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At one point, Charles just gives him a knowing look, his gaze dark and blue as the sea, and asks, “he makes you happy, doesn’t he?”
They’re walking side by side through the paddock, passing walls painted that signature hue of bright papaya-orange. From within comes a laugh—boyish, high-pitched, more of a giggle than anything.
It’s a sound that still makes his heart flutter. He can’t help but smile, softly.
“Yes,” is all Carlos says, and tilts his face towards the sun. “He does.”
✧
Maybe it’s because smiles didn’t come so easily before him, or because Carlos has never really felt this way about anybody—as though there’s something golden blooming between his ribcage whenever their gazes lock, or their fingers brush.
It’s like something out of a movie. Like falling for Lando wasn’t a choice, but written in their stars, all along. Because there are moments wherein Lando looks at him with such softness, such adoration, it feels as though the rest of the world has fallen away and all that’s left is just this, only this.
That’s Lando, Carlos thinks to himself. That’s love.
✧
They’re in Abu Dhabi, locked away in the quiet dark of a hotel room, when Lando takes Carlos’ face between two hands and pulls him into a kiss.
It’s open-mouthed and needy, and Carlos barely has time to think, to breathe, before being consumed entirely. He’s vaguely aware of his heart hammering against the walls of his chest, of the voice in the back of his head telling him to pull away, that this is his teammate, his best friend, for fuck’s sake. But then there’s the wet heat of Lando’s mouth, his lips—full, slightly chapped, velvet-soft—against his own, and something electric thrums through Carlos’ veins, sweet and dizzying.
And then Lando pulls away.
Carlos just blinks at him, still dazed, lips sore. The air that curls between them seems to go cold.
“Sorry,” Lando mutters. “I had to do that, just once, I….fuck. Fuck, I’m sorry.”
He won’t meet Carlos’ gaze. He seems shaken, that hot-fire of his extinguished as quick as it had been ignited.
He seems torn.
The worst thing is, Carlos gets it. This...thing that they have...it can’t go on forever, can it? He knows that they’re supposed to be best friends, that they know each other better than anyone else in the world, but in a few days' time, they won’t be teammates anymore.
But with Lando...everything is different. It’s a sort of longing that waxes and wanes in his heart like the moon strung high in the sky. Throughout every city, every country, Lando has been constant, always a breath away. Lando has always been right there.
And Carlos has wanted this so badly, for so long.
Now might be his only chance.
“Lando,” Carlos whispers. He reaches a hand out, tentatively resting it on Lando’s arm. “Why are you apologizing?”
Lando still won’t look at him. “I dunno. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
Carlos lifts his hand upwards, cupping Lando’s face with a feather-light touch, and Lando immediately leans into it, softening against him.
“I don't want you to leave me,” he admits, gaze finally meeting Carlos’. Something inside Carlos cracks wide open.
“Lando,” he murmurs, his thumb rubbing soothing, gentle circles against Lando’s cheek. “I’m not leaving you, not really.”
“Promise?”
Carlos would promise him the moon and the sun and all the stars, if he could.
“I promise.”
✧
Of course, they have to talk about it, eventually. All cards on the table.
“What if I don’t want just the memories?” Lando asks him through the phone, voice tinny, too-distant. “What if I want you? ”
And oh, that makes Carlos’ heart ache. He grimaces; Lando’s always been too good for him. The thought of hurting him in any way feels like a knife plunged between his ribs.
“You have me,” Carlos says, quietly, and even he can hear the quiver of desperation in his words as they tumble past his lips. “Lando, you have always had me, and you always will, if that’s what you want.”
He just doesn’t want to lose him. Not now. Not after they’ve come this far.
There’s a pause, a silence broken only by Carlos’ own heartbeat and the faint flutter of breath on the other end of the line.
Then, Lando clears his throat. “D’you mean that?”
“Of course,” Carlos says softly. “Of course I do, Lando.”
✧
Lando and Carlos, Carlos and Lando. There’s an ending to their story, as there is to everything. But maybe—just maybe—Carlos thinks this could be the start of a beautiful beginning, too.
✧
So they make it work.
There are hotel rooms, each other’s homes, daring moments stolen and secret kisses swapped within the paddock. They may not be teammates anymore, but Carlos still falls for Lando a little more every day. There’s something else behind that fire of his, a certain softness to each of his sharp edges, to his dry humor. It’s the way his curls lie crooked when he first wakes. The hazel of his eyes—green and blue and gold, all at once—under sunlight. The freckle beside his mouth, quirking upwards with every smile, every laugh.
Everything, everything, everything. Carlos falls for all of it.
✧
Chop, chop, chop. The sound of a knife blade meeting a wooden cutting board, slicing through slender stalks of chive. Sunlight, as gold and warm as honey, spilling past a drawn-back curtain.
They’re in Lando’s kitchen, Carlos preparing a meal for the two of them. Lando’s watching him, sitting pretty on the island countertop. His socked feet dangle over the edge, nudging Carlos playfully every now and again. He’s got his fingers dug into the delicate rind of a clementine, unpeeling the fruit absentmindedly. Bursts of tangy-sweet citrus perfume the air.
Once unveiled, Lando plucks a wedge free and slips it past his lips. Chews. Then another. Another.
Carlos rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but smile fondly. “Don’t eat too much,” he scolds, flicking Lando’s ankle. “I’m making you dinner, right now. Be patient.”
Lando grins, a mischievous tilt of his mouth, before popping another piece of fruit past his lips. His fingers, bronze, skin unmarred. The clementine, an almost fluorescent shade of orange.
“Nah,” Lando says. His expression sparkles with defiance. “Make me, then.”
Carlos sets the knife down, chives forgotten, and gazes up at his boyfriend, eyebrows raised in question.
“Is that a challenge?”
Lando shrugs mockingly. “Is it?”
Carlos scoffs, though it’s more of a laugh than anything.
“Come here, you idiot,” he says, and wraps his arms around Lando without warning.
Lando lets out a little noise of surprise, followed by a muffled “Carlos!” that sounds more like a kitten’s mewl than anything menacing. It’s cute, honestly. Carlos can’t get enough of him.
He presses their lips together, and Lando kisses him back without hesitation. Lando widens his legs so Carlos can better slot himself against his chest, heart to heart. One of his hands comes to rest on Lando’s back, the other his neck. And they just...stay like that.
It’s a languid kiss, slow and lazy. The afternoon light around them seems to glow, and Lando, pliant like warm putty beneath Carlos’ fingertips, tastes of clementine, bright and sweet. Bright and sweet.
✧
(Sometimes, it feels as though Lando’s the brightest thing he’s ever seen, and Carlos wants nothing more than to be there, to be his. It’s overwhelming, the love he has for Lando. He’s an inferno, that boy.
And, okay, maybe Carlos doesn’t quite believe in fate, or destiny, or whatever you want to call it, but when he looks at Lando he feels a sense of certainty come over him like a tidal wave. And when Lando laughs, Carlos laughs with him, and he knows things could never be any other way.)
✧
One time, between races, Lando comes with him to visit Italy.
It’s just the two of them, so they spend half their days shirtless, lounging around the sun-warmed patio. Lando reminds Carlos of an overgrown cat when he soaks in the rays, his limbs all stretched out, basking in the heat. They push each other into the pool and splash and laugh as though they’ve got not a care in the world.
Later, as they sit beneath the setting sun, Carlos can’t help but turn his cheek away from the sky, instead watching the way light spills over Lando and turns him gold, then pink, then gold again. They suit him, these colors.
Lando casts Carlos a glance out the corner of his eye.
“Stop staring,” he grumbles, but there’s no bite to it. Just a red-tinged hint of embarrassment blooming across his cheeks. Cute.
Carlos grins fondly. He reaches out a hand to smooth back one of the curls that’s fallen loose across Lando’s forehead.
“I would not miss this view for anything,” he says, truthfully.
“You’re such a freakin’ sap,” Lando mutters. But it’s soft, whisper-soft, and the sun’s turned everything a brilliant orange, and when Carlos leans in, Lando’s already there to meet him.
✧
These are the moments that become memory. These are the moments they turn to gold.
✧
That night they cuddle in Carlos’ bed, bodies pressed together, curved like flower petals. Shining down on them through the window, the moon is a pale half-slice in the sky.
It feels as though they might as well be the only two people on earth. Just them, always them. Lando and Carlos, Carlos and Lando.
Carlos can’t help but lean into Lando, smiling into his hair. His curls are soft, tickling the skin of Carlos’ cheek, and smell faintly of green-apple shampoo. Carlos closes his eyes, and inhales. Breathes Lando in, in his entirety.
Yeah. It’s always been them.
✧
(Sometime later, Carlos will tell Charles, “I’m in love with him,” and Charles will just roll his eyes.
“I know, mate,” he’ll say, but he’ll be smiling, too. “I know.”)
✧
Because loving Lando is simple, Carlos learns. It’s an act that comes to him with all the ease of a rising sun, or a tide incoming. Loving him feels right.
There’s something special about being able to know a Lando the rest of the world does not. This is his Lando, the one who still blushes rosy-pink when Carlos plants a kiss to his forehead, or calls him pretty. A Lando who belts bubblegum pop when they’re in the kitchen, baking brownies at midnight, for no other reason then because we can. A Lando who still can’t quite say I love you with words, and that’s okay, because he does so in his own way, through tender touches and kisses exchanged beneath bedsheets and every look of sweet adoration.
This is a Lando who says I love you every time they seat themselves in their cars, one painted papaya, the other now scarlet. With every on-track battle, every victory, every loss. All of it; everything that makes them who they are.
And maybe the rest of the world wouldn’t be able to understand, but Carlos thinks that might be okay, too.
✧
They’re in Carlos’ hotel room, and the quiet that’s settled between them is warm and easy. Neither of them says a word; there’s no need.
It’s nice.
Carlos lies on the bed, scrolling aimlessly through Twitter. Across from him, Lando’s curled up in an armchair, chin resting in the palm of his hand, gazing out the window. The curtains are pulled back; beyond, the sky is creamy-blue, the morning bright.
“I’m glad it was you.”
Carlos looks up. Lando’s gazing right at him, biting his lip. The look on his face is shy, but soft, and something inside Carlos melts.
I’m glad it was you.
“Yeah?” Carlos asks.
Lando nods. The corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile.
“Yeah.”
✧
Because they’re Lando and Carlos, Carlos and Lando, and it’s enough.
It’s always been enough.