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At 10pm on a weekday, as Charles drinks his third bottle of Estrella Galicia, he thinks about Carlos. It’s a reflex at this point, because when he’s stressed out or sleep deprived or overworked, his mind conjures up memories of happy places and events that happened in his life.
And Carlos is his happy place.
They’ve not talked about Monaco or Spain yet, and most likely never will, and he’s fine with that. That’s one thing he likes about this sport – that they have to keep on moving forward, and never look back.
Heaven knows they’ve had their fair share of rough years, from deadly crashes to soul-crushing DNFs.
Charles sighs, digging his bare feet into the sand. He watches the way the waves crash onto the shore, and allows his thoughts to be swept away with them as they recede.
His stomach rumbles a little, making it known that he hasn’t eaten since noon. Probably won’t, unless Carlos finds him and shoves a croissant down his throat.
Speaking of the devil, he can hear Carlos call out his name from a kilometre away.
Maybe he can summon his partner at will, just like Max had said.
Heaving another sigh, Charles continues to drink in peace and not answer back. He can be a bitch when he wants to be, and he so wants to be at the moment.
“Charles, I was looking for you!” Carlos says when he finally finds him, his breathing all hot and heavy.
“Then you shouldn’t have,” he whispers, not even glancing at his teammate. He does, however, offer Carlos a beer – who yanks the bottle out of his hands.
“You haven’t eaten dinner,” Carlos states casually, sitting down next to him.
“I haven’t,” he admits, “and I don’t plan to. I don’t wanna face them just yet.”
“Hmm, fair enough.”
That, at last, breaks his façade. He turns to face Carlos, who’s smiling at him, and he smiles back, albeit not the way he usually does.
It’s silent for the next few minutes, but Charles can almost hear the question Carlos is about to ask.
“How long—”
“I don’t know, I didn’t bring my watch with me. I have however finished three bottles of the beer brand that sponsors you,” he replies, taking in his partner’s shocked expression.
“How’d—”
“I can read minds,” is his deadpan answer, making Carlos roll his eyes.
“Then you’ll also know that I’m taking you out to eat right now. There weren’t any croissants left, which is why I didn’t bring any. A full square meal is infinitely better, anyway.”
Charles shakes his head. He’s not getting up from here, dinner be damned. In fact, it can all go to hell.
“Charles, please. Don’t make me carry you.”
He scoffs, glaring at the other man. “Try me, chéri.”
Carlos sighs, standing up in one fluid motion. “That’s what you said,” he says, gently picking Charles up in a princess carry.
Charles doesn’t even protest. He blames it on the beer, even if they know that that’s not the case.
“Comfy?”
He nods, relaxing in Carlos’ arms. “Don’t let go of me,” he mumbles, remembering the one time he did.
“Your wish is my command.”
Somehow, without much effort, they make it to a secluded corner that’s blocked off from the well-worn path.
After Carlos helps him regain his balance, he holds Carlos in his arms for a few minutes. That’s another reflex of his – to seek out his safe place when it all gets too much.
And Jules—
“Ch—”
Carlos doesn’t get to finish his sentence when Charles finally breaks down. The taste of salty tears reaches his lips, and his hopelessness skyrockets. There’s no reason for him to be here anymore, if failure is all he has left.
“Carlos—”
“I’m here,” Carlos says, rubbing his back in a soothing manner. “I’m here, Charles.”
“You’ll stay with me, right?” he asks, softly nudging his beloved away.
“Yes. I’ll stay with you for as long as I can. And that means always.”
“Always?”
“Always.”
Charles nods, wiping his face on his shirt. He raises his eyes to meet Carlos’ mesmerising brown ones, then leans in and kisses his lips.
It’s by no means a kiss to remember, but it’s enough to make the bittersweetness that Charles is experiencing a little bit sweeter.