Work Text:
May 2022
Carlos is a patient man, waiting his entire life for a moment like this. To be standing at the end of an aisle, waiting for the great love of his life to walk down to meet him. Patience is a virtue, something his fiancée had always been sure to test him on.
It comes as no surprise that even on their wedding day, life is business as usual.
“Don’t make fun of me, if I cry.” Carlos laughs with his parents, a few nearby guests joining in.
In love, Carlos is a hopeless cause. He knows it, his parents know it, everyone does.
He’s shed many tears already today – mesmerised by his bride-to-be’s beauty. A wedding dress that looked like it was made for her and her alone. Soft lace hugging her curves in all the right places – Carlos can hardly believe his luck.
She takes his breath away, Carlos's heartbeat still trying to return to baseline after taking their first look photos just an hour before.
As calm as Carlos appears on the surface, the same cannot be said for his guests.
Loved ones from both sides sit mixed together, no point in being separated on either side of the aisle. Their families mingle so well together; Carlos will never cease to be grateful to have found his person, to have found Isa.
To have found a family, where he’ll always belong.
He’s painfully aware of the way they’re talking, guests whispering to one another, gossiping on the reason for the wait.
Carlos tries to stop himself from pushing up his sleeve to check his watch for the time. He twitches as if he’s about to, though his hands stay motionless in front of him.
“It is 3:13, Carlito.” His mother whispers, knowing what he was after in the way that all mothers do.
Thirteen minutes is nothing, surely. Wedding days are known for their potential to b such a great disaster – there are a myriad of reasons under which it could be perfectly reasonable, easily explainable, even, that the ceremony was already thirteen minutes behind schedule.
Carlos is not panicking as he thinks of the clock.
Tick tock, tick tock.
He wonders if he should crack a joke. Something to settle the chatter in the crowd that seems to be growing with each passing second.
It’s to settle himself, more than anything else – a sobering thought, which he tries desperately to tuck into the very deepest corner of his mind.
He’s torn from his thoughts when the harpist springs into action; the melody of Pachelbel’s Canon intertwines with nature, reminding Carlos of its beauty.
Maria appears at the end of the aisle. Isa’s best friend, the obvious choice to be her maid of honour.
Carlos closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to stave off the tears that threaten to spill. He opens, and his face falls.
She doesn’t come peacefully, more of a charge, a march down the aisle. Her presence in the room brings Carlos no comfort, only dread in his heart at what he feels is coming next.
She avoids eye contact and stands next to Carlos, right in the space where Isa should be, and clears her throat to speak. Somehow even though the wedding is outdoors, it feels like their voices carry through an echo chamber.
Or Carlos’s brain has left the building, each word that Maria says reverberating through his skull.
“The bride won’t be joining us; there will be no wedding today.” Her eyes wander over to Carlos, a frown forming, apology written into every pore of her face. “I’m sorry.”
Only fourteen words before turning around and power-walking back up the aisle, disappearing into the venue.
Fourteen words that tell him everything and nothing at all. No explanation, no closure.
Fourteen words into a dissolution of plans for something he was so sure of – gone is the idea of forever.
The crowd is silent, Isa’s family trying to shrink themselves and disappear, no one in the space knowing what to say. The guests all look to Carlos – watching, waiting for his reaction.
Carlos sees his father stand from his seat to approach him, he raises his right palm to stop him.
“We still have a party, yes?” His voice sounds wet, thick with unshed tears. It shakes, though he stands tall when he speaks – as tall as one can, anyway. “There is food and drinks inside, the bar is open. Go, have a good time.”
Carlos avoids eye contact as he walks past all of the stunned guests, and slips through the French doors leading into the reception hall. He walks straight up to the bar, spooking the bartender who was busying herself polishing glassware.
“Oh? Short ceremony, I wasn’t expecting anyone so soon. What can I get for you?
Carlos hopes that he doesn’t look as much as he feels he’s about to cry.
“Ay, Sí it was quick. Can I get a drink? Surprise me.” She looks at him with great concern; he wonders how much his face gives away, since she can’t possibly know yet that the wedding never took place.
Just as other guests start to filter into the room, a glass is pressed into Carlos's hand.
An old fashioned – meant to be sipped and savoured.
Carlos downs it in one gulp.
He turns to face the crowd of loved ones that has formed around him. “I mean it; go. Have a good time.”
Music plays as drinks are served; the catering staff springs into action, working double time to set up the buffet style spread. Carlos sympathises with them; he too imagined them having more time to prepare.
Guests wander, not many sitting still to eat, instead content to mingle. They dance and chat, having a good time and trying to ignore the elephant in the room.
Carlos stands in the centre of it all, dancing amongst everyone, never staying in the same place for long. He’s sure to stay away from his parents, knowing that all his mother will want to do is talk about it.
Not today. Today, rather than reciting wedding vows, Carlos vows to himself to protect his peace.
If it means ignoring worried glances thrown by his mother, then so be it. He’ll apologise another day.
When everyone is still full from dinner and already tired from dancing, Carlos announces that it's time to cut the cake. He watches as the wedding planner snatches the cake-topper and throws it in the nearest trash can before Carlos can even make it to the dessert table.
I should send her flowers.
Carlos doesn’t care that he doesn’t know how to cut a tiered cake. He’s probably butchering the cake, but he finds it difficult to care, knowing that Isa designed the whole thing.
When everyone is too busy shoving sponge cake into their mouths to continue looking at him with pity, Carlos sneaks out of the room.
“Just going to use the washroom,” he tells one of his aunts when they stop to ask where he’s off to.
Carlos wanders around the venue, stopping often to brace himself against the walls. He stops to marvel at the wallpaper, the raised filigree a nice touch in the decor.
I have had more to drink than I thought. I should buy myself flowers.
He’s distracted from this thought by a loose thread in the cuff of his jacket. Carlos wonders if it's just as in danger of unravelling as he is himself.
It feels foolish, juvenile to cry over a girl – something he hasn’t done in well over a decade, at least not with a negative connotation attached. He stumbles into what he can only assume used to be some Victorian-era child’s bedroom, though it’s now a supply closet.
Carlos thinks of the deep breathing techniques given to him by his therapist and practises the rhythmic motions for all of thirty seconds before he throws her very expensive advice out the window.
He startles when the door suddenly swings open, slamming against the wall when there is no door-stopper to act as a cushion. All he can do is stare and pray and hope that he is not perceived as a thing which exists.
You can’t always get what you want, of course, something he’s become painfully aware of today.
“Oh hey mate, you good?” The curly-haired stranger holds a hand for Carlos to take, wincing when Carlos very pointedly ignores the hand and instead pats the space next to him on the ground.
-
Today is objectively one of the worse days in Lando Norris’s life.
It’s not raining, but his car breaks down on the side of the motorway, and he has the brilliant idea of walking the rest of the day to work from here. A decision he now regrets, but the Lando of twenty minutes ago simply wasn’t thinking.
As he runs into work, he tries to ignore the uncomfortable sticky feeling of his shirt and jacket sticking to him, his skin slick with sweat underneath.
“Mate, you look awful. And what's that smell?” Alex, bless him. One of Lando’s friends for years, the kind where all tact is thrown out the window.
“Maybe best that I don’t ask.” Alex moves past him, wincing at the sight of sweat stains coming through his shirt. “Look, I think there are spare shirts in the supply closet, first floor, west corridor. Please, for everyone’s sake, go get one.”
Lando curses but nods, dumping his few belongings into the too-small locker in the employee room and running out to the hallway. He prays that a supervisor doesn’t see him in the meantime.
No one uses the venue-issued shirts – Alex knows it, Lando knows it, everyone knows it. They always smell like vinegar and they’re stiff and scratchy and uncomfortable – but better than looking like he’s had to sprint 2 kilometres to get to work. He curses his entire way to the closet, is perhaps too aggressive with the way he lets the door swing open.
Much to his surprise, he isn’t alone.
On the floor, surrounded by boxes of cleaning supplies and old linens and a weird-looking chest that everyone is afraid to open, is the most beautiful man Lando has ever had the pleasure to lay eyes upon.
He thinks of the years spent in the closet before finally coming out to friends, eventually his parents too. Along the way, he always wished he could have a beautiful man in there with him. This, although not what he had envisioned for himself at age fifteen, will do just fine.
“Oh hey mate, you good?” Lando asks, extending a hand out to the strange yet captivating man still on the floor. He watches on as through a heavy wave of tears, the mystery man looks at his hand, looks back down, and pats the space on the cold ground next to him.
Fuck it; I’m already late.
Lando is on the ground before his mystery hunk can even blink.
“We were supposed to get married today, you see. And now it's all–” The man doesn’t finish his sentence, he tangles his hands together instead before letting them fall apart.
It tells Lando nothing, though he still understands the man on some level.
Lando reaches awkwardly to his right, patting the man on the shoulder, not knowing what else to do. Part of him wishes his mum were here – a wonderful woman to have in a crisis.
Lando, that would be weird; get it together.
“There there; it’s okay.” Lando can only hope the stranger remains oblivious to the way he cringes at his own awkward demeanour.
Lando looks down at the perfectly styled hair, the 5-piece-suit, the perfectly polished shoes, all belonging to the man next to him. Oh.
“Oh, you must be the gro–” He doesn’t finish the word, it's hard to with the way the stranger sobs and nearly throws himself into Lando’s arms.
Lando racks his brain, trying to remember the names he saw displayed in the entryway.
Carl? Carlo? Car-lando– wait. That's my name.
Carlos? Sure, let’s try it.
“Carlos, right?” Despite sounding sure of himself, Lando is nervous up until the moment where the stranger – Carlos – sniffs and nods where he’s still tucked into Lando’s side.
“You’ll be okay, I promise.” He rubs back and forth along Carlos's shoulder, squeezing every so often. If they were in a proper embrace, Lando would rub circles along Carlos's spine, vertebrae by vertebrae until his breathing slows, just like how his mum did for him when he was young.
If she did this exact thing a few days prior when Lando had his umpteenth breakdown of the year, well… He won’t admit it to anyone.
Lando lets his mind wander as Carlos weeps. It’s unfair that he’s still so pretty even with all of the tears and snot. He almost wishes that this moment would continue forever, pressed up against a man like this.
Sue me for being horny; it’s been awhile.
He pauses, his body suddenly stiff around Carlos at the thought. Not that anyone can read his mind – or he hopes not, anyway.
“Why did she not want me?” is the first of many questions Carlos asks.
Lando hates that he doesn’t have an answer.
His mum wouldn’t be proud of the thoughts whirling around his head – most of them now centred around what type of a dreadful person you must be to leave someone like this. To string someone along, only to leave them so suddenly and with so many there to bear witness – it’s awful. Plain awful, nothing more to it.
“Why did she change her mind?” Carlos whimpers, curling into himself.
“Well, I- Cold feet?” Lando tries as an explanation.
“I do not know what that means – her feet are always warm. I buy her socks, the good ones. I am a good person, no?”
Bless him, Lando doesn’t have the heart to tell him what he really meant. He wonders if Carlos is sad, or drunk, or a combination of both.
“I can be loved, right?” Carlos pulls from his grasp, turning to face him. They make eye contact and in the moment, Lando has only one thought. Fuck anyone who ever said brown eyes were boring – Carlos'seyes are warm yet bold, so inviting.
“You would marry me, right?”
Okay, perhaps Carlos really is drunk after all.
It would be rude of Lando to let the spiral continue; surely his mum would tell him to comfort his new friend in any way possible.
It’s fine, completely sane and normal to say this.
“‘Course I would marry you; you seem great!”
He’s telling the truth, something else his mum will approve of, should she ever find out about this. Carlos really does seem great, something special about him that Lando can’t quite pinpoint.
Lando glances at a clock that can be seen through the sliver of light in the doorway, catching sight of the time.
Fuck.
Lando groans as he hoists himself up off the ground, swatting off any dust that clings to his trousers. He reaches out his right hand and Carlos takes it without question, though he squawks as Lando pulls him up from his sitting position on the floor.
“It’s time for me to go back to work.” Lando clears his throat, suddenly finding eye contact with Carlos very difficult. It’s easier, better this way if he can cut the moment off even sooner, knowing that at the end of the day, they’ll probably never see each other again.
“And your guests are here to see you– you should really get back to them.”
Lando slips back into the hall. The door shuts behind him and he pauses, taking a deep breath to centre himself before walking in smooth, confident strides back to the venue kitchen to finally maybe do his job.
“Oh fuck, you’re finally back. You get lost? Hey, isn’t that the same shirt you were wearing before?”
Lando ignores Alex, pushing past him and into the great-room. He takes a tray of appetisers along with him, offering them to any guest he comes across. They look at him with confusion as they kindly decline – it takes Lando far too long to see the half-empty buffet table and the cake plates smeared with icing and crumbs.
Fuck, how late was I?
He sneaks back to the kitchen, setting down the tray and switching gears into cleaning mode instead. The faster he can get out of here tonight, the faster he can go home.
Lando wishes he had someone to go home to – much like Carlos now, he thinks.
There is no time for self-pity, but as he cleans, Lando’s heart does break slightly every time he pictures Carlos’s face. It’s weird, the way that his second go-around in the closet was much brighter, but also one of the strangest experiences in his lifetime thus far. Awful that it comes at the cost of Carlos’s pain and suffering.
All he can do is hope that Carlos will be okay. Hope is wonderful, but so difficult to have and to hold – yet with Carlos in mind, it prevails.
~
June 2022
If Carlos has to listen to his mother ask how he’s doing one more time, he may scream.
In reality it would be easier to stop answering her daily check-in calls, though he supposes that if he were to do this, she would physically show up knocking at his door instead.
It’s easier, he decides, to actually go ahead and leave the house – to join the land of the living. His motivation today comes partly from his mother, but also from Isa’s brother showing up at the house to collect her belongings.
He’s grateful, really. Thankful that he doesn’t have to go through separating from her in this way, too. The house is his – everything under his name.
Carlos wanders down the streets by his house, eventually stumbling across a coffee shop. From the outside it looks like the average home: burgundy siding and dark brown awnings to make you feel calm, at peace.
As he enters the lighting is dim, soothing. The espresso in the air is the opposite – hitting him full-force like a tidal wave. He can almost feel it seeping into his pores, his exhaustion running deep.
Carlos takes a step further and finally sees an employee behind one of the pillars supporting the roof above. A younger man, dutifully wiping the counters clean. Carlos can only see the side of his face – sharp yet soft, angelic even. The slightest hint of stubble dusts along his jaw, clear as day when the sunlight strikes.
Carlos takes a step further to glance up at the chalkboard menus when the barista finally looks up to greet him and– Oh.
Carlos is certain that if you took his face and held it up to a swatch of Ferrari-red paint, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the two. The blush on his skin spreads furiously and he’s powerless to stop it, knowing that he was an ugly, crying disaster of a human being the last time they had seen each other.
“Go sit; I’ll come by to get your order in just a sec.” The barista calls out. Carlos nods, hesitation clear, but he obeys the stranger’s wish. On the plus side, it gives him a moment to calm down, to slow his breathing and cool down the flush on his cheeks.
As Carlos moves past to walk to a cosy-looking armchair in the corner of the lounge area, he squints to read the name tag on the man's shirt.
Lando.
It’s fitting. Carlos isn’t sure why, but it feels right; it suits him.
“What can I get for you today?” Lando asks, his tone so bright and cheerful.
“Can I get a…” Carlos trails off as he clears his throat, his voice growing hoarse from lack of use. “Can I please get a triple espresso wi–”
“Nope, don’t know why I even asked.” Lando scoffs and walks away – Carlos watches him closely as he returns behind the bar, fiddling with mugs and milk and steaming wands and something else he can’t identify from here.
Carlos is confused, though this is a general theme for him as of late.
There's a certain elegance to the way Lando moves; Carlos can’t find it in him to take his eyes off the man.
Lando comes back to him just a few minutes later, sliding what appears to be a mug of hot chocolate and a mystery muffin across the small end table in front of him.
“On the house.” Lando declares.
“I can pay; it is fine. I will pay you after I drink, yes?”
“It’s no bother mate, seriously.” Lando brushes him off, turning to walk away and at the bare minimum, go back to pretending to work.
“But what if I was allergic? You did not ask.” Carlos is certain that he’s finally won this little battle.
“And are you? Allergic to chocolate, milk? Honey?” Lando leans against the bar; Carlos wants to kiss the coy smile right off his face.
Kiss? Where did that come from?
“... No. But should I not be allowed to pay for and choose my own drinks, yes?”
“ Sí!” The excitement in Lando’s face is clear. Carlos can’t stop himself from smiling, though he tries to hide it by holding the mug up to his face. He raises an eyebrow though, demanding further explanation.
“Sí. But I just figured you could use a bit of kindness I guess? You look like you’ve been through the wringer.” Lando touches his own face, just below his eyes. “Look, I’ve been where you are. Well, I’ve never been left at the altar but my boyfriend broke up with me kind of recently? Not the same as your fiancée leaving you, and hoooly shit I should shut up now. Y’know what, I’m going to go into the back and try to remove my foot from my mouth.”
Carlos open-mouth stares back at him, his eyes wide. He finds that he cares little about the comments on his failed attempt at marriage and more about the revelation that this boy is single and this boy likes boys.
Carlos blinks to propel himself back to the present, ordering his dick to quiet down. It’s only been a few weeks since the wedding fiasco, and… Now that he thinks about it, it’s been longer, months even, since he’s last been intimate with anyone.
“Thank you.” Carlos replies, holding his mug up as if to say cheers. “Thank you, it is very kind.”
“I did add something in there for a bit of a pick-me-up. Hope you like it.” Lando nods and turns on his heels before scurrying off to continue working.
Carlos catches Lando staring, just as he lifts the ceramic to take a drink.
Carlos sips from the mug, noting a hint of peppermint as the flavours wash over his tongue. Not at all what he expected, but a pleasant surprise. The smile on his face can’t help but to grow.
He waits for Lando to look up again, giving him a smile and a thumbs-up when he does. He tries to not be absolutely fucking delighted by the way Lando beams as he goes back to work – taking a rag to wipe the counters that were already clean, anything to look busy.
It shouldn’t be quite so satisfying to have such an effect on someone.
I’ve still got it.
Carlos takes it as a sign for better days ahead.
~
July 2022
Traditionally pubs are a place for people to visit with friends during a night on the town, though they often turn into a place of refuge for the sad and lonely.
Not that Carlos will let himself be grouped like this – no. He’s okay with being alone, he doesn’t need someone to be by his side in order to have a good time.
Carlos repeats this sentence in his head approximately ten times as he enters the building. He walks the distance from the door to the bar and sits on the corner stool, sighing as he shrugs off his jacket to let it lay across his lap.
He clears his throat to get the bartender’s attention, not wanting to look weird without a drink in his hand. The man turns around and – Oh, Lando.
They’ve had their chance in the past for awkward silences, thankfully Lando moves quickly to fill the space.
“What would you like to drink?” Lando asks, his hands hovering over the glassware in anticipation of which to select.
“I get to choose this time?” Carlos laughs as Lando’s eyes narrow and he moves to jokingly whack Carlos with the rag thrown over his shoulder. “Ay, just a beer. Whatever you would recommend.”
Carlos watches as Lando disappears around the corner and comes back just a moment later, reaching for a bottle opener on his way back to pop the cap off. He slides it across the bar to Carlos, their fingertips just barely grazing together. It feels electric, almost. The moment is gone when Carlos shivers, the condensation from the ice cold bottle dripping onto his skin.
“The old guy that comes in here once a month says it tastes better from the bottle. I wouldn’t know; I’ve never tried it.”
“You are not a big beer fan?” Carlos picks at the label as he speaks, cocking his head to the left while he waits for an answer.
He looks much like a dog after hearing the word treat or walk? In a way he’s just like them; Lando quickly becoming one of his favourite things. He tries to not think of him in such a way, though it's particularly difficult to remain cool and collected after having such a shit month. It’s a quality of his that exists to show he’s human; he’ll melt at even a shred of kindness from an acquaintance or stranger.
“No, I don’t drink, actually.”
“A bartender that does not drink? Interesting.”
Lando shrugs and silence falls upon them – as much as you can find at 8pm on a Wednesday, anyway.
Carlos takes a sip from the bottle and nods his approval, giving Lando the all-clear to go tend to the other patrons demanding his attention. Lando is quick with his work though, serving the weird biker dude a fancy-looking cocktail in no time.
Carlos stares at anything and everything, trying to avoid the actual subject of his desire now that it’s right in front of him.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Lando asks.
“You are English, yes? You have many weird phrases.” Carlos replies. He watches Lando’s eyes light up and it’s everything, complete and total euphoria.
He absolutely should not be thinking like this, especially regarding a man that bore witness to one of his darkest hours.
They spend an evening talking about anything, and everything. Lando leaves him from time to time to prepare drinks and clear tables around the room. He’s thankful that it doesn’t seem to be a very busy night; he much prefers it this way.
Carlos doesn’t need someone by his side in order to have a good time, but he does admit that Lando makes things all the more enjoyable. What would normally be an experience of the sad and lonely variety is brighter than he thought possible.
-
Today is objectively one of the better days in Lando Norris’s life.
He can’t help but fall back to Carlos over and over again, his gravitational pull too strong for Lando to resist. He enjoys the company, the conversation. It’s hard to say no.
Is it going to bite him in the ass later on as he hasn’t been doing the assigned inventory duties to complete during his shift? Yes.
Does he care? Absolutely not.
Lando would stay late any day without a care if it meant getting to spend more time chatting with his new favourite friend customer.
“So what even brings you here on a Wednesday of all days? Bit weird to be drinking in the middle of the week, and be alone.” Lando comments during a lull in Carlos’s general commentary.
“I am not alone though; I have you?”
Holy shit, take my heart; it’s already yours?
He should find this creepy, he really truly should, yet Lando is enamoured.
“Well yeah, but… I’m sure you have loads of friends that would’ve come out here with you.”
Very smooth, Lando. Good save.
Carlos takes a thoughtful sip of his beer. “Yes, but then I would not be able to sit here talking to you. I quite like doing this.”
Carlos winks, takes another sip, and Lando forgets how to breathe for a second. He does his best to shake this off, but he’s human. The instinctual part of him remembers that he hasn’t felt the touch, or even the attention, of a man for months.
“Well. I only work Wednesday nights here, and the odd Saturday. So if you ever want someone to talk to, I’ve been told I’m an excellent listener.” Lando doesn’t add in that it was his mum that said this. Revealing yourself to be a mummy’s boy at twenty-four is definitely more for the 10+ dates together range.
Carlos nods, fumbling with the napkin in his hands. Lando watches as he smiles, and nods again.
“Good. I’ll keep that in mind.”
~
August 2022
“You pick somewhere that has a dress code? Why are you like this?” Carlos complains for the entire distance between the valet stand and the host escorting them to their seats.
He’s gotten used to being alone; he’d almost rather be anywhere but here.
In his defence, the last time Carlos found himself in a suit and tie, his fiancée of several years called it quits without even having the guts to tell him to his face.
It is a nice restaurant; he’ll give Caco that much. It’s weird though. To hand his keys over to someone he’s never met, an inherent trust between them.
They’re only seated for a moment when it happens – Carlos hears him before he can look up to see him.
“Good evening, gentlemen. My name is Lando; I will be looking after you both this evening.”
Carlos stares, eyes wide. Lando looks right back at him, sterling in his resolve.
“I am going to go use the washroom.” Carlos is up and ten feet away before either Lando or Caco can process the loss.
“We just got here? I do not know what his deal is.” Caco rolls his eyes apologetically.
“Y’know, that's alright. I’ll come back around to ask for your drink order once Carlos is back.”
“You know him, my cousin?”
“Mmm? What do you mean?” Lando asks, his mind already half a world away.
“You said his name is Carlos? How do you know him? He has never mentioned you.”
“Just… a really good guess? I’ll be back in a few; I think I heard my name being called.” Lando runs from the table before Caco can get another word in.
He almost clears the dining area; he’s so close to the refuge of the kitchen, where he can be yelled at by one of the line-cooks rather than one of the patrons.
As fate would have it, he never makes it there.
-
Carlos takes a deep breath as he exits the washroom. All he wanted was a breather, a moment of peace. It’s not exactly easy to explain to Caco that he’s hopelessly enamoured with a man he barely knows.
It’s definitely not easy to admit he has feelings towards a man in the first place.
He pushes these feelings aside, the same way he has his entire life.
He looks down at his chest as he walks on, smoothing out the lapel on his coat, not paying attention to the world still going on around him.
Carlos looks up just as he collides with Lando. With the wind knocked out of him – Carlos starts to fall backwards.
As luck would have it, arm's reach out to catch him.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. Seriously!”
Carlos can only stare at him in wonder. He’s been this close to Lando before, but never when sober.
The overhead lighting is a godsend, highlighting Lando’s cheekbones perfectly. He looks almost ethereal in the golden haze, heaven-sent as far as Carlos is concerned.
“Really, I need to start watching where I’m going.” Lando says, a touch of nerves creeping into his voice. He can’t help but squirm under Carlos's continued gaze.
“Lando.” To know his name through stealth means is one thing. To have Lando introduce himself is another.
The name rolls smooth like butter off Carlos's tongue. It feels good on his lips. “You never told me your name before.”
Carlos never imagined he’d be in Lando’s presence even one time, let alone four.
Lando laughs and finally lets go of Carlos, trusting that he’s steady enough on his feet.
“Well, you never asked me.”
“But you got to know my name before; how is this fair?” Carlos argues, though his lips pull up at the corners, giving himself away.
“Are we seriously about to engage in a ‘Oh woe is me, I got left at the altar’ thing? Because Carlos, seriously? It’s getting old, time to pick a new thing, mate.” Lando hopes to god that this reads as sarcasm.
It does, thankfully, if Carlos doubling over and wheezing with laughter is anything to go by.
Carlos wipes a tear from his face when he stands back upright, still chuckling as his face dries.
“True.” Carlos agrees, more than Lando may think.
“I must get back to my friend. But it was good seeing you again.” Carlos’s voice pitches up as if he’s asking a question, though he knows this to be a fact.
Lando nods and scurries past him into the kitchen. The moment the double doors swing shut, he does a happy dance, unable to fully control himself.
“Surely you have actual work to do? I covered for you a few weeks back so you could pick up that extra shift at the pub, I’m not doing it for you tonight too.” Alex rolls his eyes at the display. Out of fondness, mostly.
Unbeknownst to Lando, Carlos does the same little jig on his way back to the table. For the sake of all other diners, he has the sense to do it in his head, thankfully.
“So, our waiter?” Carlos hasn’t even fully settled into his seat when the questioning begins. He doesn’t mind, though.
“So, how long have you two been dating?” Carlos nearly spits out his water at this one. Okay, so maybe he does have the odd limitation if he wishes to not spontaneously combust while in public.
~
October 2022
The blush never leaves his cheeks, and he doesn’t mind one bit.
The air in the park is unseasonably cool and crisp.
It’s thinking weather , as Carlos likes to call it. It’s easier for him to zone out on the world as it exists around him, focusing far too much on the circus monkey clashing cymbals inside his brain.
Carlos doesn’t normally cut through the park on his regular run route – but he decides to do it today for the simple sake of trying something new. He’s been doing this a lot lately, much to everyone’s surprise.
He slows from a steady run into a leisurely walking pace as he moves through, trying to take in the scenery, the beautiful shrubbery so painstakingly cared for.
Carlos is in the park for no more than thirty seconds when Piñon pulls on the leash, trying with all of his might to get closer to a nearby pack of dogs.
“Hey!” An all-too-familiar voice calls out to him. “Hey, can you please keep your dog closer? Mine are giving me trouble this morning. …Oh, Carlos? I didn’t know you had a dog.”
Lando.
Carlos would recognize that voice anywhere – a good thing, given how often they run into each other.
“You never asked.” Carlos’s voice is gruff and still recovering from his run, but with a playful edge, as best as he can manage while still out of breath.
Lando laughs, and Carlos could melt into a puddle at his feet with the sound. It’s beauty realised, an angel in real life.
“I guess I deserved a bit of mockery today.”
Carlos rolls his eyes and the conversation comes to a standstill, though it’s comfortable, especially when out in the open air.
“So, all of these dogs are yours?” Carlos asks, wanting to fill the silence, as comfortable as it is.
“Oh fuck no, I could never have this many. I live in an actual shoe-box of a flat; it’s ridiculous.” Lando scoffs, looking down and kicking the dirt at his feet.
“So you are a dog walker then, is there anything you do not do?”
“You.” Carlos looks up and they lock eyes with each other just as realisation hits Lando, and the colour drains from his face.
“This has been great but I’m going to… I’m just going to go.”
As quickly as he’s entered Carlos’s life, he watches a red-faced Lando sprint away from him, getting tangled in a mess of leashes and fur.
“Lando?” Carlos calls out. Lando flinches, and Carlos knows he’s still in earshot, though he doesn’t turn around.
-
“I only work Wednesday nights here.”
Carlos hopes this is true.
He crosses the threshold and it feels final, like he’s making a choice or giving a grand gesture.
The pub is more crowded than the last time he’d been in. A quick scan across the room and there's no sign of the boy with curly hair and an awkward laugh and dimples and a smile that Carlos is so utterly gone for.
Carlos is just about to leave when he hears a clattering of dishes hitting against each other. He looks up to see Lando carrying a crate of dishes out from the kitchen area, setting them down abruptly and letting them clang together.
Pubs are venues meant for good times with friends, or for the sad and lonely. Perhaps, Carlos thinks, they exist for a third group.
The hopeful.
A band plays their songs over on the corner stage, singing their hearts out to a crowd of only a few, but they relish in the praise. The hope is there, in the way they believe so earnestly that they’ll be one of the lucky ones – the ones who make it out and past the weight of small-town expectations.
The hope is present in the couple sitting next to each other on one side of a booth. They both giggle at something that likely isn’t even funny and their nervous energy is clear, yet the spark between them is clear; it keeps them going.
Carlos sees himself in the two of them. His hope is present in the paralysing fear that Lando will turn him away, or laugh at him. Carlos remembers how they met though, when he was too blinded by the hurt he was feeling to see the goodness that was all around him.
His hope is present because it’s a Wednesday and it’s the 5th of the month, which he chooses to believe is inherently lucky.
Most of all, it’s present in the way that across a crowded room, Lando stares into his eyes like they’re the only ones he wishes to see for the rest of his days.
Carlos pinches himself, and discovers he isn’t dreaming.
“What are you doing here?” Lando asks when Carlos finally sits down at the bar.
“I live on the other end of the city,” Carlos pauses for a moment, thinking carefully of what he wants to say next. “There is a bar less than 5 minutes from my house, but I drove 45 minutes to get here. What do you think I’m doing here?”
“I’m working, Carlos.”
“And? What time will you be off?” Carlos has seen the hours of operation posted outside and online, and there’s a large sign right behind Lando that says last call is 11pm.
Lando follows Carlos’s gaze and looks at the last call sign – it isn’t lost on him that Carlos already has a hint of an answer at minimum.
“12:30, I’ll be out of here by then.”
“Could we go for dinner when you are finished with your shift? I’m sure there will be at least a few places open.” Carlos asks as he shrugs off his jacket, choosing to hold it in his lap.
“I mean, sure, but – why did you take your jacket off? Carlos, it’s 7:30; you can’t wait here that long.”
“I will go and come back if you would like, but I’d like to stay.” Carlos insists, and Lando’s confusion only grows.
“Why?”
“Because I want to.” Carlos answers so effortlessly, the reason so simple to him.
“Why though; you barely know me?” Lando’s voice is quieter than Carlos has ever heard before, barely discernible over the music being played.
“Ahh, yes. But I would like to, if you will let me.”
Lando stares at him with hope of his own, but chronically cautious. He breaks when his attention is called for behind the kitchen doors, giving Carlos a short, single nod.
Carlos watches as Lando leaves and comes back a moment later with more glasses. His back is turned; Carlos can’t see around him to determine exactly what he’s doing with the various bottles he pulls. A minute later, he sets a coaster down on the bar top and presents Carlos with a drink.
“It’s just a mocktail; if we’re going out later you aren’t allowed to be drunk.” Lando explains, leaving no room for arguments as he goes off to serve other patrons.
“Ay, ay, captain.” Carlos does a mental salute to Lando and takes a sip of his drink.
Carlos sits patiently, watching Lando as he works. He switches between playing on his phone, people watching, and making eyes with Lando.
Many leave as the hours pass. True to his word, Carlos remains.
“Do you want me to get rid of him?” Carlos thinks it's the cook that whispers this in Lando’s ear. He makes a mental note to thank him one day, for looking out for Lando.
“I’m good; he’s good to stay while I clean up. Go home, I promise.” Lando claps him on the shoulder and pushes him away.
The mystery worker eyes him warily as he moves past.
“Who are you?” He asks.
“Carlos Sainz, it is nice to meet you.” Carlos, ever the gentleman, holds out his right hand to shake with the man.
“Daniel? He’s not a serial killer, I don’t think, anyway. He’s taking me on a date, okay? Please just leave. I promise, I will be fine.” Lando begs, hoping it will be enough to persuade.
Daniel shakes Carlos’s hand, gripping firmly, his fingernails digging in for just a moment. An unspoken threat, a promise to always protect Lando – to keep him safe.
Carlos is happy to know that Lando has people looking out for him.
Soon they are alone, the doors locked. No music or chatter to fill the space – just the two of them.
Lando sweeps and Carlos mops, the two working silently but in perfect tandem.
Carlos sits again during the rest of the closing duties. He wonders if Lando is going for a personal record for how quickly he moves – something he mentions to Lando as the man is counting the cash in the register.
“I want to get out of here; do you know what it’s been like for me to have you sitting there all night? Hell.” Carlos is worried for a moment, before Lando continues. “Wanted you all to myself, is all.”
It’s a nice feeling – to feel wanted.
“Where do we go from here?” Carlos asks as Lando finishes locking up, pulling hard on the handle to ensure it remains closed.
“There's a place just down the road; they close in a few hours, I think.”
They’re walking for all of thirty seconds when Lando’s hand finds his way into Carlos’s. By the time they reach the end of the city block, Lando’s body is pressed firmly against Carlos – keeping each other warm and protected against the bitter wind of the night.
“Lando? Mate, is that you?” The lone employee calls out to them as soon as they’re in through the doors - like he’s welcoming them home.
“Oh, I work here too.” Lando says when he turns and the confusion is written clear across Carlos’s face.
“Ah, really?”
“No you muppet, I’m pulling your leg.”
“Why do English people have all of these weird phrases? You are not pulling on my legs?”
-
“So… What are we supposed to talk about?” Lando asks as they sit, waiting for their food.
They sit next to each other in one side of a booth. Carlos can’t help but think back to the young couple from earlier – he was too busy focusing on Lando to pay attention to the others, to see if their date went well.
“I do not know? I mean, I’m clearly probably not good at this.”
Lando takes a swig of his milkshake as he ponders. “I mean, we’ve talked to each other before with no issue? Don’t know why it’s different now.”
“Is it because this is a date?”
“Is that what we’re calling this?” Lando toys with his straw, suddenly trying hard to be more focused on it rather than Carlos.
“Your friend gave us one milkshake and two straws. I think this is a date, yes.” Carlos pointedly sticks the other straw into the glass, taking a sip for himself.
“Well then, still. What do we even talk about?”
“I wish to get to know you.” Carlos will say it over and over; it’ll always remain true.
“What do you wish to know?”
“Tell me about your jobs.”
“Like, why I have so many? Fuck, I don’t even need them all. I just could never decide what I wanted to do with my life, y’know?” Lando fidgets as he speaks, tearing the straw wrapper to shreds in the process. “Could never decide what I wanted to be when I grow up.”
“You never wanted to settle; it didn’t feel right?” Carlos fills in the blank space Lando left, hoping it’s the answer Lando was looking for.
“Yes!” Lando nods eagerly, launching into a rant that sounds more like a resume – it is good, Carlos supposes, for getting to know him.
“Fuck, sorry. I’m kind of a horrible date.” Lando winces at his actions, scratching the back of his neck and looking apologetic.
Carlos shakes his head, smiling softly. “I like listening to you talk.”
“Yeah? You’ll settle for this?”
“It wouldn’t be settling.”
~
June 2023
Carlos is a patient man, waiting his entire life for a moment like this. To be standing at the end of an aisle, waiting for the great love of his life to walk down to meet him.
This time he doesn’t bother with a warning for his parents not to make fun of him. He makes no effort to hide the tears, either.
It’s a hopeless cause, a waste of time and energy to pretend like he won’t turn into a sobbing emotional wreck the moment he lays eyes on his Lando.
Carlos waits for the signal that it's time for the ceremony to begin, for them to walk down the aisle together. It’s silly and unnecessary, but something they agreed early on would be fun.
He hears commotion around the corner, and his eyes water again, knowing who is waiting for him.
Lando appears around the corner and moves to take his hand, first pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at the tears on Carlos’s face.
“You ready?” Lando asks. Carlos nods, not trusting his voice at first. He clears his throat to speak as they turn the corner, hand in hand, the processional music starting to play.
“Always.”
-
“You have ten minutes before they will come looking for you, I promise. Use it wisely.” Caco pushes Carlos and Lando into a supply closet, sending a wink their way before letting the door come to a close.
“That was weird.”
“Amor, I think he is just looking out for us. It is nice, yes? We won’t get a moment to ourselves for hours now. Can I kiss you again?” Carlos asks, holding just short of Lando’s lips until he gets a nod.
Lando gasps when they finally part, holding his palm against Carlos's chest to steady himself.
“It’s kinda weird, isn’t it? Right back where we started.” Lando motions to the room, his hands eventually coming to rest on Carlos's waist, pulling him closer.
“I guess you are right.” Carlos leaves it at this, no need to say more. Now is not the time nor place to bring up the more painful details of their last experience in the closet – they have each other now just as they did then, and it is enough.
They sink into one another’s embrace, holding each other and swaying slightly back and forth. No music to guide them – and no need for it, either.
“As creepy as Caco was about it, it’s nice.” Lando mumbles as he pulls back slightly from Carlos's hold.
He smooths the material that had crinkled on his suit, and relaxes into his husband’s embrace once more.
He’ll thank Caco later for the opportunity – to have a moment for their eyes only, before continuing on to the reception to entertain all of their guests.
While their family members mingle not even twenty feet from where they stand, Carlos and Lando slow dance, breathing in the moment.
Lando hugs Carlos tight, never wanting to let go. He glances to his right out of the tiny window in the closet door and sees their parents; talking and laughing amongst each other.
They both feel blessed, to know that everyone gets to bear witness to their love. Or, at least those who matter most to them will.
“Can I say something?” Lando asks; Carlos hums to show he’s listening.
“I know we said that we wouldn’t mention her today, because our love isn’t about her.” Lando starts, letting out a squeak when Carlos pokes him, tickling right along his ribs.
“When did you get so soft?” Carlos asks, thinking himself to be a hypocrite here.
“Can I finish, please? I want to thank her, is all. She fucked up the greatest thing in her life, and now it’s the greatest thing in mine.”
“You do really like living in my house, yes. I am glad.” Carlos narrowly avoids the hand Lando tries to smack him with.
“Will you- can I please just have my moment here?”
Carlos shuts his mouth, knowing better than to interrupt him again.
“You are the one that got away. And before you say ‘but Laaaaando, she’s the one that left me,’ I don’t care. I’m just really glad you’re mine.”
“I am glad that you worked ten million jobs and that I seemed to run into you at every single one of them.”
“I couldn’t settle on a job, but at least I’m settling down with you.” Lando points out.
“I love you too.”