It would be weird for Matt to dig through his luggage while Robert was waiting, right? He hesitates before joining him on the bed.
Robert’s wearing a threadbare blue shirt with a faded racing logo. There’s a hole in the pits, visible even with his arms down. His long legs are bare between his red plaid boxers and white socks—the blond leg hair catching the light at certain angles.
He looks soft. Comfortable in a way Matt had taken for granted so many years ago. Domestic, even.
“You cold?” Robert asks, flicking Matt’s nipple.
He squawks in surprise. Nope. Fuck that. Matt jumps from the bed and searches through his luggage for a shirt suitable for sleeping in.
“Sorry.” Robert doesn’t sound sorry at all. “I’m too tired for manners.”
Once Matt wrestles a black tank top on, he feels much less exposed. “Okay.” Climbing back onto the bed, he pulls the laptop closer to himself and hovers the cursor around to find the specific parts of the race he wants to review.
The bed shifts with the weight of Robert leaning in closer. That doesn’t matter. Matt doesn’t even notice it.
They watch several examples and, to Robert’s credit, it looks like he’s taking it in. He asks good questions, wants to replay moves again. Matt finds other drivers who have successfully overtaken on the same corners he has difficulty with, and Robert stares unblinkingly at the screen.
Matt stumbles over a sentence as he takes it all in—Robert inhis bed, the two of them discussing race strategies—it’s almost like what they used to do. It gives him a sliver of hope that what they had—the friendship, at least—could be repaired one day.
Robert lifts an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue, but Matt has completely lost what he was going to say.
“Never mind,” he says hastily, directing his attention back to the screen.
“We haven’t done this in a bit, have we?” Robert rubs his eyes. It’s getting late. “Imagine if we were able to replay our races like this back in karting. We’d be unstoppable.”
“We’d beinsufferable,” Matt automatically corrects. “Your dad was annoyed enough already with us demanding a lap-by-lap breakdown of both of our cars.”
“Well, ‘good rest is the best strategy’, right?” Robert stands up and stretches his back out. “I think I’ll call it a night.”
What is Matt supposed to do now? Is he supposed to walk him to the door? Or is that weird? The room isn’t large, the door is visible from the bed, but isn’t it weirder just to sit in bed while someone walks away?
He doesn’t have a good reference to pull from. Any other time they talked about racing strategy, they fell asleep together.
Matt decides to stand up, because sitting on the bed does seem strange after all. Did he ever walk Laurent out? He can’t remember the last time Laurent came over. Did Laurent ever walk him out?
Somehow he finds himself in front of the door when Robert stops in the doorway.
“Hey, why were you watching my races anyways?”
“Didn’t you ask that already?” Matt’s pretty sure he remembers the text.
“I didn’t like the answer.”
“Um, well, since the team will probably make me give up my position, it’s in both of our best interests if you overtake well.”Matt crosses his arms for something to look at. “Just selfish reasons, I promise. Nothing weird.”
“You don’t have to give me your position.” Despite how well they’ve been doing, there’s a hint of something negative in the reply. Anger? Frustration? “I can pass you myself.”
Matt has a bump in his nose that says otherwise, but he doesn’t want to kill the vibe when they’re only just starting to get along again. Instead, he says, “Not if you try to overtake on those fast corners too early.”
Robert smirks. “We’ll see.” He steps into the hallway, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. It almost sounds like he says, “Goodnight, Teo.”
Matt probably just imagined it, though.
“Goodnight, Bobby,” he says to the closed door.
The orders come through on Lap 15.
Matt’s pleasantly surprised he’s managed to hold on so long when they started so close to each other.
