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Lando wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, it was late but as usual he was also running late.
He needed to leave early to head to Baku, but instead he was distracted by the new season of Ted Lasso, finding himself holed up on the sofa. A very rare glass of wine in hand while listening to the English spring rain battering the windows. The solace this moment offered him almost made him want to never return to racing and to stay exactly like this. He couldn’t quite remember the last time he was content in his own company, happy to just sit on his own sofa alone.
He was always chasing the next thing, desperate to be busy, with LN4 and Quadrant he was never without something, anything to do. If he was busy he didn’t need to think, to feel.
With only six hours until he needed to be at the airport, Lando found himself rummaging around in the bottom of his wardrobe for his hold-all beginning to haphazardly throw his belongings inside. God knows what was coming to Azerbaijan with him, he would never learn to get ahead, to be prepared.
He unzips the side pocket ready to put his phone charger inside but his hand halts to a stop as it makes contact with something smooth and cold. Pulling his hand out, he looks at the small brown pebble, smooth and a perfect circle resting in his palm.
And then it all comes rushing back, the seaside escape he took with his teammate, well ex teammate now.
The wind was biting, he was frozen stiff his hands firmly in his pockets, a Mclaren wooly bobble hat hiding his windswept and unruly curls. His eyes were streaming, the wind and the salty air battering them as they walked across the beach. For the middle of December it was overcast and freezing as expected, he felt an ebb of guilt for dragging Carlos along with him, waxing lyrical about the beauty of the Jurassic Coast, only to feel like they were about to freeze to death on the sand.
But Carlos had gone off in front, his first English seaside experience and he was in his element while dipping the toe of his welly into the rock pools looking for fossils. His face was a picture of animated joy as he watched families walking their dogs on the beach, bounding off into the sea coming out shivering and covered in a thick layer of sand.
Lando was mesmerised looking out across the water, the calming rush of the waves washing over him as Carlos came up beside him holding his closed fist out. Reluctantly pulling his hands out his warm pockets, Lando extends his hand to feel a tiny little pebble popped onto it. He couldn’t help but grin at the older man, holding the pebble tightly in his fist inside his pocket for the remainder of the walk.
Looking into the older man’s eyes, he could see a glint of something else, something just for him. He was forever hopeful Carlos would reciprocate even an inch of the same feelings, and sometimes he put on a convincing act.
His heart was beating double time threatening to pound out of his chest as he followed Carlos down the beach, he was undoubtably in love with his teammate. It was futile to pretend, pleading naive ignorance with himself one too many times that it was just a harmless crush.
He began to wonder if a holiday with Carlos was actually masquerading as torture instead of something he had longer for.
The Spaniard looked incandescent nestled into the plush chair next to the fire, the countryside pub they’d stumbled into was the perfect respite to the freezing weather. The warm glow could only enhance his rich features, his deep chocolate eyes and caramel brown hair radiant.
Lando had just managed to extract some of his many layers as the inferno next to him began to thaw him out, his hands resembled ice cubes as he reached forward for his pint. It wasn’t his usual drink of choice but when in Rome, or well when surrounded with burly men drinking pints he opted for the safe choice.
Carlos was transfixed watching two small children playing at his feet next to their table, their shrill hysterical laughter making it impossible not to smile while watching them, but Lando couldn’t tear his eyes away from the older man. He was undeniably gorgeous yes, but watching his joy at the two small boys playing at his feet made him more attractive tenfold.
He was almost irritatingly kind Lando thought to himself whilst sipping his pint, the smooth cold liquid sliding down his throat bringing him back to reality.
He’d very rarely seen Carlos possess such a fond expression, usually neutral and stoic but the gentle gaze which had washed over his features had Lando’s heart in his throat. Lando had only been privy to this expression a handful of times, but the memory of each time was etched into his mind. His favourite was always when the gaze was for him and only him.
The first time Carlos had looked at him, really looked at him Lando wondered if he had died and gone to heaven. Lando had got his first podium, as as he stood on the stage under the Austrian sun, Carlos glanced up at him with pride beaming.
He felt like his knees were about to buckle, his hands shaking with the mix of the adrenaline from his P3 finish and his team mates gentle expression.
He truly realised he was in trouble when he felt a greater sense of pride for making Carlos proud of him than actually getting his first podium. It was all for Carlos, always.
But on the flip side, it was also the way Carlos had looked at him as he sat him down to break the news to him, reaching across to squeeze his knee as the involuntary tears began to brim as he furiously blinked them away.
Carlos was leaving the familiar papaya to the fury of Ferrari, and while he was so happy for him, he’d never known anyone deserve it more but, he wondered if this was what divorce felt like.
The betrayal ran deeper, Carlos wasn’t just leaving McLaren for a new venture, a better venture he was leaving Lando for a more lovable, attractive team mate. Of course Lando liked Daniel, he was fun, loveable, a good solid teammate but, but it wasn’t the same.
Naively he hoped, prayed that the dull void would be filled as Daniel settled into his papaya polo shirt, that his feelings were normal for teammates he just didn’t know anything different yet but Carlos was beginning to become irreplaceable.
It felt like every single one of his ribs was cracked open and his heart slowly torn out of his chest, leaving him hollow and empty.
And now sitting across from the Ferrari driver, he looked older, more distinguished after his first season. He was beginning to morph into a poster child, the chunky black watch adorning his wrist, even his aftershave smelt luxurious and expensive. His excitement to be here with Carlos was palpable, he’d missed him more than he’d ever believed it was possible to miss another person, but he felt like he’d been frozen in time.
He was almost giddy when his phone chimed with a text from Carlos letting him know he’d ‘love to join him’ on the getaway and he was ‘excited for them to catch up’.
As the season ended, the younger man decided he needed to escape, to getaway, and in an out of character brave moment he invited Carlos along with him before swiftly throwing his phone across the room.
He ignored the raised eyebrow from Max from the other side of their streaming room, he didn’t want to hear it, he was more perceptive than Lando had ever given him credit for.
After one of their streams Max had carefully broached the subject of his and Carlos’ relationship, Lando knew it was coming. He’d learnt to block Max out and as he packed their equipment away and made sure everything was turned off he took no notice of Max. The words ‘you’re in love with him’ and ‘you need to move on mate’ fluttered around the room, taunting him.
Now, Lando really didn’t need to hear this. Pausing for a second before spinning on his heel, his tight lipped PR smile painted across his lips as his usual stock answer tumbled from them ‘we’re just mates’.
And what hurt the most, was that it was the truth. They were just mates.
He was right where Carlos had left him, he wondered if he was just a well trained pet sitting, watching waiting for their owner to return to them. Always trapped behind the glass, never quite able to reach him.
It felt oddly domestic for Lando, almost like a date. They’d never done something casual and effortless together, usually a game of golf which screams nothing more than platonic buddies hanging out. But something about their winter walk on the beach and sitting in the pub together just the two of them felt like more, special.
Introducing Carlos to a little pocket of his world, a snippet of the holidays he partook in as a child, it was like combining his new love to his memories, his nostalgia.
He was desperate to indulge himself, to allow himself to get used to this. To having Carlos by his side away from the paddock and racing, just being Carlos and Lando but, his heart was already in agony he wasn’t sure it could handle being wounded any further. Carlos’ interactions with the two little boys was ingrained into his heart, it was too easy to imagine a future. Way too easy.
And as the day went on, the two of them under the same blanket on the sofa of their shared airbnb, his legs slung over the older man’s lap while watching a mindless comedy film, his heart was ready to burst.
The glow of the television casting shadows on the Spaniards face as his hand runs up and down and Lando’s leg, absentmindedly.
His skin was tingling under the older man’s touch, his blood was electric. Carlos had always been handsy; a hug, a touch on the elbow or his hand on his lower back.
Lando loved it.
He’d never been one for physical affection, blanching away from Daniel as he attempted to pull him into a hug at their first official meeting at McLaren and learning to grin and bare Zak’s American affections.
It was different with Carlos, he’d take anything he had to offer. Drinking in his touch, preserving the feeling of the Spaniards firm hands on his skin. Always remembering them as he lay in various hotel rooms across the globe, Carlos was his base. His home.
His world was spinning on its axis as he lowers himself onto the bed, it had been five months since their trip. He’d tried harder than ever to repress it, to pretend that it had never happened. But it had, and whilst Lando loved, no adored every single minute it had nothing more than twist the knife in his already battered heart.
His meeting with Zak yesterday had only confirmed everyone knew he was gone for Carlos as the cheerful American gently suggested Lando find himself a ‘pretty girlfriend’. Coupled with his usual cheerful grin and a reassuring clap on the back he knew Zak was serious, that he wanted Lando to stop pining. Wild horses couldn’t make him go on a date.
It wasn't happening.
He knew he was pitiful, that it was clear as day he was in love with his ex teammate but for the first time ever he really didn’t care. There was no use in the denial now, it was too late. Two years too late.
Sliding his phone out of the pockets of his joggers, the time displayed shows him it’s 1:37am. He knows Carlos is tucked up in bed, of course he is but the desire to hear his deep throaty voice is overwhelming. It was an hour ahead in Maranello, he had the time difference ingrained to memory.
Maybe it was finally time to bare all, to open his heart. The pebble still tightly clasped in his closed fist, he wondered if maybe it was time to fess up to the worst kept secret in the paddock.
He was trapped in a liminal state between realities, the before when Carlos was by his side and the after when he was a vision in red. He needed to be free.
With one deep breath, he clicks the call button. And with three rings, Carlos answers, awoken from his slumber.
This is it, ‘Hi love, umm, I’m sorry it’s so late’ he begins.
The time is now for me and you.