by Kara Greenan
"It does." He’d giggled then.
And fuck if he wasn't the most endearing creature.
"Turn around."
Sebastian did without hesitation, his smile brilliant against the night sky.
"Why?"
London had moved to his tiptoes, balancing himself by wrapping the sheet and his arms around Sebastian's back.
"Want to kiss you," he’d whispered before doing just that.
They'd kissed on that tiny balcony for eons, until the rain picked up and Sebastian's hair turned frizzy, both of them shivering uncontrollably. Laughing, they'd stumbled inside, still wrapped in the sheet, still wrapped in each other.
And why is he thinking of that now? He drags in deep breaths, tastes the rain on the back of his tongue, listens to the steady drip, drip, drip from the edge of the building across the street. It's not so much rain as a heavy mist, and suddenly it's in his lungs too, filling them, but not with the air he so desperately needs.
He isn’t fine.
By the time Wyatt finds him, hunched over with his fingers gripping the chain link fence, he’s worked himself up into a right frenzy. Breathing is difficult. Short, shallow breaths are all he can manage but it’s making the world around him spin. The stench of cat piss from the alley doesn’t help, either.
“Hey, hey. Are you ok?” Wyatt’s big hand is warm and comfortable on his back, rubbing small circles until the heat of it seeps through his clothes, into his skin. “Hey. London? Look at me.”
He looks up. Wyatt is really tall. Also, the buildings are spinning around his head.
“Your head is spinning, too,” he manages to gasp out between laboured breaths. His head feels light and there’s a pressure at the back of his throat, like he wants to throw up.
“Hey!” Wyatt barks. “Breathe with me, ok? Breathe in –” he counts slowly to six.
London concentrates on Wyatt’s hands, miming breathing in. His chest burns when he extends the intake of breath but he does it anyway.
“And hold for one, two, three —”
He cheats at four, lets some of his breath out through his nose and promises himself to do better during the next cycle. They exhale for the count of eight. Then they repeat the entire thing until the buildings stops spinning and his head doesn’t feel quite as light.
“I think I’m fine,” he croaks out, clutching Wyatt’s arm. He get’s a worried look in return. “No, really, I’m fine. The world stopped spinning. I need to sit down, though.”
“Shit, Shrimp,” Wyatt says, exhaling harshly. He rakes his hand through his hair. “I thought you were going to pass out.”
He wraps his arm around London's waist and steers them towards the cabs parked down the street from the nightclub, collecting the stragglers.
“I think I was about to,” London agrees.
They get into the first cab, Wyatt telling the driver their hotel. His French is accented. Here’s to hoping the cabbie doesn’t see them as easy tourist pickings. London doesn’t mind paying more, but he doesn’t have the nerve to sit here through the scenic route.
“Want to talk about it?”
London glances over sharply. “What’s there to talk about?”
Wyatt shrugs, expression growing distant as he looks out the window. Pearls of water are pushed back by the car's momentum. The nighttime scenery, with islands of light spilling from rooms and streetlights alike, are dissected by the diagonal tracks of water. “That was a panic attack. I just thought you’d like to talk about it.”
London scowls at his profile. “That wasn’t a panic attack, what’re you on about?”
Wyatt turns to look at him. “Suit yourself, we don’t have to talk. But just remember, I know you. And I also know what a panic attack looks like.” He reaches over and squeezes London's hand. “Just let me know when you’re ready to talk about Sebastian.”
London's mouth snaps shut and he pulls his hand free.
After a short while, all streets look the same. And still he keeps staring outside until they reach the hotel, not saying another word.
That evening, there’s a knock on London’s hotel door.
“I need your help,” Sebastian says, shouldering his way inside.
“With what, eating that giant bowl of popcorn?”
Sebastian sets the popcorn down on the bedside table and grins. “That, too.”
London feels twitchy; he’s been feeling like this for days now. It’s because the job is drawing closer and he has no outlet besides sitting by the pool and going over the same schematics again and again. That, and because he’s been waiting for Sebastian’s next move, to see where this supposed revelation of love Frankie spoke about is going to end. It’s not like London has a stellar track record of saying no to Sebastian, so he really isn’t at all sure how he plans to play this new angle.
“What do you want?”
Sebastian’s expression changes, morphing from easy camaraderie into something very different. For a long second, London expects him to answer ’you.’
But instead, he pulls out the floor plans of their target building, laying them out neatly on the bed.
“I’ve managed to get invited to the show, so that part is all in place.”
London can’t help himself. “Yeah? Sure that was super hard for you.”
Sebastian smiles, flirty and proud and challenging all at once. “It wasn’t. Katie was really eager to invite me.”
“I bet.”
Sebastian just keeps talking, ignoring London’s sarcastic tone. “I’m having difficulty getting into the server room. And Hale is getting nervous.”
“Hale is generally nervous. And can’t you just – I don’t know, talk your way into the room?”
Sebastian smiles, toeing off his shoes. Before London can ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, Sebastian says, “I could. The in-house technician, Bradley, is actually pretty cute. But what would Katie think?”
London crosses his arms. “That you’re a liar and a cheat?”
“Exactly. And Frankie made it clear I need that invite, to be there as back up. So I need another way in.”
“I told you how, already.”
Sebastian sits down next to the unfolded blueprint, leaning back against the headrest. On London’s bed. Right.
“Explain it to me again? Please?”
London sighs, sitting down next to him and pulling the paper closer. “Your politeness is annoying.”
Sebastian doesn’t look at him, studying the layout as if he hasn’t seen it before.
“You love it when I beg.”
London bites his lip to keep from saying anything. He’s a fucking professional, and he isn’t going to rise to the bait.
“This is the keycard station you need to worry about,” he says, pointing at it. “If you can’t make the lift off the security here,” he points again, “you’ll have to let Frankie know and we’ll have to get it for you.”
“Oh I think I can manage swiping a card.” Sebastian turns on the TV and flips to a random movie. “You don’t mind, do you? I think better with background noise.”
London knows it’s bullshit, especially when Sebastian pulls the bowl of popcorn into his lap shortly afterwards. The transition from discussing his ways into the server room to both of them watching the telly and eating the popcorn is so smooth, London only notices once they’re half way through the movie. The blueprints are neatly folded on the bedside table and Sebastian has scooted closer, so every time one of them reaches for the popcorn, their arms brush.
It’s… it’s nice.
The moment London catches on to what’s happening, it becomes sort of torturous, sitting next to Sebastian and being so aware of his presence. He's warm and calming in a way that makes London want to reach out and touch him, bury his face in Sebastian’s neck and inhale deeply. He wants to gently stroke his hand down the skin of his arm, he wants to smile against his collarbone at the absurdity of the film.
Sebastian shifts, sitting up
against the headboard, eyes glued to the screen. His hand snakes out for some popcorn, long fingers wrapping around the handful, a mesmerising play of sinews that London can’t help but find appealing. He’s always had a thing for Sebastian’s hands, slender and agile, like he plays piano for a living.
“My back hurts,” Sebastian says, stretching softly. “I hate pretending to work at an office. It’s so boring.”
Maybe they’re both tired of prep work, caught in their own personal boredom hell.
Sebastian shifts, getting comfortable, before letting out a frustrated little sound. The next moment, he’s laying down, his head pillowed in London’s lap.
“Do you mind?” he asks, looking at London for the first time in half an hour. His gaze returns to the telly almost immediately.
London sits there, frozen, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands.
“It’s fine,” he murmurs eventually. And because that sounds far too intimate, he clears his throat and adds, "Did today go well?"
"Yeah," Sebastian says, his tone carefully neutral. It’s like they’re both waiting for the first piece of hail while sitting in a glass house. "We did another tour and I was introduced to the finance department. They don't like me much, but who likes the outsider that tells them how to do their work, right?"
“I guess not.”
“Are you at least enjoying your free time?”
He shrugs and they both pretend to watch for a bit, painfully aware of one another. Sebastian turns his head to look at him, his bun digging into London’s thigh. “Sorry,” Sebastian whispers, turning away again.
London reaches down without thinking, removing the hair tie. He doesn’t say ’that’s okay’ because they both know the topic has changed, and it would be a lie if he did.
“I’ll live.”
“I know you will.” Sebastian sounds like that bothers him most. “You’re much stronger than me. I admire that about you.”
London starts combing his fingers through Sebastian’s hair, just so he can stop his hand from shaking. Even with the telly still playing, a hush is descending on the room. There’s no anger here, only nostalgia for what could have been. “You’re young. You’ll find plenty of people to admire.”
“Stop acting like you’re so much older than me.” Sebastian’s smile is so gentle it hurts to breathe for just a moment. He’s talking of admiration like he doesn’t know how special he is. If he had been born in a different time, he could lead armies, could inspire entire nations to change. And here he is, head pillowed in London’s lap and looking at London like he’s somehow the special one. “You might be a bit wiser, but only in certain ways. And I’m a quick study.”
He is, there’s no denying it. It’s what makes him dangerous, at least to London’s sanity. “I’m just saying that things change.”
There’s silence again, and this time it reaches even the farthest corner of the room, seeping into the cracks and filling them, too.
“It’s funny, how you keep treating me like a spoiled little rich kid.”
“Because it’s true?” London guesses.
Sebastian shrugs, an awkward movement in his current position. “My family is rich. My mum had a lot of money and my dad had a title. He also knows how to work with money to get more, so sure, I’m a spoiled rich kid.”
“A title?” London didn’t know that, still doesn’t know Sebastian’s true name.
“Yes.” He looks up at London and there’s something vulnerable in his eyes, something London has never seen before. “But that doesn’t matter, none of it does. And I had to learn that the hard way, because all the money and titles in the world wouldn’t stop my mum from falling ill, from dying.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s why I leave.”
London freezes, his hand stopping its gentle patting action. Talking about it obliquely is one thing, but addressing it head on is quite another.
Sebastian ignores his rigidity. “I won’t object to you calling me spoiled or rich. Hell, I have a tendency to act like an arsehole naturally, I’ll even take that. But don’t tell me about change. I know it’s inevitable. Entropy reigns supreme, in all aspects of life. So I get out before the good memories get marred, before they get eaten alive by the bad ones.”
London can’t help it, he imagines Sebastian as nothing more than a child, feeling helpless and scared at his mothers decline. He thinks he understands the reasoning, even if he doesn’t agree with it. People like to call him cold, detached. But that’s only because he doesn’t dare get close to anyone, to give them so much power over him. Sebastian, he realises, is not so different. They both just jump off the train at different points.
He thinks of the friends he’s made, how much he enjoys spending time with them. “Not everything has to end badly.”
“Not everyone is out to get you,” Sebastian counters.
“True. But you have a shitty track record.”
Sebastian reaches for one of his hands blindly, entwines their fingers.
“I know,” he whispers. “I fucked up.”
“You did.” He isn’t being mean, just truthful.
“But things change.” Sebastian says. “And I want to try. You’re worth it.”
London is quiet for a long while, long enough for Sebastian to steal a glance at his face.
“I don’t know if I can,” he says eventually. It’s the truth again, and he wonders when it got so easy to speak it. “I don’t know if I can make myself trust you.”
Sebastian exhales brokenly. When he looks up at London, lying prone on his side with his neck bent at an uncomfortable angle, London doesn’t expect the smile. “You don’t make yourself trust someone. It’s something they have to earn. I’m good at that.”
London suddenly feels bone-tired. “I don’t want you to play your games with me.”
“I’m not,” Sebastian says quickly. “I don’t want your money.” He drags London’s arm over himself, cradling it close as he diverts his attention back to the screen. “You’d just steal it back from me, anyway.”
There's that stillness again, the one that isn’t drowned out by the telly. It’s charged with – something. Not tension, something softer, more fragile – anticipation, maybe.
For a long moment, nothing happens.
Then, feather soft, his fingers continue stroking Sebastian’s hair, carding the strands and skimming his scalp. Sebastian shivers, barely breathing, like he’s afraid London will stop.
It feels monumental somehow, sitting in this hotel room and coming to a conclusion without actually discussing it properly.
Somehow, for now, it feels like enough.
The following week is spent with more reconnaissance and it still bores London out of his mind. For a change of scenery, he goes indoor wall climbing one evening, but it's almost no challenge at all so he doesn't return. Hale and Amelia invite him to the hotel gym one morning but he declines on principle. If it doesn't involve a harness and at least five meters of free fall, it doesn’t constitute a workout in his book.
"You'll be less antsy if you burn off some energy," Hale cajoles. London glares at him.
"It'll also make you less pissy," Amelia says.
He glares at her too, but only for a moment. It's impossible to glare at her for too long, she's just too lovely. Also, London has seen her fight. He isn't suicidal.
He waves them off, backing into his hotel room. "Nah. I wouldn't want to bother the newlyweds."
Amelia laughs when Hale turns beet red. She leans over, giving him a soft pat on his arse. "He's got a point."
They leave eventually, taking their morning cheer and athleticism with them. London manages another five minutes in his room before he grabs his keycard and electronic lock pick and marches down the hall.
Two minutes later, he barges into Sebastian and Frankie's room.
"Good morning!" he shouts, pulling back the heavy drapes.
Frankie blinks at him blearily. "What?"
"Where's Sebastian?"
"How the fuck should I know?" Frankie grumbles, turning her back to London. "I'm not his fucking keeper."
London hops onto the bed next to her. "Frankie," he whines. "I'm bored."
"You're a fucking cunt, that's what you are."
London rolls onto his front and squashes his face into the bed. "Cuddle me," he says, voice muffled.
"Fuck off."
He sighs dramatically and rolls over, nose buried in Frankie's shoulder. She's back to snoring softly, so she doesn't complain when London throws an arm around her and scoots closer.
"Hey," says a soft voice behind him. London opens his bleary eyes. He must have fallen asleep.
Sebastian is sitting on the bed behind him, prying his arm free from around Frankie.
"What're you doing?" he mumbles.
"Untangling you two," Sebastian says and gently rolls him onto his back. London takes his newly freed arm and rubs his thumb over the crease of Sebastian's brow, feels it relaxing minutely.
"Why?" he asks.
"I don't like it."
He tries to open his eyes to glare at Sebastian, but he can't, feels himself slipping back into sleep instead. He rolls further into Sebastian, his nose hitting Sebastian's thigh. "You smell sweaty."
Long fingers card through his hair. "I was at the gym."
"Boo," London murmurs. "It's too early for exercise."
"Yeah," Sebastian says, his fingers soothingly stroking London's scalp. "Too early."
The tone of Sebastian's voice isn't quite right. London is about to ask him why, but sleep pulls him all the way under.
London lifts the two packages higher on his hip. He pats his belt on the other side, making sure he's got his scanner. The laminated UPS ID card is clipped to his chest pocket. It's a picture Hale took several weeks ago, where they'd stuck a white sheet over the memory board at the pub. Beer had been involved. That's probably why one of his eyes is half closed and his hair's a mess. The memory of actually taking the photo is fuzzy, too.
It's good enough for the job, he guesses. The packages start sliding down and he bounces them back up. He's been a delivery guy for less than half a minute and he's already annoyed. And according to Hale, the pay for these kinds of jobs is absolute shite. London's heart would go out to all package delivery personnel everywhere, if he weren't so damn irritated.