Chapter Text
“I thought we were holding off on track review until tomorrow.” Caleb slinks into Essek’s office Tuesday evening, well after most of the crew has gone home for the night. The office isn’t very grand, a large desk made of deep purple wood faces the door and takes up most of the room. The entirety of the wall behind the desk is taken up with a custom bookshelf and a small closet off to one corner made of the same wood. Caleb has been in this office nearly every day that the team is in Rosohna since his impromptu promotion and it never ceases to amaze him.
He waits, like always, for Essek to lower the lid of his laptop and gesture at Caleb to sit. There’s a furrow between Essek’s eyebrows, his lower lip jutting out in a contemplative pout and Caleb shuts down this line of thinking before he can reach the ever invasive wonder of what it would be like to kiss him. Essek’s shoulders are tense, though that’s not particularly out of the ordinary, his gaze sweeping back and forth on the screen seemingly reading the same line and growing more frustrated on each repeat. Eventually, with a huff of air, Essek slams the laptop shut, mutters a colorful string of words under his breath, and gestures at the chair.
“You can just sit, you know that right?” The tension Essek so obviously carries bleeds into his voice, clipping words short and coming across as annoyance.
Caleb prays quickly to many gods he has no reason to believe in and sits across from him. He feels like a highschooler called into the principal’s office again. “Am I being fired?” Better for him to bring it up now than to be hit with it later, though the chances of Essek finding a competent race engineer interested in taking his position on such short notice is very low.
All the stress releases from Essek’s stiff posture as he buckles into laughter, covering his face with his hands, silver rings shining on long fingers. Caleb has the gall to look briefly mortified, cheeks heating up upon the realization that he read this situation completely wrong.
“You’re definitely not being fired and track review is still tomorrow, but we may have to cut it short.”
“Oh! Of course. Sorry for assuming, I completely understand.” Tomorrow, his brain supplies, will be the ten year anniversary of Ryltar Zauviir’s death at the Bazzoxan circuit. It would make sense that Essek prefers to take some time away from work, and he’ll want to be with family. “If you need to take the full day, I’m sure everyone will be more than accommodating. We can push track review down the schedule.”
“No need, I’ll just take a half day tomorrow. You will too.”
“Why would I need to take a half day?” Even without Essek in the building, he still has plenty to work on. Race day strategy and helping Veth and the crew take up the majority of his time when Essek’s training and doing interviews.
Essek shifts in his chair, an odd sort of uncomfortable behavior that he rarely sees expressed by the man. He pulls a beautiful dark envelope out of a drawer and passes it over. Caleb hesitates, checking Essek’s reaction, and takes out the heavy cardstock inside.
“I am taking you as my plus one,” he explains as Caleb skims over the invitation. A formal gala to honor Ryltar and raise funding for the WATCH program that he supported during his racing career, an initiative for children interested in mechanical engineering.
“This… feels somewhat insensitive. And a little bit grim.” Caleb wrinkles his nose and gingerly replaces the invitation, handing it back.
Essek nods once and places the envelope beside his laptop. “The gala itself isn’t new. It’s been held annually since my father started WATCH, other than the two years off after his passing. They’re holding this one specifically because it’s been ten years.” He runs a hand over his face, muffling a noise of frustration. “It’s tacky, if anything. No one really gives a shit about him, and I’d be quite okay if the F1 community erased him from their minds.”
Caleb takes a moment to process. Any interview or mention of Ryltar to Essek has been surreptitiously shut down before he has the chance to respond, and Caleb always figured it was due to lingering grief. This crass reaction is leading him to believe otherwise. “Won’t Uraya or another long standing member of the team be better suited to go with you?” Essek having to make an appearance, he understands. His brother will likely also be there, as will a handful of drivers from other teams, and Caleb has little interest in mingling.
“Uraya accompanied me once before and has since outright refused. They’re not one for social gatherings of that style.”
Caleb doubts he is the best option here. Is there no truth to the tabloids spreading rumors of Essek having a secret relationship? As disappointed as Caleb would be at a sudden relationship reveal, a significant other would surely be his first choice, and since Caleb is the one being asked, he must be far down the list.
“It is a fairly big event,” Essek warns, sensing his uncertainty. “There will be many people that even I don’t know. You’re welcome to stick by me for the majority of it and I’ll try to leave as soon as is acceptable.”
“Will any team principles be in attendance?” The thought of his old mentor sitting content at a charity event is laughable, but not so far out of the realm of possibility if it helps the vile man pull strings to get what he wants. Caleb’s stomach turns and he hopes he doesn’t appear as sick as he feels.
“It’s always a possibility.” Essek shrugs. He tilts his head a few degrees and Caleb can’t help but think Essek knows more than he lets on. “Who are you hiding from?”
Caleb stiffens, unprepared. “No one. Just, ah, curious.”
Essek’s intense gaze doesn’t let up, and Caleb has the distinct feeling that this moment has been filed away to revisit at a later time. “Alright,” he says finally. “Dress code is formal. Do you have a suit? Preferably Xhorhasian make.”
Caleb takes a second to mentally run through the wardrobe he moved here. It’s sparse and everyday wear makes up the most of it. “I have one suit. It is very old, but reliable.” And it is probably a fraction of the cost of the designer clothing Essek walks around in on a daily basis.
“I assumed as much.” Essek rolls back in his chair and walks over to the small closet, retrieving a sleek zippered black garment bag that he hands to Caleb. “It won’t be perfectly tailored.” He outstretches his arm and forms his index finger and thumb into an L-shape, closing one eye and looking through his fingers to measure Caleb’s proportions. He lowers himself back into his seat. “You fit into my driving suit, so I based the measurements off of that and memory.”
Caleb, for his part, is frozen aside from carefully placing the garment bag over his lap. He wants to unzip it a few inches and get an idea of how much he’ll have to take out of his paycheck to repay him, but he can’t bring himself to touch the zipper. “Thank you,” he manages. An aura of shame lingers around him and he can feel his face heat up all the way to the tips of his ears. He suddenly feels very small and unworthy of being here, more so than he did back in December, and tries to keep it out of his expression. “Uh, is there a metro route that goes near the venue?”
“I’m not going to make you take the metro, Caleb. There’ll be a car. Be ready by 5:30.”
He understands this as a dismissal and rises to his feet, holding the garment bag by the hanger some inches away from his body so as not to contaminate what’s inside. Essek has already moved on from the conversation, busying himself with his laptop once more.
—
The car, it turns out, is actually a limousine.
Caleb watches it pull onto the side of the street from his apartment window twenty-three minutes before Essek said to be ready. To be fair, Caleb has been dressed for well over an hour, occupying himself by finally going through his work and personal emails that he has been letting build up for months. He ignored a FaceTime from Beauregard ten minutes ago, not even having told her about this. He doesn’t think he will do so unless a photo of him from the event ends up in the news.
God. Fuck. Please don’t let photos be taken of him.
Track review had indeed been cut short, and he was thankful for the extra time it allowed for him to stew in his feelings alone. He came to the reasonable conclusion that Essek wasn’t trying to be rude with the suit and is instead just very preoccupied by the fact that he’s going to a gala for his dead father.
He twists the rod to close the blinds and speed walks to Veth’s apartment across the hall, knocking in the same pattern they made up when they met in the drunk tank all that time ago. She has Luc and Yeza over this week and he already feels guilty for infringing on what little time she has to spend with her family with his comparably mundane issues.
Veth, bless her, answers the door with her face covered in marker drawings. He hopes it’s washable. “Don’t ask,” she says as she lets him in.
“Wasn’t going to.”
“Yeza’s watching Luc in the living room. We can talk in the bedroom.”
There is plenty of reason to avoid the Brenattos’ bedroom, if Veth’s superfluous stories are anything to go by, but it’s the best option they have. He considers sitting on the end of the bed and decides that standing against the far wall will be proper practice for spending the night as a wallflower.
Veth locks the bedroom door and stands in front of him, arms crossed and a stern expression on her face. He told her about the conversation as soon as he marched out of Essek’s office and had to physically restrain her from storming back inside to give Essek a piece of her mind, or worse, her fists. She makes a twirling motion with a finger. Caleb sighs, turning around slowly as requested so she could get a good view of the suit.
She makes a satisfied hum once he’s facing her again, though she doesn’t look pleased in the slightest. “You look handsome as always, stupid clothes aside.”
“I feel like an imposter.” Caleb smooths an imaginary wrinkle on the suit. The fabric of the jacket and pants are a dark blue so close to black that the color only shows when the light catches it perfectly and a swirling black design shot through with glittering silver thread crawls over the jacket. He was second guessing the bowtie, but ultimately figured that Essek wouldn’t have included it if he didn’t want Caleb to wear it.
Veth waves her hand for him to lean down, fussing with the crooked bowtie when he obliges. “If you need an out, text me and I’ll call saying there’s an emergency.”
He straightens and shakes his head. “No. Spend time with your family. Take Luc to the movies, he’ll like that.”
“Call me,” she says severely, and Caleb finds himself nodding. “Are those the same dress shoes you’ve had forever?”
“Maybe.” The shoes in question are scuffed to all hell. It took a good chunk of time with a permanent marker to make them look alright, and if no one’s looking too closely, they can’t tell that there’s black splotches that have a different shine from the rest of the shoe.
“What an ass! Threw this party on you not twenty-four hours ago with a suit and expectations and doesn’t even give you shoes to match. I should go tell him a few things right now!”
It takes a solid ten minutes to talk Veth down, reassuring her that one night isn’t a big deal at all and that he’ll call her as soon as he’s back. She agrees, albeit reluctantly, and directs her attention to rummaging through drawers. Veth pulls out a silver wristwatch and presents it to him. “Yeza only wears this on special occasions. It’s been too long since it’s seen the outside world.” Not accepting anything less than an affirmative response, she goes ahead and clasps it around his wrist. “Now you look ready.”
Caleb exhales and nods. “Yeah. Thank you, Veth. Do you mind if I stay here for another five minutes? I just want some time alone.”
She gives him a smile and a pat on the arm as she leaves the room. He pushes his back against the wall, sinks to the floor resting his forearms over his knees, and tries to breathe.
There is a lot that can go wrong tonight. He’s made it too long without conversations that he should have had when he started here. Essek has definitely done a background check, and though Caleb’s made sure that his records are sealed, there’s nothing securing that a person with as many resources as Essek has can’t get his hands on anything he wants. Maybe Caleb will take Veth up on her offer of a quick escape, but Essek seems to read right through him on his best days, so he doubts it’ll work very well when he’s close to his worst.
Three minutes to 5:30, Caleb steps into the bathroom to wash his face and make sure his hair is set properly, wishes the Brenattos a good evening, and goes downstairs to meet the car.
The limousine.
Whatever.
The chauffeur greets him, opening the door to let him in. Caleb thanks them and ducks inside, immediately pausing.
Essek Thelyss is there. In lace. He’s wearing a white lace shirt under a gorgeous, simple, perfectly tailored suit jacket.
“Oh. Wow,” he mumbles, blinking a few times to make sure this is real, and carefully situates himself in a plush seat adjacent to Essek. “You look—I mean you always…” Caleb appreciates the pause granted by the chauffeur closing the door, giving him a chance to collect his quickly scattering thoughts. “Nice. It’s nice. You look nice.” May the dim lighting appropriately hide his rapidly reddening cheeks.
Essek hasn’t moved since Caleb came in and the phone he was holding has turned off automatically in his hand in the time that’s passed. His lips are parted slightly, eyes glued to Caleb, and Caleb awkwardly fixes his posture so that he doesn’t crease the clothes Essek bought him.
“You have your hair down,” Essek says, somewhat strained, once the limousine starts moving.
“Oh. Yes.” He pushes a lock back behind his ear. When working, he needs it to be up, out of his face, lest it get caught in something. He made sure to shave, too. His hair is a tool tonight, a place to hide behind if he needs it. There’s still a few small clips holding it in some organized fashion that he doesn’t know he’ll ever be able to replicate. He just didn’t consider if it may be inappropriate for an event like this. “Should I put it up?” Caleb fishes for a spare hair tie in his pocket, always keeping an extra or two on his person at all times.
“No!” Essek, surprised by his own exclamation, clears his throat to compose himself. “No. It looks. Nice, as you said. Compliments the outfit.” He reaches for the cooler and pulls out a bottle of liquor. “Do you want a drink?”
Caleb shakes his head. Better if he keeps his wits about him tonight. Essek pours himself some over ice and places the bottle back. As he leans forward, Caleb catches the shine of a string of small pearls under the lace shirt, matching the pearls in his ears. He fears that his racing heart may be a symptom of something greater.
All conversations with Essek are easier when on the topic of racing, apparently, because both of them attempt and awkwardly fail to talk, stumbling a few words in at the same time. Essek laughs and Caleb thinks that if the IAF heard that genuine, glittering sound, they would have to hand over the championship trophy prematurely.
Essek sips his drink, still smiling, and Caleb fiddles with the clasp of his borrowed watch. “I feel rude, knowing that I didn’t prepare you for who you’ll definitely meet,” Essek says once he’s finished with his drink. He certainly appears more relaxed now, and Caleb nearly reevaluates his offer of a drink to calm his nerves.
“Your family?”
“Yes. It’s only my mom and brother you’ll really have to worry about. They will be at the same table as us. You should refer to my mom as Dr. Thelyss, she’s the lead engineer at KI and on the board. She is also the one that came up with the improvements for the newest Kryn Beacon car.” Essek speaks about her fondly.
Caleb knows this already, having thoroughly read up on whatever he could find in the past day of who attends this gala and what exactly happens. Most of the information was from tabloid sites riddled with advertisements, but the sports blog Beauregard showed him a while ago was rather detailed and proved to be a good source.
“And your brother? Verin Thelyss, the actor-slash-stuntman?”
If Essek’s amused expression is anything to go by, there’s a deep, intense history between them. “That’s him. He’ll have brought his girlfriend-of-the-month. I think her name is Nathrae? Narcelia? Verin will try to tell you stories, please take each with a grain of salt. In another life, he was a writer of tall tales. If he tells you anything about his new project, pretend you didn’t hear it, he breaks his movie NDAs regularly by accident.”
Caleb had always imagined having a sibling when he was younger, something about the strong bond between children growing up together in the same family. By the sound of it, Essek and Verin are close, but he figures he’ll come out of the event knowing more than necessary.
Essek continues to list off other attendees, and Caleb pays close attention, cataloging each with a description and a mental picture if he recognizes the name. He doubts that he’ll go out of his way to meet people, but Essek will have to make his due rounds and Caleb doesn’t think sticking with Verin is the better choice of the brothers.
And frankly, Dr. Thelyss scares him.
“Do you know how to dance?” Essek asks between names, catching Caleb off guard.
Theoretically, yes, but he’s so out of practice he probably has grown a second left foot. He shrugs in response and decides to tell the truth. “I am familiar? I danced some, the type you’re referring to, with my friends when I was in my teens. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a reason to dance again.”
“Lead or follow?”
“I’m equally comfortable with both.”
“Good to know,” he remarks, and goes back to discussing a cousin that may or may not appear but either way is annoying to some degree.
The limousine slows to a stop all too soon. Essek gives Caleb a smile and nods. “I’ll get out first. You’ll be fine,” he says, and it feels more like a palcation than a reassurance.
For all the preparation he did, Caleb was not ready for the flashing lights and shouting photographers. Instinctively, Caleb blindly reaches out as he gets his feet on the ground, and Essek takes his hand without question, warm and grounding. They look at eachother, Essek smiling, and it’s so fake Caleb almost suggests they should get back in the limousine and head to their respective homes.
“Essek, over here!” “Are you planning on announcing WATCH spokesmanship this year?” “Give us a preview of your speech for tonight!” “What are your thoughts on VaSuun's chances at championship?”
Essek walks forward steadily, and holding hands as they are, Caleb is forced to walk beside him unless he wants strange headlines speculating a situation that never occurred.
“Stop here, smile for some photos, and we can go inside,” Essek mumbles, not dropping the smile for a second. He does release his hand and steps slightly away, and Caleb flexes his hand by his side, finding himself instantly missing the brief connection.
The photographers apparently aren’t satisfied with the forced smiles and the distance between them, because in a few seconds Essek is right next to him again, wrapping an arm loosely over his waist.
Caleb can only hope that the picture doesn’t find its way onto his admittedly small and heavily curated social media feed. Essek lets go and swiftly walks inside, Caleb following behind.
Inside the venue isn’t much better in terms of overstimulation, but at least the few cameras here seem very selective in what they’re interested in capturing. Essek slows his gait and waits for Caleb to catch up.
“I’m sorry about that. I should have warned you.”
“It’s fine. Can we sit?”
Wordlessly, Essek leads to the front. There are no place cards, dictating a seat for guests, though every table has a number handwritten in calligraphy placed in the center. He stops at the second table, where three people are already seated. Caleb matches each to the description Essek gave earlier.
Dr. Thelyss is a woman that oozes elegance from her curly hair to her inviting smile to her simple, black, off the shoulder floor length gown. Beside her is Verin, wearing the same grin that’s been in every major action movie in the past half-decade, his hair separated back into two tight braids. Ms. Girlfriend-of-the-Month leans into him, laughing loudly at a joke that they missed on their walk over here. Dr. Thelyss stands and hugs Essek before he sits down on her other side.
Caleb feels more like an outsider than ever before. It’s one thing to take a job in a sport he left behind, and it’s another to infringe on someone’s family. This event is being held in part to honor Essek’s father’s life and death, and here Caleb is at the table that Ryltar should be. There may as well be a neon sign blinking GO AWAY at him, but he stays. Stays because Essek asked him to come, and he would be a bad friend and worse employee if he were to leave.
He plasters a smile on his face when Dr. Thelyss looks to him, and he stretches a hand out which she meets eagerly. “It’s lovely to meet you, Dr. Thelyss. Essek has told me a lot about you. I’m Caleb Widogast.”
“Is that right, Caleb?” Her smile is lovely and genuine, reaching the corners of her eyes. “He’s been keeping you a secret from me! Please sit. Fill me in on everything he hasn’t.”
He’s overwhelmed. Caleb always misses his parents, a constant ache that’s been folded into him like butter into a puff pastry. Despite his perfect memory, there are times that he thinks he’s making up details of his mother. Maybe her laugh wasn’t as light as that, her voice slightly different than what it sounds like in his dream, that mole an inch lower on her cheek than he thinks. There’s an invisible weight in the space between his collarbones where the amber pendant used to rest. The one physical reminder of her is gone, lost because he came back to racing on a useless whim.
Caleb swallows thickly and tries to remember what Dr. Thelyss just asked him, because she’s looking at him waiting for an answer. He turns to Essek for any indication and is met with him cradling his face in his palm.
“Ma wants to know how long you two have been dating,” Verin chimes in, smiling eagerly with all his teeth.
He goes red in the face, eyes widening. “We aren’t—we’re not.” Caleb sputters, failing to find his words for the second time today. “I’m just his race engineer. He’s not my significant anything. Well, a significant bother, maybe.”
The table, except for Essek, erupts into laughter, and Caleb considers his job here done. He’s met the requirements. Show his face, say hello to Essek’s family, and then get the fuck out. But Essek’s face screams ohmygodhelpmedon’tleave and Caleb has easily given into his pleas since day one when he sauntered into Brenatto’s Garage.
If he’s stuck here until Essek’s ready to leave, he may as well try to make the best of it, and the Thelyss’ are a nice enough family to spend the evening with, even if Verin seems intent on pushing all of Essek’s buttons.