Work Text:
Tired.
He's absolutely bone tired.
Because of it his anxiety is creeping back in. Though not so much creeping as rolling on in like a steam train without brakes heading towards a crowded platform.
Sebastian is well aware that when he gets like this, when these particular emotions take control it becomes an all or nothing situation. He will sit, squirming in his chair as he’s questioned about Marvel, Bucky, the impact of everything on his life and when he finally gets the courage to become an active member of the conversation it’s all or nothing - he’ll either produce a vague and safe (carefully over-thought) soundbite, or he’ll bare his soul for everyone to see.
Which is why he needs Anthony here.
Sebastian can’t pinpoint the moment or the meeting where he went from liking Anthony’s company, to wanting it, to absolutely needing it. The pandemic hasn’t helped, for sure. Anthony knows him better than anyone else he’s worked with in the last twenty years; maybe he doesn’t know Sebastian’s favourite movie or has ever been in Sebastian’s New York apartment - the things Anthony does know about him, and does for him are far more important.
Anthony knows that when Sebastian starts to play with his hands, fidgeting during an interview that he’s uncomfortable and needs a break from the spotlight - Anthony will step in, loud and dominating and draw the attention, delighting the interviewer with a ridiculous story (sometimes factual, sometimes not) to give Sebastian a chance to just breathe .
Anthony knows that tucking his hair behind an ear is Sebastian’s tell that he’s embarrassed - not that kind of embarrassment he feels when Anthony bombards him with compliments, the kind that makes him cringe. It’s a habit he picked up around the time of Winter Soldier and it stuck, even when his hair is nowhere near long enough for it to be effective. The pointlessness of the action makes Anthony smile, which he does as he steers the conversation elsewhere.
Anthony will know, one hundred percent, that Sebastian’s silence throughout the majority of the Variety interview will be him replaying everything he has already said, analysing it in terrible detail and unnecessarily judging himself. In normal circumstances, when they were able to be in the same space for promotion Anthony would nudge him with an elbow or throw an arm around his shoulder to distract him, bring him out of his own head and back into the room. In private, Anthony could slide a hand around his waist, or fingers between his and he felt reassured. On that one occasion during the Infinity War press tour when Sebastian felt he’d royally fucked up a whole day’s interviews he had lain in his hotel bed, staring at the ceiling for nearly two hours when Anthony texted to check on him. No questions asked, he spent the rest of the night next to Sebastian; when he woke the next morning, it was with Anthony pressed against his back, an arm curled around his waist and warm breath against his neck. Whatever magic Anthony was able to conjure, it always made his anxiety disappear.
So when their interview ends and the screen turns black Sebastian instantly craves the cure that, this time around, he can’t have. Gathering his belongings so he can get back on set he tries to ignore the tension, the quiet hum that has his entire body and mind on edge. He will inevitably throw himself back into his role to distract himself, to focus his thoughts but knows that later - when the lights and cameras are off and he’s back home - it will all return. His worries are rarely far away.
Sebastian is barely out the door when his phone beeps.
Ok?
He takes a deep breath, as if he can inhale any trace of calm from the short interaction. Typing his reply - you know how it is - it strikes Sebastian that he rarely has to spell it out to Anthony, that putting into words what’s going through his mind feels unusual, alien.
Call me if you need me.
I will .
Sebastian isn’t sure himself whether his response is to contacting or needing Anthony, but the director is at his side, reviewing the setup for the next scene and Sebastian has no time to question or over-analyse his response. Script amendments, make-up artists, extras, crew - they all fill the remainder of his day, providing sufficient distraction and when he finally relinquishes his costume (what little of it there is) he finds himself back in his rented apartment, a bottle of wine on the table and no clue what to pair it with. A selection of takeaway menus sit in a neat pile on the kitchen counter next to the fridge and he contemplates treating himself. It’s been a long run of days shooting and combined with a much-needed weekend off he decides it wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world.
There’s a menu for almost every type of food imaginable in Los Angeles and as Sebastian makes his way through the oversized pile suddenly the requirement to choose just one, and one he actually wants is more than he feels capable of doing right now. It’s late, he’s drained and about to close his eyes and pick one at random (or not at all, who knows?) when there’s a soft knock at the door. Sebastian seriously contemplates the need to answer, to have yet another conversation he really doesn’t have the heart or mind for. With a sigh, he reluctantly makes his way across the living room; he’s already got a hand on the handle when it occurs to him that answering the door to a stranger while dressed in crumpled shorts and an equally wrinkly old t-shirt probably isn’t the best impression for a Hollywood actor. Hey ho .
“Hey.”
Anthony is carrying two large pizza boxes in one hand, a paper bag in the other and a backpack slung over his shoulder, which he bumps into Sebastian as he passes by on his way into the apartment. Sebastian watches, very much speechless as Anthony moves his wine glass and bottle to make room for the boxes on the table, placing drinks from the bag next to them. A tub of ice cream is the final item retrieved and stored in the freezer, the empty bag abandoned on the kitchen counter.
“You were two thousand miles away.”
It’s an obvious statement, but it’s the only thought Sebastian can really process. The way Anthony smiles at him - no mischievousness, no cockiness, all fondness and love - makes Sebastian’s heart swell just a little. A few slow steps and Anthony is standing in front of him, taking a moment to meet and assess Sebastian’s gaze before sliding his hands around Sebastian’s waist, pulling him into a warm embrace. Sebastian wraps his arms around Anthony’s ever-so-slightly shorter frame. Whether it’s the warmth of such closeness, the familiarity and comfort of Anthony pressed against him or the fact that Anthony demands nothing from him doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s a combination of all those factors, and more, that allows Sebastian to finally relax. A quiet voice in his head tells him he should be ashamed at how rapidly his muscles ease and how shamelessly he leans into Anthony, holding onto him like a lifeline; at how he almost clings to Anthony to ground himself, to prevent Anthony from moving away, though he shows no sign of doing so. Frankly, he thinks, that voice can go fuck itself.
When Anthony speaks again, it’s close enough that Sebastian feels lips brush against his ear. A predictable tingle ripples through him.
“You needed me.”