Julien grabs a couple of plates as well and fumbles to lift both trays.
“I can handle it.” Rafael almost sounds defeated when he exhales.
“It’s okay, I got it.”
“Stop.You’re using one hand per tray. I have one hand and one tray. Don’t make this a whole thing.”
“Oh.” Actually, that makes a lot of sense. “Sorry. Yes, you’re right. Here, let me?—”
Julien sets the tray back down on the line, which is now backed up with important people who have to wait for the stupid, fumbling new driver to figure out how trays work.
Jesus, he can’t even feed himself correctly.
In one swift motion, Rafael scoops up his tray and manages a much better hold than Julien had on it. “There. That’s better.”
“Cool. See ya.”
In Julien’s haste to be a good person, he hadn’t looked at the plates he grabbed. Melon? Yeah, that’ll go good with tomatoes and mushrooms. Toast with mysterious brown substance? What a fun surprise.Moremushrooms?! Nothing says “I’m a fun guy” like two plates full of fungi.
All that and Julien didn’t even accomplish anything. He just made everything worse.
Defeated, Julien shuffles past a few open seats, towards an empty table away from everyone. Maybe there’s something to Rafael not wanting to be perceived—it feels easier to relax when Julien’s back is to the bulk of the room.
Only after he sits does he realize he didn’t grab a drink. Cool.
It’s like he’s back in boarding school. It’s Julien’s first day all over again, and he’s the same stupid French kid alone at the lunch table with no one to talk to.
Before he can convince himself to stand up and grab a drink, a tray joins his. One hand for one tray. Julien’s heart skips a beat as he looks up.
“Sorry I snapped.” Rafael drops gracelessly into the chair to Julien’s right. “It wasn’t fair to you. I’m just tired of strangers touching shit for me when I didn’t ask for help. I’m still an athlete.”
“Got it.” Julien’s been demoted. He’s no longer a coworker or reserve driver, but astrangernow. “Okay then,athletic stranger. Watch my food for me.”
Julien stands and navigates through the maze of round tables towards the drinks line.
Rafael didn’t mean anything by sitting next to him—he just wanted to apologize.
He didn’t need to, though. Julien knew he was sensitive about the whole injury thing. He was the one who overstepped.
He should apologize too. Drink first.
There’s an assortment of coffees and juices and sodas and sports drinks, but Julien’s performance coach is a bit of a hard ass. “Just water for me, thanks.”
The man behind the counter hands him a bottle and for a split second, Julien considers grabbing a second one for Rafael.
How good is an apology without change, though? Rafael can get his own athletic drink for his fully functioning athletic body.
By the time Julien returns, the small table is overfilled with people talking to Rafael. It’s only a four-top, but there are four newcomers sitting, their bodies squeezed into the tight area.
For how limited space is, Rafael managed to protect Julien’s food and chair from the encroaching bodies.
He makes people feel special without actually caring about them.
Shutup. Julien knows he isn’t special. He’s astranger. “Sorry for leaving this here.” Julien lays the water bottle on his tray and lifts the whole thing, but another hand stops him.
“Hey, don’t leave so quick. This will be your team for the next two months.” Rafael doesn’t loosen his grip around Julien’s forearm until the younger driver sits again.
“You’ve driven with my race engineer, Davide, before? In Free Practice?”
