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That Monday, Fiorano circuit stood out in all its beauty before Charles's eyes.
It had been another home for him for a long time by now. Italy was the most beautiful country in the world, just like Monaco, and spending his own life in Ferrari was a daily reality that took his breath away every time.
Charles was leaning against the balcony balustrade outside the Ferrari relax area, deep in thought.
He had just finished an interview granted to Fedez for his podcast, Muschio Selvaggio, and was still overwhelmed by the sheer madness that the previous days in Monza had been.
Fedez had asked him a lot of questions, along with his two co-hosts, while Charles had been alone in front of the cameras the whole time.
After spending almost a whole week every second in the company of Carlos, it had been so strange for him to be lonely again and regain moments of solitude.
Even during the previous week in Holland, he was stuck alongside his teammate, even if the race had been disappointing for both of them. Despite his third place, Charles had found his performance below his personal expectations.
Sometimes, his Il Predestinato’s label weighed more heavily on his head than a king's crown.
The race in Zandvoort had been crappy even for Carlos, to say the least (what a nice birthday present, huh?). It was for that reason that he had decided to go to him, into his changing room in the Ferrari motorhome.
Charles wanted to talk to him, to console him, to make him laugh... because, knowing him as well as he did, he was sure that Carlos was in desperate need of him.
And the only good thing about that underwhelming day was having succeeded to make him smile.
They sat together on the plane that had brought them back to Italy, just as he had asked him, in an attempt to cheer him up. Charles wanted to play chess with him on his portable set, but, twenty minutes after the take-off, Carlos had collapsed with fatigue.
He had fallen asleep on Charles's shoulder, defenseless. His face was relaxed, his mouth was open, and the fingers of his right hand were spread out, like the corolla of a flower.
Charles's mind had been crossed only by a single desire, constant as a drill. Because those fingers were right there, a very short distance from him, almost begging him to be grabbed.
Do it, do it, do it, please. Just for a second.
Charles stared at his hand for a good five minutes, split in two by the desire to touch his hand, before feeling Carlos awaken on his shoulder. "Forgive me, mate. Today was a day to forget for me... give me just two minutes to regain full consciousness, so we’ll keep playing chess," was all he said before breaking away from him.
And it seemed to Charles that he took a little piece of his heart with him too in that gesture.
Because being close to him only as a friend and constantly feeling in his heart a growing desire to spend time with him was by now the torture he had been dealing with for months. It was very difficult to hold back when the sentiment he felt for Carlos was far beyond companionship and camaraderie.
But there were no other options for Charles.
They were teammates, friends, rivals. Their job was to drive as fastest as they could on the track, to inspire each other, to make a common front in the team and in front of the world.
Charles had no concession to other ways of relating to Carlos; there was no room for maneuver in his life that went beyond those pre-established, rigidly fixed roles.
In Holland, however, he had felt something strange in Carlos when he had grabbed him by the wrist while he was packing his suitcase. Something like a shock, a new awareness, an awakening... but it was most likely an illusion created by his own foolish heart, unable to accept reality.
Carlos didn’t treat him differently than anyone else: he was friendly to everyone, he touched people with great familiarity. Mon Dieu, he treated him like Lando! Most likely, he saw him as an another little brother to babysit.
He wasn't unique, or special, to him. And this awareness created a huge void inside Charles.
The sadness that unrequited love caused in his soul was truly indecent. It was a kind of defeat he couldn't get used to.
For Charles it was like finishing in second place when he actually wanted to be first, no matter what... just like he had happened the day before in Monza.
The thread of all these demoralized thoughts, however, was broken by a warm voice calling him.
"Here you are!"
Charles would have been able to recognize that Spanish accent even in the midst of the eternal fires of hell. "Silvia told me that you have just finished the interview, I wanted to see you and keep you company."
Charles looked up and saw him walking towards him, with his usual firm step. Carlos was wearing a white Ferrari sweatshirt, surely belonging to the new fashion collection, which suited him perfectly.
The color really brought out his olive-skinned complexion, his dark hair, and his eyes, brown like two chestnuts... he was nothing short of handsome and, as always, Charles felt the urge of diving into his arms.
Too bad he didn't have the right to do such a thing.
And he would never have it.
"Would you like some coffee?" Carlos asked him, with a smile on his plump lips. Charles had been so entranced by staring at him that he hadn't noticed that he was holding a small cup, clearly with some coffee inside. Without it, Carlos didn't fuel - it was like a car without a drop of gas in the tank.
At that point, the gray silence in which Charles had taken refuge exploded into a thousand colors that possessed the shades of Carlos's eyes.
His teammate didn’t have a taciturn disposition. Carlos always filled his stillness by chatting non stop; it was so difficult to limit or regulate him in this. He just came out of nowhere and, out of the blue, turned everything upside down, as always.
God, Charles loved him so much for that too.
A stupid smile, bright as the sun, accompanied by those heart eyes that he often saw in their pictures together (and which, incredibly, Carlos had never noticed in years) appeared on Charles's face.
"Hey, mate... yes, I'll have a drop of coffee, grazie mille," was all he said before seeing Carlos walk up to him towards the balconade and stand beside him. Their hands were attached to each other, their shoulders were so close that there was no space between their bodies.
The fact that Carlos had so little regard for other people’s personal space was something both wonderful and terrible for Charles. His teammate did nothing but touch him, stay close to him, get his attention and look at him with those big eyes he had and that enclosed an entire galaxy made of a brown so deep that it took the air out of his lungs every time.
Charles would have liked nothing more than to see those eyes take on different lights, but it wasn’t an honor that had been bestowed on him. Who knew what it would have been like to see them lost in pleasure? Or become sparkling after a desired kiss? Or admire them open in bed, illuminated by the first rays of the morning sun?
All of Charles's silly unattainable romantic fantasies thickened in his mind, weaving together like the threads of a silver spider web.
"Tieni, just drink from my cup," Carlos offered him in a delicate tone.
Charles found himself swallowing empty air at that proposal.
It’s an indirect kiss, he thought foolishy, like he was a middle school girl. But he knew that Carlos didn't think about something like that... he was just a good teammate and a great friend, generous and honest.
He was the person with whom he had managed to establish the best relationship ever in his Formula 1 career, on and off the track.
And God if he had fallen in love with him for this as well.
"Oh, thank you then," was all he said before taking the paper cup with the Ferrari prancing black horse printed on it from his fingers, and bringing it to his mouth to swallow its contents.
Carlos drank coffee just like him, with two sugar cubes dissolved in it... they both liked sweet things, even though their favorite foods were pasta and pizza.
The two of them had a lot of things in common and, at first, Charles really liked the idea of being able to share various passions and hobbies with Carlos. Chess, golf, padel, even paint ball...
Then, by dint of spending a lot of time together, Charles understood that he had lost his mind for Carlos without even realizing it. And he became aware that he could never hold back his feelings for him or stop being by his side in any way he could get.
So, he made his peace and immediately decided to keep all his love secretly locked up, to protect himself and his professional and personal life. Carlos had never hinted a romantic interest towards him, although a suspicion had arisen in a lot of people around them.
Pierre had asked him about his personal relationship with Carlos several times in 2021 and in 2022. Charles had always answered him in the same way.
We are just friends. My feelings are not requited.
And each time, Pierre gave him a puzzled look and a strange shrug. "I don't think so," was his laconic reply.
Charles thought it was nice that his best friend tried to console him for an objectively impossible love to achieve, but the awareness of his own futile feelings crushed him every day. That was why he melted and stiffened at the same time for every attention, every gesture, every look that Carlos reserved for him.
For that reason he felt dying every time he saw Carlos half naked, like in Miami, or made vaguely sexual gestures, like on the red coach after Spa.
Charles knew very well that there could never be anything more between them, but he still wanted so much to feel the warmth that Carlos emanated as a person. Because he was like the sun he wanted to feel shining on his skin.
He had no other choice to go.
"Era buono, grazie," he told Carlos before smiling at him and licking his own lips. They had a strong taste of sweetened coffee and, for a second, he wondered what it would be like to taste the same flavour from Carlos's mouth.
His inconvenient thought was ripped into a thousand pieces by Carlos's voice.
"So, how was the interview with Fedez? Did he interrogate you with uncomfortable questions? Or maybe some questions were disturbing? Very personal and embarrassing topics? " he asked laughing, distracting him from the crazy pinwheel of his own mind.
Charles grinned at his curiosity. "No, everything went well in the end. Even though we talked a lot about pee and things like that at the beginning."
Just thinking about that surreal part of his chat with Fedez made him want to laugh out loud again.
Then Charles cleared his throat and spoke to Carlos, wearing his heart on his sleeve. "But I must confess you it was very strange to me doing interviews without you... being alone is strenuous now, you know?"
Carlos looked at him for a second with a strange look on his face, as if what he had just heard had created a small internal short circuit. But then Charles felt his own shoulder collide with his, his voice as light as a feather.
"What are you talking about? You are fine without me."
This is not true at all. When you are by my side, I feel I have real comfort. I know I have your true support, you are someone who has my back. You are much more important to me than you can remotely imagine.
Charles shrugged. "When you see the interview, you will tell me."
Then they remained like that, incredibly next to each other, in silence, watching Fiorano from above, in the background the powerful noise of the engines whizzing on the track... and it seemed to Charles that both of them were inside a protected, impenetrable bubble.
That was what he loved most about being with Carlos. This extraordinary, natural ability to isolate themselves from the outside world and create something exclusively theirs together. As if a small, tiny universe were formed from nothing - a universe where only the two of them existed.
It was a great shame that only Charles felt such moments as really special. He was used to giving everything on the track, never giving up until to the last second, doing his best beyond the impossible.
But Carlos was the only thing he wanted that made him feel defeated from the start.
Mamma mia, che cazzo.
Then he turned to him and opened his mouth to speak to him. "I wanted to thank you once again for everything you have done for me these past few days, and particularly yesterday. You supported me so much... you are the perfect teammate."
You are perfect for me. As a teammate, and beyond. If only you knew it.
Carlos had said publicly several times that he wanted Charles to win at Monza - and God, he fucking wanted that too. At their home, in front of their fans, in the temple of Formula 1 speed. After the end of the race, Carlos even went straight to him in the space reserved for the three drivers on the podium (a place he couldn’t be at all) to talk to him and console him... because he knew very well that that second place had the bitter taste of defeat in Charles’ mouth.
Because that's how Carlos was: he always knew everything, even without having to communicate it to him. It was natural for him to be close to Charles, to find the right words to cheer him up after such a disappointment.
And every time such a thing happened, it was like for Charles having a thread of thorns tighten around his heart more and more tightly, until it bleed desperately.
Carlos's dark gaze darted away after Charles's words, almost as if he was embarrassed.
"I don't think I'm the perfect teammate, but you are welcome, mate. In the midst of the mess that we face every Sunday in Ferrari, you and I must stick together. After all, you told me last Sunday that you can't bear to see me sad... don’t you think it's the same for me towards you?"
And Charles's breath trailed off at his question.
It was true that he couldn't bear to see him sad, fuck.
In Holland his heart broke for his final placement, as it had happened again yesterday. Without the safety car, perhaps Charles could have gambled for the chance to reach first place and snatch it from Max; exactly how Carlos could have overtaken George and climbed to third place with him on the Monza podium, by his side, in front of a sea of Ferrari red that was there just to support them.
But that was a lesson that life had taught him at great cost: sometimes, things didn't turn out the way he hoped.
Charles only managed to give Carlos a shy smile and swallow whatever urge was making his hands itch at that very moment. Like taking his hand, stroking his hair, biting his lips, being in his arms.
It would take ten seconds of all this to be satisfied for a lifetime.
"That's exactly why I think you are the best match and the best teammate for me," he replied with disarming sincerity.
It’s precisely for this reason that I consider you the best for me, period.
That thought infiltrated the folds of his heart with infinite bitterness, so Charles quickly decided to change the subject.
He didn't want to be sad in front of Carlos.
"This beautiful Ferrari sweatshirt you are wearing... well, where does it come from? Is it from the new fashion collection?" he asked cheerfully.
He felt his fingers wanting to go again towards him and touch him. This time to feel the texture of the fabric that covered his muscles, to see how well it wrapped him, to caress whatever belonged to Carlos.
But Charles behaved, standing still like a statue in the Louvre museum. He squeezed Carlos's cup, where there was now only the distant memory of the coffee he had drunk, and restrained himself.
By now he had become an expert in freezing his deepest instincts with Carlos.
"Yup! Silvia gave it to me before... it’s really beautiful, isn't it? How about it? Do I look good in it?" Carlos asked him, with a touch of irony.
God, you are stunning. You don't even have the slightest idea how good it looks on you. I have never envied a stupid piece of cloth so much in my entire life.
"It's very beautiful, you're right. The color especially suits you... and the vintage Ferrari logo is spectacular, you know how nice it was to have it on our cars for this Monza weekend. It's definitely more beautiful than my own shirt," he replied. Charles had worn a black Ferrari T-shirt for the interview, with a front pocket decorated with prancing horses of various colors, with short sleeves.
Although it was a sunny Monday, a slight cool breeze had picked up on Fiorano and was making him shiver on his bare arms.
"Ma no, your shirt is cute! But my sweatshirt is so cool... too bad you won't be with me for the Ferrari fashion show in Milan in two weeks," said Carlos in a sad voice, his eyes slightly veiled with regret.
Charles wanted to hug him again, and he squeezed the cup of coffee between his fingers again to force himself to stay still.
"I know, but I can't really be there due to force majeure," he confessed. On that same Sunday, one of his closest friends had organized the gender reveal party for the baby he was expecting with his girlfriend. He could not absolutely miss such an important personal event.
And after that, silence fell upon them again, like a quilt that was wrapping them and made them feel close to each other. Or, at the very least, it was what Charles assumed was happening in those rare moments of peace and quiet in the midst of their convulsively hectic life.
Then, a heavy sigh from Carlos tore him out of their little peaceful world.
"I will go to Trentino next week to start training for Singapore... what are you gonna do? Will you stay in Monaco and start your preparation there?"
Charles smiled at his interest. Carlos had always been obsessed with Singapore, ever since they first met. It was his favorite race - which was absurd, since it was the most physically demanding competition of the entire Formula 1 calendar -, all his pre-racing season athletic training revolved around Singapore as a primary goal.
Charles also often thought of Singapore, but for different reasons.
"Yes, I will do a special training in Monaco to manage the humidity... we have not been racing there for the last two years. It will be an extremely challenging race more than ever," he told him sincerely. In Singapore, driving in a racing car was like being under a heat hood that dehydrated you constantly.
Carlos nodded at his words; the movement reverberated up to Charles, because they were attached to each other. "True, but it will also be the first time where you and I will be Ferrari teammates. It's gonna be so cool, I cannot wait!"
He seemed so happy with it that Charles smiled along with him. It was like being overwhelmed by his joie de vivre and his happiness every second... it was impossible not to get carried away by Carlos' cheerful personality.
The reason Charles was so attached to Singapore was because it was the place where he first spoke to Carlos in September 2018. They both met in the terrace pool of the Marina Bay Hotel, one of the most breathtaking places in the whole world; that splendid structure overlooked the circuit directly, giving a complete view of the entire race.
He and Carlos were so young at the time. Charles himself was much more inexperienced - it was his first year in Formula 1, he had just been announced by Ferrari as the new driver for the following championship, and his knees were shaking from that magic opportunity that had finally given to him and for which he had worked his entire life.
The promise made to his father before he died had finally come true; it was no longer a lie told to a dying man to make him rest in peace.
Charles had seen Carlos intent on observing the circuit, so he had approached him. He was a rookie and Carlos was one of the few drivers with a fair amount of experience with whom he had some kind of distant relationship - Pierre introduced them in 2015, when they were both in Toro Rosso, and they had talked occasionally together as a group sometimes.
They had never chatted on their own before, but Carlos was an outgoing person, always ready to talk and give helpful advice. Charles had always felt happy that he had taken courage and started conversing with him that night... Carlos had given him so many valuable tips to survive that hellish track, which he put into practice during the race on Sunday.
From that moment on, they had never stopped talking.
I often think about our first real conversation. This is why Singapore is such a special place for me. Do you ever think about the night we really spoke to each other for the first time? Would you ever have been able to imagine that we would end up side by side in Ferrari? Could you have seen our future together from the Marina Bay circuit? Do you ever think about the way we were and how much we have grown up?
I could never have thought that I would fall in love with you like a fool years later, that you would become my everything. And you, on the other hand... you don't see my love for you, in the least.
Charles's melancholy after those cruel reflections turned his lips down, like a Pierrot who can't smile.
He interrupted the flow of his thoughts by turning to Carlos. "May we go inside and sit on the sofa, so we are more comfortable? The wind is bothering me now."
Actually, Charles just wanted to enjoy indoors the last few moments of peace he could spend with Carlos before they parted - that afternoon, he would drive back to Monaco, while Carlos would take a flight to join his family in Madrid and spend the weeks off between Monza and Singapore with them.
Carlos looked at him strangely after his proposal, as if he didn't want to move from their little nest in that balcony either. Almost as if he didn't want to walk away and leave him.
But all that was just a stupid illusion produced by his heart, a heart who was in love with him. Charles now knew it very well.
"Yeah... come on, mate," was all Carlos told him before he pulled away from his side and walked to the door that would lead them into the relax area.
Charles stood beside him, as always, shoulder to shoulder, with the backs of their hands touching each other as they walked, as if it were a dance made up of kisses.
And he only felt the burning desire to grab Carlos' fingers and squeeze them so hard that he would never let him go away.