Chapter Text
Carlos should’ve known better than to write them in the first place.
It started as a stupid coping mechanism. A way to purge the impossible emotions knotted in his chest. He couldn’t talk to anyone about it—not when the people he loved most were the very ones he shouldn’t have loved at all. Not like this. Not in that aching, burning, all-consuming way.
So he wrote.
Eight letters. One for each of them.
Lando. Charles. Max. Oscar. George. Daniel. Alex. And George again, because apparently, Carlos had more feelings than could fit into just one attempt at sounding sane.
They weren’t meant to be read.
Hell, they weren’t even meant to be good.
Most of them were messy, rambling confessions written late at night in hotel rooms and unfamiliar apartments, fueled by adrenaline and quiet loneliness.
They said things like:
“I still think about that night in Monaco when you fell asleep on my shoulder. I was too afraid to move.”
“If you had kissed me that day in the rain, I wouldn’t have stopped you.”
“You make me laugh when I forget how to breathe.”
Carlos folded each letter neatly, addressed it by name, and tucked them into a small wooden box he hid beneath his bed. A graveyard of feelings he’d never let escape.
Until today.
Ollie Bearman wasn’t supposed to find them. But of course he did. Because Ollie was like a duckling with curly hair and an energy drink addiction, and ever since Carlos had taken him under his wing as a paddock son, the boy had made it his mission to poke around every inch of his life.
Carlos had warned him. Multiple times.
“Don’t touch my stuff,” he’d said just that morning before heading to a training session.
“Which stuff specifically?” Ollie had asked.
“All of it.”
And Ollie, with the world’s most unconvincing smile, had said: “Got it. Totally safe. I’ll just sit here. Read. Chill.”
Two hours later, the letters were gone.
………………
Ollie meant well. Really.
He’d stumbled upon the box while looking for a charger (or maybe snacks—he didn’t remember).
It was tucked away, filled with sealed, hand-written envelopes addressed in Carlos’s precise scrawl.
He thought they were unsent thank-you notes or some kind of sentimental tradition. He even thought, how soft is this man, writing letters for his friends?
So, naturally, he decided to help.
A little surprise. A push. Something kind.
He packaged them up and dropped them in the nearest outgoing mailbox.
Even added a few smiley face stickers. Just for flair.
He was so proud of himself, he texted Carlos a photo of the empty box with the caption:
“Did a good thing today 🧡✉️🐥 ”
Carlos didn’t check his phone until he got home.
The scream that left his mouth could’ve shattered glass.
He read the message three times, then opened the photo.
No. No, no, no, no—
Papa Sainz : “OLLIE WHAT DID YOU DO.”
Duckling Ollie: “the letters. i sent them for u. they looked important 🥹 ”
Papa Sainz : “THOSE WEREN’T FOR ANYONE TO SEE.”
Duckling Ollie: “…they had names?? and envelopes??”
Papa Sainz : “I’M GOING TO DIE.”
Carlos threw himself onto his bed, face buried in his pillow, heartbeat thundering like a race start.
Eight letters. Seven men.
All now hurtling toward heartbreak. Confusion. Possibly restraining orders.
His phone buzzed again. Ollie, bless him, had no idea of the war he’d just launched.
Duckling Ollie: “you okay? i made tea :D”
Carlos didn't answer. He stared up at the ceiling instead, counting all the ways his life was about to unravel.
…………………
Meanwhile, across the world:
Max pulled a letter from his mailbox and frowned.
Handwritten. Spanish postmark.
He opened it.
By the second paragraph, his jaw clenched.
By the third, he stood up so fast his chair toppled.
He didn’t crumple the letter.
He folded it carefully, with trembling fingers.
………………….
The envelope was cream-colored and slightly smudged, his name in Carlos’s exact handwriting.
Charles sat down on the couch, heart already thudding before he even opened it.
His hands shook. He knew—he knew—this was no ordinary letter.
And then he read:
“You were my first crash. Not on track—emotionally. You made me feel things I didn’t understand at the time. And I still don’t. Every time you smile at me, it feels like I’m standing on the edge of something dangerous, and all I want is to jump.”
Charles let out a quiet breath.
“Carlos…” he whispered, clutching the paper.
All those stolen glances. All the times he’d brushed it off as just… warmth. Friendship.
Now it wasn’t.
He blinked hard.
Does this change everything?
…………………..
Lando read his letter in his hoodie, still smelling like Carlos from their last flight together.
Halfway through his cereal, his eyes locked on the line:
“You’re the one I laugh with the most. But sometimes, laughing with you feels like crying in reverse. Like I’m hiding what I really want to say behind a joke.”
Lando nearly dropped the bowl.
The smile on his face faded completely.
“I thought we were just—banter. Silly moments. Teasing. I didn’t know it meant something to him.”
His hands were cold.
The line that undid him?
“If I ever kissed you, I think I’d forget every bad thing that ever happened to me.”
He didn’t touch his cereal again.
……………..
Daniel laughed out loud when he opened it—until he got to the part that said:
“You were always my ‘what if.’ And that scares me more than anything.”
He stopped laughing.
Daniel sat on the floor.
The paper trembled in his grip.
He remembered every long hug, every lingering goodbye, every ‘mate’ that had felt like a confession.
“I couldn’t handle you leaving. So I never asked you to stay.”
…………….
Oscar’s reaction was pure silence.
He sat at his desk, reading it once. Then again. Then a third time.
“You are calm in ways I never learned how to be. You make me feel safe. And that terrifies me, because I’m not used to gentle things lasting.”
Oscar’s throat closed.
He remembered quiet nights post-race, Carlos letting his fingers trail across his wrist.
Carlos driving him to dinner in total silence, and yet it never felt awkward.
He felt seen. More than he ever had.
“If I let myself love you, I’d never let go.”
Then held it to his chest.
………………
George opened the first letter, lips pressed into a line.
“You are infuriating. You drive me insane. But I’ve never been so intellectually attracted to someone before. You challenge me in every way. It makes me feel alive.”
George laughed softly—dry, nervous.
Then he opened the second.
“I wrote this one later. Because the first was all bravado, and this one’s the truth. You make me want to stop pretending everything’s fine. I think if I let myself cry in front of you, you’d hold me without needing to fix it. I think that’s love.”
That one undid him.
……………
Alex read his letter twice before reacting.
Then he got up, paced, sat down again.
“You are light. You are sunshine and softness and I didn’t think I deserved someone as good as you. I still don’t.”
Alex’s heart ached.
He had always felt peripheral—watching others fall in love, play out dramas.
Carlos had made him feel… wanted.
“When you sit next to me in silence, it feels like a prayer. Like I’m being told I matter, even without speaking.”
…………….
And back in Madrid, Carlos Sainz lay on his back, pillow over his face, praying the earth would swallow him whole.
His heart had finally spoken.
And now… he’d have to live with the answer.
Others : Speechless. Changed. Curious. Hurting. Wanting.
..........
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
FOR MORE FICS OF MINE VISIT: https://riavolkov.stck.me/
AND MORE...
okay listen. LISTEN. i don’t know what came over me but i suddenly thought… what if carlos sainz had a lara jean moment. like. what if he was soft and sentimental and full of unspoken yearning and decided to write 8 (YES EIGHT, HE IS A MESS) love letters to all the beautiful men who ruined him (affectionately). and what if he never meant for them to see the light of day. and what if ollie bearman, sweet summer child, decided to “help” and just… mailed them. like a mailman of chaos.
yes. this is that story.
i’m unwell. i wanted drama. i wanted angst. i wanted carlos sainz crying in a garage corner because all his situationships think he played them (he didn’t! he’s just cursed with feelings!!). also i wanted max to be feral, lando to be petty, charles to be extra, george to have a spreadsheet of his heartbreak, oscar to look like a betrayed victorian ghost, daniel to cry and giggle at the same time, and alex to be the voice of reason but also a little bit feral.
this is me craving my jenny han ‘to all the boys i’ve loved before’ energy .....but make it f1. make it poly. make it ✨carlos-is-the-center-of-the-universe✨
anyway buckle up babes. chapter one is delusional and emotional and SO FULL OF FEELINGS.
love you byeee 💌💌💌
— RIA <3
p.s. ollie did NOTHING wrong he is a BABY