my way, boy.” He tries pushing past Sebastian, but he's relentless with keeping Max behind him, stepping back a bit. 

His face contorts into something ugly, all rage and injured pride as he clenches his fist. Next Sebastian knows, his head snaps to the side while pain spreads through his cheekbone and nose, and it takes a second to register that he just got decked in the fucking face. 

“Was zum…” he mumbles, Max's father saying something he can't quite make out while he straightens up again. 

“I don’t care. You better fucking leave before I call the cops. This doesn’t look nice for you, sir.” Sebastian watches his chest rise and sink again through his teary eyes, as if he’s contemplating; there’s nothing to contemplate though. The man’s eyes jump to Max again and then he’s shoving Sebastian out of the way like he’s an inconvenience, not even caring about the blood that’s smeared on his hand. 

A gasp breaks through the tension, and Sebastian finally realizes that Max is crying. It’s the last straw—something inside of him snaps, he blinks tears away, and then he’s grabbing onto the older Verstappen’s shirt to halt him in his tracks and keep himself upright—his knuckles make contact with the other’s jaw with an unsatisfying thud. 

The man stumbles back, shaking his head while he makes sense of what just happened.

“And Max is staying.” There’s blood in his mouth, and he spits some of it on the ground, just a few centimeters short of hitting the other’s shoes. 

It's then that Jenson comes in through the backdoor like the saviour he is, right before the older Verstappen can make another move. He probably heard the commotion. A blink later and he’s shoving the man out the door, overly rough as he does so; unlike Sebastian, he has an advantage in size and weight.

“Ah, fuck,” Sebastian groans as his fingers tap under his nose, coming back with their tips covered in blood. The distant voices outside are the least of his concern as pain finally settles in, adrenaline wearing off. There are hands on his waist and back, guiding him to a bench and pushing him down to sit down. 

It’s not Jenson in his face, going to lecture him, but Max, with red rimmed eyes and dry, cracked lips. He’s heavily breathing, eyes unsure on where to focus, and he looks like he wants to say something, but no sound makes it out of his vocal chords. 

Sebastian just grabs his hand and squeezes it lightly before pulling the kid into a hug. “I’m okay, Max. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay,” he promises, his nondominant hand carding through his hair. The other, sore as it is, is holding his nose close, trying not to get any blood on Max. 

He’s holding his breath, Sebastian can tell. Trying to keep it together. “Komm schon, Großer. You can cry. Let it out, it’s fine. I’m not mad.” Whatever reassurance Max needs. Whatever comes to mind. “He’s gone, alright? I—We’re dealing with him. He’s not going to get you, not as long as you’re with us.” 

Max shakes his head and Sebastian sighs, simply holding him closer until Jenson walks back in. The Brit tiptoes over the drops of blood on the ground before taking in the scene before him, doing nothing to hide the worry on his face. 

“Fucking hell, man.” 

“Yeah. You can say that again. Get me something cold, will you?” 

Jenson obliges without wasting another second. A few moments later Max is sitting next to him, blankly staring at the marbling of the table, Jenson holding an ice pack to Sebastian’s nape while he tries to get his nosebleed under control. The ‘Open’ sign has been turned around, curtains drawn to give them some privacy. 

“That was…” Jenson hesitates, glancing at Max before turning away again. “That was something.”

Sebastian nods, pulling away the tissue to check if the blood is finally slowing down. “I don’t even know.”

“You sure you don’t need to see someone?” Jenson whispers to him, trying to be discreet so Max doesn’t feel any more guilty, though he’s pretty sure that Max isn't even listening. 

“I think I’m okay.” He holds in a sneeze, not wanting the blood to start running again. “Wasn’t that bad.” 

“You should see yourself. And the ground.” 

“God, don’t remind me. I don’t want to think about that right now.” 

“Fair enough.” The ice pack finally loses contact with his skin; probably for the better. He’s starting to get a headache from the cold. “I think we all just gotta get to bed. Deal with the rest later.” 

Jenson is the first to get up, throwing the ice pack on the counter. Max still hasn’t moved an inch, so Jenson lightly touches his shoulder. “Hey, Max,” he says, and it’s so soft that Sebastian almost overhears it. “Let’s go upstairs. Sleep on it.”

They both watch as Max slowly comes back, simply nodding as he moves to the backdoor. 

“You think he’s gonna be alright?” 

For someone that prides himself in always finding a solution, finding an answer, Sebastian can’t find the words for a moment too long. 

“...I hope so.”

Sebastian is fine. The area where the punch had connected is throbbing—he’d glanced in the mirror this morning to check how bad it was, only to find his eye and nose splotched with red and blue. His hand is a little sore upon stretching, but that’s not even a real concern. Both’ll properly bruise over the next few days, maybe even hours, but it’s not that bad.

Besides, Jenson has an exam today, and Max is not missing school after whatever happened. He needs the support of his friends above all. It seems like Charles has already been briefed about what happened; he had received a message this morning asking if he was alright, and had replied, “All good! Check on Max for me, okay?” so hopefully that was taken care of for now. 

Sebastian is fine. He hasn't checked his phone since then because he’s nursing a slight headache, but it’s nothing compared to the migraines he’s endured at some point. It feels like a caffeine headache and he can deal with those. Nothing to worry about. 

He takes his time this morning—they didn't sweep yesterday, so he does that and slowly sets the chairs on the ground, arms already tired only from that. Exhaustion pulls at him to lay down which confuses him, because even if he didn't sleep well, his stamina should be unaffected. He ignores it in his own stubborn way, whispering to himself, “I just need to get through today.” 

Get through today. Prove to the others—and yourself—that there’s nothing to worry about.

There’s blood on the ground from yesterday and he might feel a bit sick staring at it. Usually he’s got no problem with blood and the like, but something about this is different. A moment later he throws a rag down on it and aggressively scrubs it off with his shoe, certain that he won't be able to get up once he's crouched down. Sebastian kicks the dirty fabric into a corner behind the counter so he can worry about it later—maybe he'll close early, actually. Then Jenson doesn't have to come in either today. His head has started pounding at this point, and opening the door to get some fresh air does nothing to even it out. 

He thinks his wristwatch says something like 6:20, so he hurries up with the rest. Set out pastries, turn on the espresso machine so it can preheat, refill milk and water as needed. He feels like he's forgetting something, but he can't put a finger on it—he’s distracted by the sudden dizziness that's overcome him too, forcing him to sit down at the nearest chair after the world tilts a little sideways. 

Sebastian doesn't move for a while, keeping his eyes closed and holding his own head upright. Every small motion makes his stomach flip a little and now he's glad that he didn't turn on the light; he doubts his head could bear with anything more than sweet, blissful nothingness. He should probably message someone, but he doesn't remember where his phone is, and he's honestly just betting on whatever spell this is to pass.

Now is probably the time to panic a little. Just a little. He should've probably stayed in bed, taken the day off like Jenson had suggested, catch up on sleep now that he's got an excuse. He really does have the on-going problem of overdoing things. 

A hand on his knee startles him out of his thoughts and he’s forced to open his eyes. He doesn’t feel like looking up, which the other person seems to get, and after another blink they’ve crouched down. 

It’s Kimi. Sebastian sighs out in relief that it’s not a burglar and maybe more so because it’s Kimi and he’s so much easier to deal with than all of the other options. 

“You’re early,” he says, fully oblivious to what the time actually is. Kimi hasn’t removed his hand yet, and Sebastian is definitely not going to say anything about it. It’s soothing, calming his racing mind. 

Kimi doesn’t reply immediately, instead scanning his face—he’d honestly forgotten how he’d appear to others. “No. I’m just on time. It’s around seven, like always.” 

So he's actually lost track of time. Off to a great start—hopefully no one else is gonna step in anytime soon. 

“Do you have any ibuprofen? I got a headache,” he jokes, trying to get the worried crease out of the other's eyebrows. 

Instead, Kimi returns a concerned squint and tilts Sebastian’s head to the side, probably to view his eye better. Sebastian makes a mental note that Kimi is uncultured. “What happened?” Kimi asks, his thumb pressing at his cheekbone. 

He sucks in a breath and flinches, but doesn't pull back. He's not about to spill Max’s family business to some guy the kid doesn't even know. “Unhappy customer, or something. Unhappy with his life? Egal—I just kinda stepped in at an inconvenient time.” 

“Not really an explanation.” 

“I got punched in the fucking face, is that what you wanted to hear?” 

Kimi snorts and answers a cheeky, “Yup.” He's finally done with examining his bruise too, hands backing up, but it seems as if Kimi isn't done with playing doctor. “Follow my finger.” 

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, but still follows the request. Vertigo hits him, but he manages, if only because Kimi was going slowly. 

He only gets an unimpressed hum in return. 

“I’m not concussed.”

The look he gets shuts him up just as quickly. It gets even worse when Kimi instructs him to look at his eyes, which results in him blushing a little, but whatever trail of thought was forming is quickly disregarded when the bastard shines a light in his eyes. 

Sebastian closes his lids as quickly as possible, his own hand snapping up to catch Kimi’s arm to make him stop. 

“Not concussed, you say?” It’s difficult to tell just how smug Kimi seems to be. There’s a hint of worry too, drowned out by the I-told-you-so tone. At least that’s what it feels like. 

“I was fine yesterday. Just a headache,” he retorts instead, letting go and placing his head on the table he’s sat at. The cold washes over him nicely. “I’m tired mostly. It’s nothing, really.” 

“Didn’t sleep well?” 

He shrugs. 

“Any dizziness, nausea?” Kimi presses on. 

It’s too easy to admit things to Kimi, and in conclusion more difficult to keep on lying to himself. “Yeah,” he croaks, visibly deflating. “Why do you think I'm sitting here? I don't feel like kissing the ground on top of this.” 

There's no reply at first—only muted shuffling and rummaging that piques his curiosity. When he glances up again, squinting against the dim light of the sunrise, Kimi is already grabbing him by the arm like a toddler, forcing him to get up. 

Sebastian wobbles a little, but the other is holding him steady. “Ey—Hallo, was soll das—what are you doing?!” 

“Dragging you to urgent care.” 

He sputters. “That is not necessary. I’m literally clocked in right now, I can go see a doctor after—”

“You’re not seriously pushing through a full shift like this.” 

The argument dies on his tongue. Defeatedly, he adds, “Jenson would’ve come in after a few hours,” because Jenson doesn’t trust him to just stand-by and not open the café while he’s gone. Rightly so—Sebastian just proved that to him. 

He feels like a kid again, caught in the act of sneaking out on a school night. 

Kimi mumbles something that he can’t quite make out, and next he knows he’s trudging after the Finn. When he slows down, taking a second to make sure he’s not going to fall over, Kimi hoists his arm around his own shoulders and pulls him close. 

Sebastian can smell his cologne from here. It’s fresh and earthy, and somehow just what he imagined the other to smell like. Actually taking note of it in reality is different from just daydreaming about it though, and he tries his best to not act too smitten. 

If he actually happens to be concussed—which he’s certainly not—he’s blaming all of this on the head injury. 

He’s basically being carried for the next few steps, until Kimi stops in front of a car. “You’re driving me?”

The other nods, opening the door and helping Sebastian sit down without hitting head on the windscreen pillar. When he gets in the car himself, he patiently waits for Sebastian to properly fasten his seatbelt after a few seconds of fumbling. 

“I’m headed there anyway,” he finally elaborates, “and you’ll get pain meds now instead of later. Not ibuprofen, but y’know. Sound good? Good.”

“It’s a meme, Kimi, please—”

Sebastian would love to be able to claim that the drive was nice and calm, but he's holding onto the affectionately dubbed Oh, fuck-handle for dear life. 

He doesn't know if it's the movement in general that's throwing him off, or if it's actually just Kimi’s driving skills. The Finn sure maneuvers quickly, though safe enough to not cause an accident, and Sebastian knows he doesn't drive any better, but sitting in the passenger seat in this scenario is actually horrid. He's even started to feel minimally bad for everyone else he's teased in the past while he was driving, giggling along when they held on to wherever they could. 

“Why are we rushing?” 

“Not rushing at all.” Though it seems like he's gotten the hint, leaning into the corners smoother than before and using the throttle more deliberately. 

Sebastian isn't letting go of the handle just yet, instead leaning into the crook of his elbow and using his own army like a pillow. It's comfortable enough that he finds himself in this dreaming-but-not-dreaming state where everything kind of blends together—some soundtrack is taking over his visual in this confusing, unrealistic way until his fingers slip from the handle and startle him awake. 

“Pitkästä aikaa.” Kimi is probably betting that he won’t understand, teasing him in his mother tongue, but spending some time with a Finnish physiotherapist is showing its perks. Long time no see, he says, like the comedian he is. 

“Morgen,” he replies sleepily, leaning back into the seat. He doesn't really feel like talking, which is weird—usually he's always down for a chat, but the quiet between the two is pleasant enough to not be disturbed. The only thing that's filling the silence a little is the stereo that's been playing the entire time, if only on the lowest volume setting. He hums along to the melody, relishing the familiar tune.

Now that Sebastian is focusing on that—trying to, at least—it’s easier to stay awake. He starts challenging himself to guess the song title in the first few beats, a little too bothered when it takes him longer than the first three bars.

What is notable though, is that he recognizes each song sooner or later. Not just, say, 90 percent, but all of them. He knows the title, the singer, even the lyrics by heart, and even though he prides himself in knowing plenty of trivia, he's not this good with music. 

Someone could say that he's just imagining things, but every song they've listened to so far is in the playlist of the café. Sure, it could be a coincidence—but something tells him that it isn't. Call it a gut feeling. 

Wondering about it keeps him occupied enough to barely notice that they've finally made it to the hospital. Somehow, he makes it out of the car himself, holding onto the roof until Kimi has made his way over to help him. 

It's bright enough now that Sebastian can make out dark circles under the other's eyes, the bright sun shining through Kimi's hair. It almost makes it look like he's got a halo, and he swears that if he stares only a second longer, he'll think an angel is coming to guide him to the afterlife. 

So instead of doing that he averts his eyes and focuses on his first observation. “You haven't had your coffee yet.” 

“Seriously? That's what you're thinking about?” 

Sebastian chews on the inside of his cheek while Kimi slings his arm around his own shoulders again. “I'm not thinking about anything, really.” 

“Bwoah, probably for the better.” 

“What's that supposed to mean?!”

"Don't wanna overstrain your pretty head.” Kimi swallows the second last word so much that Sebastian thinks he's hallucinated it. He wouldn't put it past himself at this point. 

He's also absolutely going to overthink that now, his head can go fuck itself. 

When the pair finally trudges through the door, the smell of antiseptic hits him like a wall. Kimi drops him off at the nearest free chair. “What's your name?” 

“Uh.” Has Kimi seriously forgotten? “Seb? Sebastian.” 

If the Finn is irritated, he's doing a great job at hiding it. “Full name. I need your last name to register you.” 

“Oh. Sorry. It's Vettel. V-e-t-t-e-l.” Kimi seems satisfied when he spells it out, so Sebastian settles back into the chair. His gaze follows Kimi as he walks over to the reception and says something about blunt trauma to the head and possible bone bruising—he can't make the rest out, and he doesn't care to. He takes the time to intently watch Kimi instead, following his lips as he discusses something else with the receptionist. 

It's just his luck that the action doesn't go unnoticed. When Kimi glances back, Sebastian's eyes snap to his. Instead of looking away he holds the eye contact until Kimi breaks it himself, and then takes the opportunity to hide his face in the collar of his hoodie, overheating just a little. 

As Kimi finally takes the seat next to him he tries to make himself as small as possible, shrinking into the worn-out cushion. 

“Won’t be too long,” Kimi informs him, already holding his phone in his hand, “head injuries take priority.” And before Sebastian can even say anything, he adds on, “Safety precaution. It's just triage.” 

Sebastian simply nods and leaves it at that. He doesn't know how to act with Kimi taking the whole thing so seriously when he was just going to sleep it off, so he just doesn't act at all. He just sits and waits, and occasionally steals a glance at Kimi’s screen, for naught. The letters are too small, and he is too far away. 

Leaning back is also impossible. The chairs aren't stationed at the wall, so there's no space behind his head to lean against, and resting chin uncomfortably on his chest also seems like a last option.

So he kills two birds with one stone and plops his head against Kimi’s shoulder, cautiously waiting for a reaction. When Kimi doesn’t even budge, Sebastian takes it as a go-ahead and squints at the screen. 

Turns out that Kimi readjusted the screen brightness while he wasn't paying attention. “You got any games on your phone?” 

He keeps on typing while replying, “I'm not letting you play a game.” 

“Do you even know what memes are?” 

“Yup,” he responds in the same manner as earlier, ingraining itself into Sebastian’s mind. Just like the bwoah, though Sebastian has yet to figure out what that one means. 

“Oh right, I almost forgot,” he mutters to himself, then picks up the volume, “do you use Spotify?” 

Kimi nods. “Why?”

“Had to make sure you use your phone for something. If you don’t mind, gimme your phone—”

“Not if you’re going to play—”

“—I promise I’m not going to play a game.”

“Fine.” He reluctantly hands the phone over as Sebastian simultaneously reaches for it. Kimi stops him mid motion, softly grabbing his hand and turning it around to assess his discoloured knuckles. 

“Your hand?”

“Ah.” Usually he’d boast a little about it. He wants to boast about it, proud that he didn’t back down from someone who seems to be twice his size. Sebastian Vettel doesn’t back down, especially not if someone else is at risk, but Kimi doesn’t know that. That’s between Max and the only two other people involved. “I punched the guy back.” 

“You could’ve mentioned that earlier.” Kimi’s touch is so gentle as his thumb goes over Sebastian’s knuckles that it causes him to sweat a little, though the motion is inherently calming. He hopes the other doesn’t notice. 

“I forgot?” He’s been replying with more questions than statements lately. God. He needs to get himself together. Defensively, he pulls his hand away, even though he kind of wishes that the moment would never end. “Least of my concerns.”

Kimi lets him. “Right.” The phone is passed over to him again, and this time he actually gets to use it. He is tempted to browse a little, maybe open a game just to annoy Kimi, but for the sake of his headache he opens Spotify instead and looks up the name of the café’s playlist. One more tap so it’s saved to the library, and he’s done. 

“There you go.” When Kimi shoots him a questioning look, he goes on, “Noticed that you were playing the same songs like in the café,” as if it's enough of an explanation. 

Kimi buys it and nods appreciatively. They fall into quiet after that; at least as much quiet as you can get in a room full of people.

He takes the liberty of closing his eyes after that, trying to block out the white fluorescent light that’s starting to get on his nerves. Sebastian isn’t necessarily impatient, but he does hate waiting, and Kimi’s statement of ‘Won’t be too long’ is quickly starting to sound like a lie. Waiting under these conditions is even worse—everything about a hospital just makes you want to leave as soon as possible. 

Dozing off seems to be his best chance at passing some time, so he lets himself float a little, all while melting into Kimi's side as the minutes pass. 

It's comfortable. Kimi doesn't really move a lot, leaving Sebastian mostly undisturbed; the only thing he can feel is the slight shifting as Kimi breathes. It's deep and slow, absolutely undisturbed by the turmoil around the two, indirectly causing Sebastian to relax too. 

He's out in a matter of minutes. 

“Bringing in our own patients now, are we?” 

The question is obviously directed at a person next to him, but he’s still sleepy enough to fall back asleep and ignore it. That nice daze falls away when Kimi shrugs though, which results in him lifting his head off the other's shoulder and looking up.

He ends up face to face with Nico Rosberg. 

“Sorry,” Kimi apologizes, though Sebastian barely registers it as Nico’s face morphs into confusion, then shock and curiosity. 

“Wait—Seb?!”

Sebastian waves, a little embarrassed. “Hey?” 

“What the hell happened to you?” 

A vague feeling of déjà vu hits him. He has the premonition that this won’t be the last time today that someone will ask him this. 

Nico glances between the two, eyes jumping from one target to the other. His brows furrow. “You both—”

There’s a crash in the back, successfully interrupting Nico’s prying. The entirety of the waiting room looks up, a child already clinging to their parents in fear. 

“That can’t be good.” Kimi looks up at Nico with a knowing look, and it almost takes on a malicious glee Sebastian would love to describe as Schadenfreude. 

A scream and a callout by a staff member follows, making Sebastian wince at the sudden loud noise. Nico’s lips press together in a thin line as his shoulders drop, and he’s already walking away when he remembers to say goodbye. 

“Och, scheiße. I'll be back. You both have some explaining to do.” First he points with two fingers at his own eyes, then at the two. 

Sebastian shoots him a smile and throws up a peace sign, though both drop just as quickly as he’s raised them up. Instead of leaning back against Kimi—because that moment surely has passed—he turns around to face him. 

“You know Nico?” he asks, because he does still remember what Nico had asked when he woke him up.

“We're coworkers.”

“You work here?” 

“Third year med student.”

The authoritative presence makes sense now. No wonder Sebastian couldn’t help but follow his every request; and just maybe, this also means Kimi is right about his head wound. At least more right than Sebastian would want to admit. He groans in annoyance, sliding down the chair dramatically. 

Kimi side-eyes him with amusement. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“Yes.” Because yes, it’s a bad thing that he has a concussion. “Terrible thing.” Then, when he realizes what he said, “No! Sorta. Wait.”

“Bwoah.” What does that even mean? 

“It’s not—it’s not a bad thing that you’re a med student. Great actually. Cheers to the health care workers, you deserve all the praise you get—” He’s hiding away in his hands at this point. Curse his own mouth. He doesn’t want to admit anything either, just in case he’s actually fine and he can say Told you so! next time they see each other. “I’m gonna shut up now.” 

“Okay.” Kimi smacks his lips once, twice, and Sebastian is trying to peek at him from under his fingers. When Kimi catches him looking, the Finn lightly hits him with his elbow and laughs a little. The sound is so surprisingly light that Sebastian is caught off guard, but then it strikes him that he’s laughing at him. 

If only Max’s father had punched him into oblivion instead.

“How dare you punch an injured person!” His hands finally leave his face, exposing his red face. One of them moves up to his arm, pretending to massage it like it has some sore spot. 

“That was more a poke than a punch. You should know the difference.” 

“Wow. A guy gets hit once and is treated like this. I was gonna ask for a kiss to make it better too, but I don’t feel like it anymore.” 

“You’re confident enough that I’d give you a kiss?”

“You’d love to.”

“Sureee,” Kimi drawls, and that’s that. Sebastian merely hums back in the same tone, but doesn’t say anything else. 

The thought of Kimi actually kissing him keeps him occupied enough until his name is called.

“Sebastian Vettel?” a voice cracks through the chatter, and Sebastian would be lying if he didn’t jump at it. Kimi keeps his composure and gets up, passively reminding Sebastian to do the same. There’s a stabilizing hand on his shoulder again that he doesn’t dare shrug off. 

He’s already moving, dragging the other along, when Kimi asks, “Do you want me to come with you?” as if the answer isn’t obvious. He knows that he should say something like I’ll be fine, or No, you can go now, but he does feel anxious. And Kimi is helping. He doesn’t want Kimi to go. 

So he nods again. It’s better than having to be guided by someone else too, or better yet, have to sit in a wheelchair. 

The two walk up to the reception and are guided to a room labeled Assessment. Sebastian is relieved when he can finally sit back down again, Kimi taking place in the leftover chair that is clearly not reserved for the doctor. 

He doesn’t know whether to be glad or not when Nico enters again, overly eager when he closes the door with his foot. 

“You don’t know how weirdly they looked at me when I said that I wanted this case.” He’s still rubbing his hands together—probably with disinfectant—as he addresses Kimi before Sebastian. 

“Didn't think I'd see you anywhere near here on your day off.” 

“Mwoah, it's just what happened.” 

Sebastian’s chest squeezes a little bit, feeling bad about being the reason Kimi is spending yet another day here. He thinks about apologizing, but Nico is already up in his face, tilting his head up by his chin. 

“Now. You, my friend, are not getting out of explaining what happened to your face.” 

“My handsome face got hit yesterday. That’s about it. Not as bad as it looks.” Kimi hmpfs in the background, arms crossed, but Nico knows him long enough to know that he likes to downplay things, so he shoots the Finn a knowing look, signaling that he doesn’t need to intervene. 

“Well, yet here we are. Give me a rundown.” 

“Not really nauseous, but I get a little dizzy when I get up. Had a nosebleed too, but you know, under twenty minutes. So.” 

“Any pain?” 

“Yeah. Headache. But not as bad as some migraines I’ve had in the past.” 

Nico is clicking the diagnostic lamp on and off, checking if it’s lighting up on his other hand. “That’s not reassuring. Your migraines are hell. Heads up," he adds, gesturing for Sebastian to look at him. 

The light this time is softer than the one Kimi had used earlier—warmer, at the very least—but Sebastian flinches away from it just as much. “God, I hate that.”

“Just try to keep them open, please.” 

Sebastian forces his eyes to stay open, suppressing the urge to squint through it. Nico, completely unbothered, switches from the left to the right as desired, but he makes it a quick thing. “Pupils are fine,” he mutters to himself before tenderly pressing his gloved fingers around Sebastian’s eye, then his nose; it stings, but at least he’s not screaming in pain. 

“I’m fine, really,” Sebastian insists when Nico backs off again. 

“Alright. Let’s see you prove that then. Come on, get up.” 

It feels like a trap. It probably is one. Sebastian gets up anyway, and in the matter of seconds he’s got a hand on the wall behind him. If he’d have to describe the feeling, he’d compare it to being in the ocean, waves moving him back and forth while he tries to keep his head over water. 

Nico can clearly see that too without having to ask, trying to push him down on the stretcher again, but Sebastian pushes the hand off and takes a seat without aid. 

“I can sit down by myself,” he bites out, annoyed all of a sudden. 

“Well, at least you proved our suspicions. Who got you this good?” Nico’s tone is absolutely incredulous as he asks. 

“I don’t doubt he got them back fairly well too.” Kimi adds his share, pointing at his hand. “I’m not forgetting about that.” 

Exasperated, Nico grabs Sebastian’s hand. 

“Seriously, Seb, you can't just—” 

Sebastian rips his hand right back out of his grasp, brows furrowed. “It's fine. I can move my hand, see?” He demonstrates, flexing his hand up in Nico's face, finishing it off with a middle finger and dropping it back in his lap. “Are we done now?” 

Nico and Kimi share a look with each other, though Sebastian is having trouble with identifying the underlying message. 

“I could order a CT, just to rule out anything bad, but this happened yesterday, yeah?”

Sebastian just nods, massaging his injured hand in a way that’s hopefully not too noticeable to the others. Maybe he’d overdone it with the movement a little. 

“Then I think you’ll be fine. Go home, rest—and I mean it. Stay in bed. No working on any projects. If you’re dying of boredom, you can try reading something, but let it be something brain-dead that doesn’t require you to think a lot.” 

“Yeah yeah. I know. Whatever.” 

Nico pulls off his gloves and stows them in a pocket of his white coat. “Jenson’s home, right? I’ll let him know to check in with you every few hours. Before you say anything, yes it’s necessary. And drink water. Nothing with caffeine.” It’s said with such conviction that Sebastian doesn’t even try to argue against it, just nodding and sighing. 

“Thanks, Britney.” He gets up after that, shuffling out of the room while steadying himself on the wall. There’s nothing else to say to Nico right now, and he doesn’t feel like saying anything else either. 

A few meters later, Kimi moves to grab him by his arm instead of half carrying him, steady as ever right next to him. It doesn’t feel condescending at all, instead simply reassuring. He lets it happen. 

Sebastian entirely misses the way Nico mouths Call me later to Kimi, who just gives him a thumbs up. 

The two walk out after that, a little slower than earlier; Sebastian is the one to set the pace, though Kimi is guiding him through the halls. It’s not like he’d find his way right now, especially without being able to read the signs. 

They’re at the car when Kimi finally speaks up again. “Come on, I’ll bring you home.” 

“No, it’s okay. I can call Jenson or something—” He pats at the bags of his pants, then the ones of his jacket. “Wait. Fuck.” 

He can’t find his phone. Or his keys. He’s surprised that his wallet is there, but that’s about it. He’s starting to beat himself up over only just realizing, but Kimi is already grabbing something from the inside of his jacket.

“Got it.” 

Next he knows, the guy is just casually displaying his things, keys jingeling in the air. 

“You had these the entire time?” 

“Didn’t want you to lose anything. I grabbed them before we left.” He says it like it’s no big deal at all. Maybe it isn’t, but Sebastian would’ve liked this information a little earlier. 

“Oh.” Sebastian doesn’t know whether to thank him, or curse him out for keeping this away from him. He leans against the car with his back, freeing his hands so he can accept his property. 

Kimi smirks when he teases, “You’re aware that Nico implied no screentime?” 

“Yeah.” He doesn’t give a fuck. Instead he says, “but I need to call Jenson, so.” 

“You live right above the café, right?” 

Sebastian is quiet for a moment, before slowly looking up at Kimi. “...How do you know that?” 

“I’ve been at Jenson’s before. Come on. You’ll be home quicker.” 

There’s nothing to object. He sighs—he’s been doing that an awful lot—and lets Kimi open the door so he can get in. 

Sebastian has never hated stairs as much as right now. The steps won’t stop moving when he looks at them, spinning around like a vortex that’s threatening to suck him in. He’d rather climb them up ten times after a leg day, burning muscles a much better sensation than whatever is going on with his body right now. 

“Carry me up.” 

“No.” Kimi is walking up behind him, a steadying hand on his back while he fights his way up. He swears the man is basically pushing him up the stairs, all while making sure he doesn’t fall over. It’s an art form, really. 

“You hate me.” He fake sobs, throwing his head back dramatically. He regrets it just as quickly when he sees black and his ears ring for a moment. When his vision finally clears and his hearing clears up, Kimi is talking to him. 

“Seb? Can you hear me?” 

“Yes, I can hear you. I’m good.” He swears. “I’m not good, I fucking hate this,” he rants, resuming his mission to get to their floor. “Carry me.” 

Kimi isn’t laughing, but he seems pretty amused anyway. “I’m not carrying you. And don’t you dare move your head that quickly again, you’re smarter than that.”

“What’d I do to deserve a man that won’t even carry me up thirty eight steps?” he whines, finally at the very top. He’s leaning against the wall as he grabs his keys from a pocket. Kimi, as patient as ever, lets him fail at getting the key into the lock, not even commenting on it.

“You put cold brew back on the menu for me.” 

“Oh my god. I also let you come in early. Jenson was right, I do deserve better.” He doesn’t even notice he’s said anything, nor that Kimi doesn’t answer, relief washing over him when the key finally goes in and turns. 

Kimi steps inside behind him, still hovering. “I’m home!” Sebastian kicks off his shoes and directly heads for the living room. He’d texted Jenson earlier—against everyone’s advice—who told him that Max was home, next to insulting him for his stupidity, all wrapped up in worry. Jenson himself had to leave a few moments ago, which means that Max hasn’t been alone for all too long. 

Sebastian wants to talk to Max. Desperately. He doesn’t know exactly what, but he feels like there’s so many unspoken words hanging between the two. When he steps into the living room, Max is sitting in his designated spot, already muting the television before turning around to face them.

There’s guilt plastered all around him. First, it’s Max’s eyes, flickering from the door frame Sebastian is supporting himself on to the bruise in his face, then the way he’s curled up on himself, trying to make himself as small as possible. When Sebastian tells him, “I’m okay,” he immediately looks away, anywhere but at Sebastian—it hurts.  

It hurts because it’s not Max’s fault, not anyone’s fault but his father’s, and Sebastian already knows that he won’t come to terms with that for a long time. 

“It’s nothing, really—”

“Don’t.” The bite in Max’s voice takes him aback, and he steps back in reaction. “You’re not okay.”

“Max—”

“No. Just don’t. Leave me alone.” 

It hits him more than it should. His teeth grind together in an agonizing noise while he thinks of what to do, but his mind comes up with nothing viable. 

“I got it,” Kimi tells him, squeezing his shoulder. There’s a sincerity in his eyes that leaves no room for doubt, and Sebastian trusts him anyways. “Go rest.”

“Okay,” he mouths. It’s drowned out by Max turning up the television volume again, some nature documentary on. “Okay,” he repeats, mostly to reassure himself so he can let go. “Thank you.” The two stand there for a second, motionless, until Sebastian finally drags his feet across the floor, away from Kimi’s touch, trying to get away before he impulsively hugs the man. 

He kind of regrets it when he steps into his room. It’s dark and cold, and now that he has line of sight to his bed, he wants to pass out and forget the day.

He really could’ve used that hug. 

He leaves the big light off, opting for the desk lamp instead, and rummages for something to change into. When he can’t find a good sweater he simply gives up and throws himself on his bed—once he’s covered with his blanket, jeans uncomfortably clinging to his legs, he realizes that he’s forgotten about turning it back off. He couldn’t care less. 

Instead he tries to listen to the voices in the living room; he left the door open a crack on purpose, more light falling through it. He turns around to face the wall and closes his eyes, but no matter how hard he strains, he can’t understand a single word. They might only be watching television together—that’s what it sounds like, at least. 

Still. He doesn’t know where to begin thanking Kimi for everything he’s done today. He doesn’t know what to tell Max tomorrow morning. He doesn’t know if Jenson is going to trust him the next time he promises him he’s okay. 

He doesn’t want to think anymore, turning on his back to listen better when he thinks that the two are actually saying something to each other. He still can’t make out syllables, can only make out when Kimi is speaking and when Max is—it’s mostly Kimi talking, he quickly realizes. Still, he’s surprised that they’re actually holding a conversation, with how absent Max seemed to be and with Kimi being as antisocial as he is. 

The concentrating isn’t helping his unbearable headache, so Sebastian lets the low murmuring of the two be a background noise that lulls him to sleep, trying to distract himself from his screaming thoughts and the gut feeling that this isn’t the end.

The bruise on his face has started to fade. It’s still there, but an ugly mix of green and yellow now instead of the striking blue and purple it had been. It doesn’t even hurt anymore, stinging at most when you press too hard on it. He’d argue that it looks kind of badass, though he hasn’t voiced that thought to anyone; they’d probably call him delusional or crazy. Maybe he's just coping. 

It’s his first shift since the incident two weeks ago. He’s already mentally prepared himself for people asking him, “What happened?” multiple times today, so he hopefully won’t be too annoyed at the end of the shift. Jenson and Max have probably had to answer that question themselves already, especially with the former one taking over the shop again, though Max has helped out loads. He wouldn’t let them argue with him, even though he had exams the past week. 

Sebastian presumes that it’s probably Max’s way of feeling useful, less guilty; at least that’s what he would do it for if he was in his position. Not that he thinks Max needs to do that, quite the opposite actually—but after knowing the kid for a few months he’s learned how he ticks, and the last weeks gave him more than enough time to think about the whole thing. 

It’s been tense. Max hasn’t been talkative, no matter what advances Sebastian has tried to make. He can’t even really look at him; Max doesn’t like eye contact all too much, but it’s been even worse recently. It’s probably the bruise, a constant reminder of what his father did, so Sebastian doesn’t blame him. And if Sebastian catches him looking, then he looks away as quickly as possible, or ends up staring at his face like he’s not even present in his own body. Unsettling wouldn't be the right word—maybe worrying fits better. 

Sebastian is worried, after all. 

It's his first shift since the incident two weeks ago, and Sebastian can't stop messing up orders. The fact that he almost messed up Kimi’s order in the morning should’ve been the first indicator that this wasn’t going to be his day, but he had blamed it on the long break; Kimi too had told him that it was probably nothing major to worry about. 

It started getting to him once he tapped in the wrong order again, walked into a door by accident and burned his fingers while heating up some milk. The fact that Max didn’t clock in after school contributed too, leaving him exhausted during the lunch rush. 

“Welcome, how can I help you?” he greets the next customer mechanically, keeping his eyes on the register to tap the order in. 

“Wow. What a way to greet a pal, Seb.” 

His eyes snap up. “Lewis!” Naturally, his back straightens too. Lewis’s expression changes when he takes in Sebastian's appearance. 

Pity. 

Pitiful is what Sebastian identifies it as. Just what he needed. 

“Wow. You look like death, man. No, don't give me that look—seriously. I didn’t wanna believe Nico when he told me, but you actually look like shit. When’s the last time you slept a whole night?”

“I rested up plenty the last two weeks. Almost too much, I’d reckon.” Of course Nico can’t keep his mouth shut. “What happened to patient doctor confidentiality?"

“Your first mistake was letting Nico be your doctor.” Sebastian looks behind his friend to check the queue while he laughs, only to see it empty—which means that he can't shoo Lewis away. “And, I don’t believe you. You got that pathetic look on your face that screams ‘I’m in deep shit,’ or something, there’s  no way you rested up properly.”

Sebastian relents and nods. “Yeah, well. Bedrest can be stressful.” 

“That takes the ‘rest’ out of ‘bedrest’, you know.” 

A sigh leaves him as he stretches. “I couldn’t do anything against it while bed bound.”

“Then go fix whatever is bothering you. Soon. Your head works fine enough to think again, right?” Sebastian opens his mouth, but Lewis cuts in and continues his thought, “I take that back. You don’t think about what you do. Your head works fine enough so you can walk again, so that should be enough, let’s be real.” 

“Can you shut up. I thought you were going to play nice, but I expected too much of you, apparently.” He gives him the middle finger.

“You know I mean well. Now, do you still have those brownies?”

Sebastian shakes his head, unbelieving, but taps in Lewis’s order. The two continue to chat a little more until it’s official closing time, undisturbed by customers, and Lewis makes sure to remind Sebastian to sort things out before he goes. 

So when he trudges up the stairs, he already racks his brain about what he’s going to say to Max, thoughts a scrambled mess. 

It’s not your fault.

Your father’s actions aren’t yours.

Please hear me. Listen. 

Everything is going to be okay.

Like a mantra, those lines are repeated—until Sebastian steps into their entryway, calling out a greeting as he always does. Immediately, something feels off—he doesn’t get a reply, and the apartment is eerily quiet. 

Next he notices the lack of shoes on the rack—and then he’s checking the living room, only to see everything tidied up. 

The floor is hoovered. The blanket on the couch is neatly folded together, topped off with the pillow—at a closer look, there’s a small note sitting on top of it and he rushes to read it. 

In chicken scratch it says, Thank you for letting me stay here for a bit.

Turning the piece of paper only reveals a blank side, so he flips it back—it’s so painfully Max, even if he didn't sign it. The y is pulled just a little too long, and the e’s don’t have a proper tail, and the period looks more like a comma. Next he knows, he’s trying to call Max, to no avail—he’s redirected to voicemail every second time. His messages too can’t be delivered—and just maybe he’s starting to panic. 

He calls Jenson. 

Any sort of hello is skipped by him. 

“Seb, I'm almost back—”

“When did you last see Max?” he interrupts, pacing along the living room. 

“What? Like, this morning? Why are you—”

“‘Cause he left a note saying ‘Thanks for letting me stay' and he won't answer my calls, and my texts aren't going through, and the last weeks’ve been so tense and he left a note instead of saying something—”

“Seb, breathe. Calm the fuck down. What the hell are you talking about?” 

He does as instructed, but still continues to rattle down, “I’ve got like, this gut feeling that he won’t come back? Like this is bad? Really bad, and I know we aren’t even that close to him, but I’m worried.” 

“Look—let’s just give him a little time. Ask his friends if they know something. I’ll give him a ring too, alright? Just let me get home first and go drink some tea.”

“I don’t—”

“Make yourself a fucking tea, Seb.”

And Jenson hangs up.

Sebastian puts on the kettle and randomly picks a teabag without looking at the packaging. 

The faint thumping ache in his skull he’s finally managed to get rid off has come back full force, so he sits down, cradling the tea just like Max had a few days ago, curled up on the kitchen chair.

It's lavender.

The first day passes. Then three, and then a whole week flies by like nothing, and still not a single sign of Max. Hollowness has taken over his gut at the realization that Max won't come back by himself. 

Sebastian tried asking around. Faintly mentioned it to Kimi without sounding as worried as he truly felt, but the kid hasn't seen Max on the bus for a while. 

Charles said Max won't talk to him. Prompting his friend to talk to him had only achieved the opposite effect, so now every single message he sends out is left on undelivered instead of read or argued against—Daniel knows even less, unable to get a hold of him despite his persistence, but at least he agrees with Sebastian that something feels wrong enough that his paranoia is warranted.

Jenson doesn't. He hasn't outright mentioned it, but Sebastian knows that his roommate thinks he's overreacting, that he needs to calm down and distract himself, do anything but wallow.

But how could he?

Ever since meeting Max's father, Sebastian couldn't sit still. He doesn't want to be some watching bystander when there's something he could do—when he has the ability to help. If Jos didn't hesitate to hurt him, in public, God knows what's happening to Max behind closed doors—after all, Sebastian has seen marks and signs like they were handed to him on a silver platter. 

So the next time Jenson told him, “You need to calm down,” Sebastian interrupted him, told him that he needed a moment, and left.

Now he absentmindedly digs through the tray of leftover tiramisu, lost in thought. The café has been closed for hours, so he relishes the open space, the ability to detach from it a little without being disturbed. It's the only other option he could think of when he slammed that door shut, a much better option than the apartment that was starting to feel too small, difficult to breathe in. He's never felt claustrophobic until now. 

At first he was convinced that he just needed some sugar, a pit of nausea filling his stomach, that maybe he forgot to eat something again, but now that he's got a few spoonfuls down he feels even worse. The smell is starting to make him sick, so he pushes the tray to the far corner of the table and rests his head on the cold surface. 

He really should’ve tried talking to Max. Should’ve been more persistent, forced him to listen. At the same time he should’ve given Max more space, should’ve given him a break, maybe offered a distraction.

Whatever alternative solution to the past he can think of falls flat. This isn’t something he can just fix like Lewis had told him to do, nor is it something that can be settled by time. 

He feels utterly helpless at the revelation. 

There’s a knock on the door. His heart skips a beat; after all, the curtains are drawn and the sign says closed, so he hadn’t expected a customer, but maybe a little light had made its way outside. 

He trudges over to the door, ready to yell at the person that dares to disturb him at this time. Maybe he should’ve grabbed a knife or something, in case he’s being robbed, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

The door hinges squeak as he throws it open, and instead of some stranger, he looks Kimi right in the face. 

Sebastian gets a clear sense of déjà vu, and then promptly remembers why. “You’re early,” he humours himself, getting out of the way so Kimi can come in. “Like, ten hours too early.”

“No. Just on time,” he replies, having gotten the reference. Just like last time, there’s a tint of worry lacing his voice, and now that Sebastian knows him a little better, it’s clear as day. When he doesn’t elaborate, Sebastian just moves back to wallow in his spot—he has half the mind to fetch a spoon from the cutlery basket and hand it to Kimi. The tray is pushed back in the middle of the table; Kimi is sat in front of him, so they can observe each other as they like. 

Sebastian makes the first move, taking another bite just to do something. He’s getting restless. His knee bounces up and down underneath the table while Kimi just plays a little with the spoon. Neither of them say a word. 

At this point, Sebastian is more occupied with chewing on his spoon than actually eating the dessert. His own breath is suffocatingly audible to himself, and now that he’s realized, he can’t un-notice the biting air in his lungs. The taste of metal filling his mouth tips him over the edge and he throws the spoon down on the table. Kimi still isn’t doing anything besides twiddling the spoon around between thumb and index finger. 

The chair he’s been sitting in screeches across the tiles. 

Sebastian’s palms hit the table when he gets up, groaning in annoyance and irritation and desperation and he feels like he’s going to explode. He feels like breaking something—throwing the chair, shattering glass—he moves to throw the glasstray of tiramisu down, but Kimi catches his wrist before he can do so. 

His eyes fly up to Kimi, only to see him simply scanning him, seemingly deep in thought. His lips are pressed together and his brows are furrowed, and it’s in general an expression Sebastian has never seen on his face—all he wants is for Kimi to say something. Do something. Not just sit there and wait for him to do something, because every time Sebastian has hesitated in any way, it ended badly. 

As soon as Kimi lets go, he runs his fingers through his hair in a more rough than soothing motion, pulling at it. Instead of hitting something again he tried to focus on his breathing, because truly that's all he can do. In and out in a rhythm he's repeated to himself all too often.

Sebastian doesn’t know what to do. He’s not made for this—for caring someone barely younger than him, suffering so much more than him—and he doesn’t know how to help. Sebastian doesn’t know what to do, can’t even put his worries into words, so when he sees that Kimi also got up, he just falls against him and wraps his arms around, trying to get his desperation across, unable to deny the urge to hug him this time. 

Kimi hesitates, and the doubt strikes him that this wasn’t the right moment, but then the embrace is returned. “You’re not alone in this, Seb.” 

Tears spring into his eyes without warning. Kimi isn’t a man of many words, so whatever words he does say carry double the weight, and the familiar nickname on top of that almost tips him over the edge. 

For the moment, he lets himself catch his breath. Kimi doesn't pull away until he does, arms heavy around his shoulders like his weighted blanket. The same blanket Max had taken a liking to, folded neatly on the couch the last time he’d seen it. 

“Sorry.” He looks up, exasperated when his vision swims again. “Sorry, I just—I don’t know. I hate not knowing.” With a groan he wipes away the tears that threaten to spill. “Mein Gott, I need to sleep. I—I should’ve slept enough the past two weeks, but.”

“You couldn't?” 

“I feel like I've slept too much. But I've also been stressed. And then the headaches. Whatever you want to blame, I just need it to stop. I need it all fixed. Now.” 

“Not everything is ‘fixable’ in the way you want it to work, Seb,” Kimi reminds him, a little reluctant. “Some things take weeks. Ages.” 

“Okay, well,” he starts, agitated. “I can try. I could try if he just let me help. I—he trusts me, right? Has to, to some degree. Why else would he call me. Stay with Jenson and me, for multiple days, weeks even. I tried talking to him. I really did. Why won’t he talk to me? I could’ve helped.” He stares up into Kimi’s eyes, flicking from one to the other. “Kimi, why did he leave?”

Kimi shakes his head and something in him breaks. A single tear falls down, then more—next he knows Kimi is hugging him again, letting him dig his face into his shoulder.

“I can't tell you that.” It's not what he wants to hear. He wants actual answers. “Maybe he's scared.” 

He sobs. Clings to Kimi's jacket so he won't let go. “Of what?” 

Of him, his mind supplies, as unhelpful as it's been lately. 

Then, more logically, he tells himself, his father. Another sob leaves him at the revelation. 

“I don't know.” 

They stand there for a few moments longer, waiting until Sebastian’s breathing has evened out—it takes longer than expected. He’s too tired to be embarrassed at the end, still being held by Kimi. 

“I just want to know that he's okay,” he mumbles, so quietly that it’s really only for him, but Kimi just holds his head softly and replies, “Then we ask him.” 

Sebastian finally pulls out of the embrace, only to stare at Kimi as incredulously as he can. “He's not replying to anyone. Voice messages, texts—”

“Then we ask him in person.” 

The drive to Max’s place is quiet. There’s no music playing to distract him, and Sebastian doesn’t feel like asking for it. So instead he squirms in the car seat, melting into the heated seat until they park down the street. 

There’s nothing he’d rather do than turn around and leave right now. Of course he wants to help Max, but he also doesn’t feel like confronting his father—just a single mishap, and he won’t hesitate to hit the older man, no matter the consequences. 

They step out, and instead of Kimi supporting his weight, he takes his hand and supports him that way instead. Sebastian jumps at the rustling leaves from a nearby tree, and Kimi squeezes his hand in return. 

He never wants to let go.

As soon as they step on the front porch they notice the screaming inside, followed by an audible crash—Sebastian wastes no time before he knocks with such force that his knuckles are red, abusing the door bell too for good measurement. 

It does the trick. Silence follows after the second knock, almost eerily. He knocks again. 

Sebastian nervously shuffles with his feet, waiting for the door to open. Kimi is still squeezing his hand, but as soon as the door opens Sebastian pulls his hand free to wave. 

“Good evening, sir,” he greets, not a single tremor in his voice as he speaks. 

“Good evening,” Jos replies, and it's weird how normal he can sound when he's not irritated—nice almost, if Sebastian didn't know any better. “Do I know you?” 

A breath of relief leaves him at the information that Jos doesn't recognize him, not even with the bruise still apparent. “We don't know each other directly, sir, no. But we're friends of Max's, and he hasn't been answering our calls, so we were just curious if he was alright.” 

Jos bristles at the mention of Max. “My son is fine. If that was all, it’s quite late—” He doesn't even finish the sentence before moving to close the door—Kimi is quick enough to shove a foot between the gap to stop it from falling shut. 

“We'd like to see that for ourselves,” Kimi bites out through his teeth, pushing the door back open. 

Jos stares them down with narrowed eyes, but Kimi doesn’t move an inch. “Fine,” he relents, but still tries to keep the door gap as narrow as possible. “Max!” he calls out into the house, tone completely different to what he sounded like just a few moments ago. “Get down here!”

Tipper tapper fills the hallway as Max speeds down the stairs. Sebastian peeks around his father to get a proper view while the two discuss something in Dutch to no avail, but then Max steps forward anyway. 

The first thing Sebastian notices is the split lip—then the bruises around his neck, his cheek, and the dark circles under Max’s eyes. They hold eye contact for a split second before Jos clicks with his tongue.

“Tell these boys that you’re alright.” His tone is threatening, badly covered up by something so sickly sweet that Sebastian never wants to hear again.

“I’m—I’m fine.” Max doesn’t look at him while he answers.

Jos slaps him on the back. Even though the motion could be excused for light reprimanding, Max flinches—it looks painful. “Speak up boy.”

His eyes meet Max’s this time. He tries to convey some comfort through facial expressions only, but Max’s eyebrows only continue to crease with fear. “Alles prima, Seb. You can go.”

Jos, seemingly pleased, nods—but his satisfaction suddenly fades away. “Who did you say you were?”

Sebastian swallows. “Some friends of his.” 

“What’re you called anyway?”

“Sebastian. And that’s Kimi.” Pointing to the other, he can make out the cold anger on his face. 

A hum. “And where do you know him from?”

“...Work.” 

Just like the last time they'd encountered each other, Jos chest expands with a breath. A step in their direction, forcing them all outside, is enough of a warning, a threat, that Sebastian immediately braces himself for what’s to come. His hand clenches into a fist. 

“No, Papa, please—” Max begs, putting himself between his father and the pair. “Just—just listen. Luister!” He's holding an arm out to his father, like he's calming a wild, feral animal. “Don't hurt them, they didn't do anything—”

“But they did,” Jos spits, looking right at Sebastian. “I should've put a fucking dent in your head before you could've hit me back, boy.” 

The man pushes his own son out of the way, not batting an eyelash when he hits the ground with a crack. 

Instinct pulls him back to avoid the punch that Jos is throwing while he’s focused on Max. It's just his luck that he literally bites his tongue while he does so, but he has no time to think—Jos, furious, steps closer again, looming. Sebastian's patience snaps, but before he can even do anything Kimi has charged and grabbed Jos by the collar, pushing him up against the wall. A string of Finnish curses leaves him that Sebastian won’t translate, but there’s no doubt that he shares the sentiment they convey. 

He remembers to take a breath and rips his eyes away from Kimi and Jos—the latter has started fighting back, hitting Kimi square in the jaw, but Kimi’s grip is relentless—to jump to Max, who’s just barely lifting himself off the ground. 

“Max!” he calls, hands on the teen’s shoulders to pull him up. “Hey—it’s okay, we got you, I got you.” 

Sebastian doesn’t know what to make of it when Max shakes his head, instead pulling his arm over his own shoulders to drag him to his feet, off to the car; behind them, Kimi is sitting on top of Jos, knuckles hitting the man’s temples with no restraint. There’s blood dripping down from Kimi’s chin, landing on Jos’s shirt, and Sebastian has no fucking clue where it’s coming from. 

When Max tries to glance in the same direction he’s looking, Sebastian immediately forces his head away with his free hand, guiding him down the street. “We’re dealing with it. We're getting you out of here. Don’t look, just walk. Trust me,” he adds, carrying more of his weight when he notices that Max is limping. 

“You shouldn't have come.” It cuts coldly through his beating heart, but he doesn't stop pulling Max along. The teen isn't stopping him either, following to the best of his abilities.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have. But I wanted to.” 

It shuts Max up. 

His grip tightens around him as he drags him to the car, glad that Kimi forgot to lock it. He throws the backseat door open and helps Max sit down on the backbench, leaving his legs to dangle outside. He puts a hand on his knee, noting how cold the other is.

“Please, just stay. Let us handle this. You've made it this far, Max, we'll do the rest.” 

But Max barely replies, giving him the faintest nod. It could've been excused for a tick, a jerk, but right now Sebastian can't wait for any more, running back to their house. 

Kimi doesn't look all too well, blood dripping down his eyebrow. He's standing a fair distance away from Jos now, guard still up, blocking him from getting outside the door. 

Jos looks worse. The right side of his face is battered in red, just like the bottom of his chin. Maybe his nose is broken too, and it sends sick satisfaction through Sebastian. 

“Where’d you bring him?” Jos asks, holding onto the wall for support. 

“Away.” He's not gracing Jos with a proper answer. “He's not coming back.”

“You can't take my son from me. I'm his father,” he seethes, but Sebastian isn't worried about getting hurt. 

“You're no father. You don't get to call yourself that,” Sebastian steps into his personal space, standing upright under his nose. “You try—ripping him back, you're dealing with us. You don't have the upper hand here, Jos. I'm not planning on calling the police right now, but know that if you do, they won't believe you.” 

“You're just a kid yourself. You think that you know everything, but you don't. Threatening me. It's not that easy.” 

Sebastian shuts him up with a punch to the liver. The man dopples over, holding his side. 

“Verdomde kinderen—”

“We’ll make it that easy. Stay here. Don't follow us. Bastard,” he throws in for good measurement, and finally steps back. 

His heart is pounding in his chest, and he wants to leave as soon as possible with Max in tow, but it crosses his mind that Max has nothing. 

“I'll be quick,” he tells Kimi, making his way upstairs to hopefully find Max's room. 

The doorway to one particular room is absolutely trashed—an educated guess later, Sebastian stands in Max's room. 

Glass shards decorate the ground, next to splintered wood and other scraps he can't identify. They crunch underneath the soles of his shoes, but he tries to pay them no mind while he grabs Max's backpack and throws the nearest stuff in there that he knows Max likes—a hoodie he's seen the teen wear more than once, and to his surprise a sweater that used to belong to him, next to whatever is in reach. 

The backpack is filled to the brim now, and all Sebastian is truly looking for is his phone. Max didn’t seem to have it on him, pockets empty—and there’s no way Sebastian is leaving something like that behind. 

He throws some papers off the desk, rummages through drawers, kicks stuff on the ground away, only to find it meticulously placed on the nightstand. Upon picking up he immediately notices the shattered screen, next to the fact that the port is broken, and suddenly it explains why Max didn’t reach back to any of them. 

He literally couldn’t.

Sebastian makes his way back down, not even sparing Jos a glance as he pulls Kimi outside. 

Once they’re out of audible distance, hidden behind a tree, he suddenly turns around and cradles Kimi’s face in his hands, wiping away the blood that’s dried along his eyebrow. 

“You’re bleeding.” 

“Observant. Fingernail scratched me, that’s all. He plays dirty. I’m fine though.” 

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

“Look, that’s what I said. I turned out to be bedridden for two weeks.”

“I’m not concussed. I’m not you.”

Sebastian glares at him, albeit playfully, but drops his hands as soon as the blood isn’t as visible anymore. Kimi wouldn’t lie to him. Especially not after whatever just happened. He’s still riding his adrenaline high, a little too unbothered, but his priority of helping Max hasn’t changed. 

Said teen is still sitting in the car, staring into nothing as the two approach. Sebastian carefully kneels down into his field of vision with Kimi hovering behind him, already scanning Max for injuries. 

“Max? You with us?” He puts a hand on his knee and lightly shakes him to get him back, glad when it actually works this time. 

“Uh. Yeah,” Max croaks, eyes flicking back and forth between Sebastian and Kimi. “Are you guys okay?”

“Yes—” We’re fine, he wants to say, but Kimi interrupts him. 

“My knuckles hurt. My face is gonna bruise too, and I’m going to have to disinfect some minor wounds.”

Max bites his lower lip, but nods. 

“Your turn.” 

He buffers for a second, then vaguely gestures to himself. “My, uh, ankle. I think I rolled over it just now. And I’m sore.” 

“Anything in specific?” Kimi asks, and Sebastian moves out of the way for him to take his place. 

“J’st in general.” He rolls up Max’s pants, and Sebastian winces when the ankle shows itself to be swelling already. Kimi moves to pull the sock down, but Max pulls his foot back. 

“Can we just deal with that later? When we’re—when we’re away from here.” Max pleads, and the paleness and eye bags on his face make him look older than he is. His eyes are tired in the way sleep can’t fix. “Please. Bitte.”

Kimi nods and fetches the keys from his pocket—Sebastian snatches them out of his hands. 

“You took a blow to the head. No?”

“Bwoah.” 

“Okay, well, I’m driving.” Kimi relents easily, putting his hands up in surrender and taking the passenger seat. 

The key turns and the motor jumps on. Then, to no one in particular, he says, “I’ll get us home.”

An adjustment of the mirror later, he can see Max holding his head in his hands, deflating as much as a human body can. 

Jenson is anything but impressed when the three show up at their doorstep, two of them visibly bloody. He mutters a curse, but still pulls the chair out from the kitchen table for Max to sit in; it’s a wonder how they got him up with a foot injury. 

“Welcome back, kid. We missed you,” he says while ruffling his hair, giving him a genuine but worried smile. Despite Max flinching slightly, neither move away from that small moment. 

“Thanks for having me. Again.”

“I’ll have you as much as you let us.” 

While Sebastian and Kimi go looking for their medkit—which might already contain one or two expired items—Jenson makes them tea again. There’s enough water in the kettle for the other two to have some as well, but truly, he’s mad at them for running off, so he doesn’t bother with being nice to them. After setting down the cup for Max he takes his own into his hands, and the two enjoy the solitude a little, listening to Sebastian and Kimi bicker until they barge back into the kitchen.

“Found it!” Sebastian proclaims, setting the kit down on the table. Jenson has to awkwardly swipe a plate away before it can break. “Whoops.” 

Kimi doesn’t say anything, simply taking the lead when he opens the box. Grabbing a gauze and some tape, he intently sits down in front of Max again, starting to examine his foot. 

Jenson and Sebastian can do nothing but just watch Kimi do his job, pressing along the skin and moving the ankle as far as Max allows it. 

But Sebastian is getting antsy again. While Jenson might be a calming presence next to him, with how they’re standing shoulder to shoulder, it really doesn’t do anything for his unsatiated curiosity—and maybe just his thirst to never be in the wrong. 

The question lies on the tip of the tongue. He tries to wait until Kimi is done with wrapping Max’s ankle, but he can’t keep it to himself any longer. 

“Max?”

Max stares at Kimi’s working hands with an intensity Sebastian only sees when he’s trying to look anywhere but at a person. “Yeah?”

“...Why did you go? I don’t—I wouldn’t have been mad if you decided to stay somewhere else, but you wouldn’t answer anyone. I know it was your phone—I know that now. We were worried sick. Not just me. A bunch of people—Daniel, Charles. Kimi. Jenson, me. We didn’t know anything.” His throat tightens up again. 

Jenson takes a sip of his tea. Kimi continues wrapping. 

At first, Max is sitting completely still, letting the question sink in. Sebastian starts to regret asking when his breathing turns ragged, and he heaves a breath.

“Seb,” he starts, eyes frantically looking for his to stare at. “He—he fucking told me that he'd go back for you if I didn't come home. That he'd hurt you—again—hurt Jenson, my cat, and I—I couldn't let that happen. Seb,” he sobs, and his heart breaks as he listens. “I didn't want to leave. But I could manage, and everyone would be okay, and that's all that matters, but I couldn’t even do that—” 

Kimi moves to the side, allowing Sebastian to fall over Max and hold him close. 

“But you matter too, Max.” 

His jaw clicks shut. 

Sebastian goes on, leaving him no chance to doubt him, “Matter to me. To us. We want you to be okay, we want to see you thrive—you shouldn’t have to protect us. From your father nonetheless.”

“My father—”

“Your father failed you.” He’s tearing up himself now, not yet matching Max’s level of emotion. “Your father is a fucking disaster that never deserved to have you, and never will.” Max chokes on a sob. Sebastian just holds him tighter. “You’re so strong, Max. You might not believe it, but I’ll tell you until you do—you’re stronger than you should ever have to be.”

Next to him, Kimi awkwardly cuts the tape with only one hand, finishing up the bandage. He gives Sebastian a look, then waves at Jenson to follow him outside, successfully giving the two some privacy. 

“I—” Max chokes on a sob, failing at getting another syllable out. Sebastian runs his fingers through Max’s hair, trying to calm him down—meanwhile Max is clinging to him like he’s going to disappear any second, leaving wrinkles in the back of his shirt. 

“None of this is your fault. I’ll say it as often as I have to. You’re not responsible for your father’s actions—an adult's action. You’re not him either, before you even start thinking about that.” Sebastian wracks his brain for anything to say, trying to keep the silence away. Trying to convince Max. “You’re nothing like him. You’re kind, genuine, helpful. I’m sure Kimi—the small one—still gushes about you. You’re liked. Loved. You’ve always got a place here, too. We’d never kick you out.”

Max makes a sound more akin to a cough than a laugh. “Jenson said something—something similar.” His grip loosens a little, less desperate and more staying for affirmation.

Oh, thank God. “Can’t argue with that then.” He huffs a laugh, glad when Max copies him. 

He rests his forehead against Sebastian’s shoulder for a few minutes after that, and Sebastian just lets him cool down from whatever just happened. The kneeling is starting to become overly strenuous too, so he pats Max’s back to get his attention. “You wanna go to bed?”

A tired nod suffices as an answer. 

“Okay. Come on, your stuff is still there.” Sebastian waits for Max to lift his head before he gets up, cracking his spine. “I’ll help you.”

“You’re gonna break your back.” 

“I don’t feel like helping you anymore.” He still holds out his hand, and then scoops Max’s arm over his shoulders when the offer is accepted. 

Sebastian admittedly has no fucking clue where Kimi and Jenson went—they might just be in either of their rooms, but he wouldn’t put it past them if they went in front of the door or outside to catch some air. He makes a note to himself to give the two a call after Max is asleep. 

“It looks just like when I left,” Max notes, sitting down on the couch. Sebastian wraps the blanket around him and hands him the pillow, suppressing the urge to hit him with it playfully. 

“Yeah, I, uh. Didn’t feel like moving it, honestly.” 

Max hums. “Hey, Seb?”

“Yeah?”

“You wouldn’t mind staying for a little. Right?”

The corners of his mouth pull into something akin to a sad smile. He nods. “No, I can stay. That’s no problem.” He sits down next to Max and pulls him close. 

“Doesn’t really feel real,” Max mumbles, already half-asleep again. Sebastian keeps on soothingly brushing his hand up and down Max’s arm. 

“It is. It will, at some point. I’ll write whatever happened today down for you, if that makes it easier to believe.”

Max sighs against him, eyes shutting. “‘m gonna need all of what you said written down, then.”

“I already forgot what I said honestly,” he laughs. Then, upon realizing that it can be taken the wrong way, he corrects, “But I can make up new stuff just as easily. Just give me a goodnight’s rest, and I’ll write multiple pages saying how great you are.” 

“Mhm.” 

Sebastian smiles to himself, leaning his head against the couch cushion. 

They’ll be alright. It’ll take a bit—but he’ll fix it. Slowly, steadily, step by step. 

The two are out in the matter of moments, arm in arm. 

In Sebastian’s room, Kimi has made himself comfortable on his bed. A small bengal cat sits in his lap, purring while he scratches its ear. Jenson stands as far away as possible, seated on the window sill.

“You wanna explain, or?”

“Saw him wandering. Jos wasn’t looking, and I knew about Jimmy anyway—that man has bigger fish to fry. He won’t give a fuck about a missing cat.” He grins at the other. “Guess you got a cat now, Jenson.”

A sneeze. 

“Fucking lovely.”