#brawn-gp

“You have, er—” Charles licks his lips, then tries again. “How do you say? Cold feet?”

“You haven’t answered my question,” Sebastian points out.

Charles reaches out to touch his hand. His fingertips press into Sebastian’s palm. “I’m sure,” he says without a trace of hesitation. 

Something in Sebastian’s expression shifts, tension melting from his shoulders, like maybe he needed to hear it. He leans in, intent evident in the way his eyes flutter shut. And then he’s pulling back as the sound of Daniel’s voice—predictably loud and about an octave higher than usual—floats across the terrace.

“Holy shit, don’t kiss him yet!”

Reluctantly, Charles draws back, putting some space between him and Sebastian as they both turn to look at Daniel. 

There’s something amusing about the dichotomy between his smart casual black and white ensemble and the frenetic, giddy energy rolling off of him in waves. Maybe that’s how his nervousness translates.

Daniel was understandably dubious about the idea when it was first brought up, vaguely and completely by accident. 

***

They sat around a table on the rooftop terrace of Círculo de Bellas Artes, bathed in a neon pink light, some bass-heavy dance track reverberating through their bones. Out in the distance, a night-drenched Madrid sprawled out before them, the sky dotted with stars. In that moment, it felt like they had all the time in the world.

Daniel took a swig of his beer as he languidly scrolled through his phone. Sebastian and Charles sat opposite him, melting into each other, as they so often seemed to do—shoulders pressed together, knees touching. Their easy, comfortable familiarity was almost enviable. 

“Well, at least Kev’s doing something worthwhile in his free time,” he said, turning his phone around and flashing his Instagram feed at Charles and Sebastian. Daniel didn’t miss the way Sebastian’s hand curled at the sharp jut of Charles’s hip as he leaned in for a better look.

“Oh,” Charles said, glancing up at Daniel. The glow of the screen threw the constellation of moles on his face into sharp relief. Daniel swallowed. “Is this recent?” 

“Yeah,” Daniel nodded, taking his phone back and balancing it on his thigh as Charles sank back into his seat, leaning into Sebastian’s side. “A cheeky summer break wedding, eh?”

The slow drag of Charles’s teeth against his lip gave the impression that he was pensive, or maybe wistful. He said nothing.

A thought struck Daniel, suddenly, and he blanched. “You two aren’t—?” He looked between them, feeling his mouth going dry. 

“No.”

Daniel caught the look they shared and knew, instinctively, that there was more to it than that. 

“At least not yet.”

He took a hearty swig of his beer, then set the bottle down on the glass table in front of him. When he exhaled, his breath was uncharacteristically shaky. 

“I mean, I knew—I suspected you two were serious about each other, but…”

“Do you think it’s weird?” Charles asked, endearingly earnest, like maybe he needed Daniel’s approval. “To want that?”

Daniel looked at him. He opened his mouth as if to say you’re still so young, but didn’t. 

Instead, he let out a long sigh. “Look, I don’t… get it, okay? I don’t exactly,” he made a face, rubbing the back of his neck, “believe in the whole institution of marriage, I guess. But if you’ve thought about this—if this is what you really want—then I can...I want to help.”

“You’d do that? You’d be our witness?” Sebastian asked quietly. The revelation—coupled with the knowledge that they trusted him enough to let him be an active participant, to make it their secret—made his chest ache.

“I can do more than that,” Daniel blurted. “I, uh, kind of got ordained.” Sebastian raised an eyebrow at that, and Daniel threw his hands up. “In my defense, it was a drunken bet with some mates—I lost and, well. I don’t remember the details, but we all thought it was hilarious at the time. Anyway.”

“And that’s—legal?” 

“Yeah. I have a certificate and everything.”

Sebastian grinned. “Good to know.” 

“Never mentioned it before because it didn’t seem relevant.” Daniel’s shoulders jerked in a shrug. “Until now. Holy shit.” He huffed out a disbelieving laugh, leaning back in his chair. “We’re really doing this, huh?”

Daniel watched as Sebastian reached for Charles’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. The two shared a knowing smile and for the first time in a long time Daniel didn’t feel like he was intruding on something, but rather like he was a part of it, a keeper of their quiet mutual agreement.

“As long as it’s not Vegas,” Sebastian quipped, meeting Daniel’s gaze. 

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it. Then you’d be like Joe Jonas and Sophie Turner.”

“Who?” 

Sebastian’s confusion was mirrored on Charles’s face, and Daniel couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Shit, maybe you two really are made for each other.”

Daniel drained the rest of his beer, letting his eyes wander out beyond the terrace, where lights from residential buildings dotted the horizon. That entire evening felt surreal, like some kind of fever dream. 

“Italy is nice,” Charles murmured, almost like an afterthought.

Daniel snorted. Yeah, fitting.