Chapter Text
One month has felt impossibly long when you are grieving. It felt like a whole year.
The house felt suffocatingly still, even though Carlos had been around once in a while, staying with him because he felt the need to. George did not have enough energy to tell him to go away, and that he’d be fine. Either way, the hush clung to him the most in the worst ways. Words seemed incomprehensible. What could they say, anyway? What solace could they offer each other that would make the world feel any less broken?
George hadn’t been able to look at the bed they’d shared several times when the sorrow was still fresh, nor the small empty room he had left undecorated and untouched for the baby that never came. It was left as it is, and every time he passed by it, he was reminded of everything that had been lost.
Carlos moved around the house quietly, probably most of the time, he seemed like he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t speak to him, maybe because he wanted to give him the freedom he needed. He’d never ask if he wanted to eat or drink anything because the answer would always be the same, or, in most cases, no answer would come at all. But even then, he still brought things when he thought he might need them. A mug of tea here, a warm blanket there, a plate of eggs that George never touched — trying his best to create some semblance of normalcy in the space. Most days, Carlos would sit beside him on the couch, sometimes close enough to feel the warmth of his body, though not far enough to invade.
George never seemed to mind, so Carlos didn’t ponder it too extensively. He’d just sit there and stare into the hearth for hours. Never reaching for anything, nor for food, nor comfort, nor touch. He simply existed. Some day, he’d stare out the window, watching the rainfall in sheets, but he never moved to close the curtains, no matter how many times he thought the rain bothered him.
“Do you want me to make something?” Carlos asked, standing a few feet away from him.
George blinked once and dropped his gaze at the glass of water he’d placed on the counter, unfinished. “No…” his voice sounded so hoarse from days of being unused, “I just… I don’t know what to do with myself.” It felt like he had lost his objective in life. He couldn’t go back to racing, not in this condition. There were still too many shattered glass pieces for him to pick up to rebuild himself. And yet, every time, the fragments would cut his hand and he’d be left bleeding all over again.
There was a time when he stopped sleeping altogether. The exhaustion was beginning to show in the dark circles under his eyes and in the way he moved as though his limbs were weighed down by more than just grief. He’d lie awake on his bed because his body would feel too heavy for him to move. Like the weight of the whole world pressed down on him. His eyes stared at the ceiling with an unfocused gaze. His fingers traced the edge of the blanket, picking at the fabric in a rhythmic and absent gesture. And eventually, he’d push the covers off himself and walk out to the kitchen where the kettle would be waiting. The water felt warm against his hands as he poured it into a mug, the steam rising in thin, curling tendrils. Then, he’d bring the water to the porch outside, where he’d sit on the old wooden chair, staring out into the sprawling yard for an hour before he pushed himself to take those few steps to the stone wall at the edge of the property and stood there for another few minutes. Letting the chill of the air press against his cold skin. Grounding himself in the serenity of the land. When his legs felt too weary to stand, he’d retreat inside into his room, shutting the door close.
George would repeat this pattern for several days, and Carlos had no say in it. At least he’d be outside, though the dark clouds never did make him look generous. But Carlos still called it an improvement. Unfortunately, he couldn’t be here all the time to see that progress. He still had a few more races he needed to attend, points to take home at least, because Max’s Red Bull was still faster than any car on the grid.
As Carlos zipped up his bag and stood to gather his things, he hesitated for just a moment before turning to the kitchen, where George was sitting, watching him with an unreadable expression. “George?”
“Yeah?” George managed with a voice barely a whisper.
“I’m leaving in an hour,” Carlos neared the kitchen with hesitant steps. “Are you going to be okay? Being here alone?”
George stared at the table for a moment, gathering his own scattered thoughts. This wasn’t the first time Carlos would be leaving—Singapore, Japan, Qatar—this was just going to be another triple header. “I don’t know. I’ve been… okay. I guess.”
Carlos took a slow step and stood behind him, also making sure to leave some space between them. “If you need me, just… let me know. Text me if something’s wrong, okay? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
George swallowed, feeling the pressure of the words sitting heavy in his chest, but nodded slowly. “I’ll be okay.” The words always felt untrue once he said them.
***
He never knew how to face Carlos every time he returned.
It felt unreal every moment his car pulled up the gravel driveway, the rumble of the engine echoed through the stillness of the house, which made George still in the kitchen. His hands were suddenly uncertain of what to do with themselves as they paused from moving. The door creaked open, and Carlos brought in the scent of fresh air as he entered. His figure was framed by the dim light of the late evening. He looked the same, if not slightly worn out.
“Hey,” Carlos said with a small, tired smile.
“Hey…” George replied. The words felt a little more awkward than usual. He watched the other set down his bags by the door and take out his coat to hang by the door, before he was heading towards the kitchen.
“Everything alright? You look better. You’re… doing okay?” Carlos asked carefully, like he always had been. Like George was always something fragile.
“I’m better,” George managed to answer after a moment. “I’ve just been… getting by.”
Carlos nodded with a sigh, “That’s great.” He looked around the house again, unsure what else to say. They never really talked much.
George looked down, suddenly remembering what he had been doing earlier by the stove. “Tea?”
“Sure. I’m going to wash up first, though.”
“Okay… I’ll wait.”
***
George had been drinking his tea by the fire, curled into the corner of the couch with a blanket over his legs, when Carlos returned from a grocery run.
“I brought that oil for the back door hinge,” Carlos said as he passed by the living room to put down the grocery bags on the counter.
George’s eyes flicked up briefly. “You come all this way to play handyman?”
“Better than standing around awkwardly. Your stare intimidates me sometimes.”
“That’s good to know.”
Carlos opened the cabinet beneath the sink where he knew the toolbox would be and started getting to work. He brought it out and headed to the back door, only later realising George had followed behind him, crossing his arms, with his judgemental stare. He crouched down and worked in silence, applying the oil and flexing the hinge until the groan of the metal eased into a smooth, clean swing. “Should’ve done this weeks ago,” he muttered while testing the latch.
“I got used to the sound,” George murmured from behind him.
“It used to wake you up at night,” Carlos glanced at him once, seeing the other looking away this time with a shrug.
“It’s quiet now, anyway.” He stood, wiped his fingers on a rag, and lingered in the open doorway. The wind carried a chill that hinted at the season changing, and he watched George step outside for a bit before turning back in. “You’re staying until Vegas?”
“If that’s alright.”
“Okay. It’s alright.”
***
They found themselves in the kitchen together more often than they admitted.
The kettle clicked off, and Carlos was about to reach for it when George got there first, grumbling, “I can pour my own tea.” He didn’t mean to be mad about it. And Carlos only stood back, watching the others’ hands that still shook faintly. It used to tremble with such violence. He still remembered when George once had a mug slip out of his fingers, causing the rim to chip, which he was still using to this day.
They spend quiet times at the kitchen table together more often than either of them wants to notice. Mugs stood between them with steam curling upward. The kitchen smelled like Chamomile and lemon, George’s favourite recently.
“I went out past the stone wall yesterday,” George spoke suddenly, “Thought I heard something in the woods. Was nothing there.”
“Must be the foxes again.” Carlos did remember seeing a few of them at the edge of the trees, watching their cottage from afar, if it had offended them.
“Yeah.”
He took another sip of his drink and asked, “You still walk out there?”
George nodded once with a low hum, “Not every day. It gets too loud in here occasionally.”
***
George heard the car outside and moved like clockwork, padding toward the door to swing it open, only to see Carlos’s knuckles in the air, ready to knock. “Thought I heard your car,” he only said dryly.
“I wasn’t trying to sneak in,” Carlos muttered and winced a bit when the thunder growled outside. It had started to rain, though not heavily, and he got caught in it on his way here. “Brought food, by the way,” he lifted the bag in his hand.
George stepped aside to let him in while taking the coat from Carlos’s shoulders. He didn’t know why he felt the need to do it. Maybe he wanted his hands to be busy. Then, he followed Carlos to the kitchen to unpack the bag together. There was a jar of the local honey, some bread, a small tin of Spanish olives, and more tea bags with different flavours. “What is this, a gift basket?”
“You eat like a ghost.” Was Carlos’s answer. George almost smiled at that excuse.
When Carlos wanted to leave the next day, he also followed him to the door to send him off, because he wasn’t a rude person. He had manners, no matter the history between them. And just as Carlos stepped out, he said the words he’d been meaning to say a few weekends ago, “Don’t bother with souvenirs anymore.”
Carlos turned back with a slight frown. “You didn’t like them?”
“I liked them too much.” The reply made him frown deeper in confusion. He had that infamous look on his face that his fans would find endearing. George only looked away outside, where the dark clouds began to hover above them. “...Makes it harder when you go.”
He didn’t know what he meant by that, and apparently Carlos too, who only nodded quietly before walking out to leave for an event Ferrari had scheduled for him, even after the season had ended.
***
Carlos came back when it was snowing nonstop outside, carrying more of his stuff than he had brought in the past weekends. His boots crunched faintly on the path as he approached the house, his breath clouding in front of them.
George figured he’d be staying for longer this time, so he didn’t comment about it. He wrapped the blanket over his shoulders a little tighter and raised his brow at him, “You’re late. The tea’s already cold. Tragic, really.”
“Yeah, I’ll survive,” Carlos smiled with a sideways glance as he stepped in.
“I’m not making another pot.”
“You always do.”
He was right. George did end up making a new batch when Carlos came back downstairs from unpacking his things, seeing him returning from the kitchen holding two mugs of hot drinks. He gazed as George settled on the armchair this time with his feet tucked beneath him, a second hoodie layered over the first one, and the sleeves bunched past his knuckles. And the neckline kept slipping, showing the sharp ridge of his collarbone; he didn’t even bother to tug it up. But Carlos looked away before he could stare more, and sank onto the couch with his tea.
“Your porch light is still broken,” he reminded George before he could forget.
“I know,” George finally brought his hand up to tug at his hoodie to cover his neck, “I prefer to keep the house looking haunted. Keeps the nosy villagers away.”
“You’re a terrible liar. You love the old lady who brings you eggs.”
He paused, as if to consider for a minute, “She’s the only one who minds her business.”
“Her dog detests me, though.”
“Her dog despises everyone. He’s a good judge of character.”
The rhythm of these visits had become familiar to them. Soft bickering here, long silences there, and shared meals were something Carlos was beginning to like more than he admitted. He shifted his gaze over at George again, who was fidgeting with his fingers, head hanging low. “You okay?” He made sure to ask quietly.
“I don’t know. I’ve been wasted,” George nodded, then shook his head after changing his mind. “I feel like hibernating the whole winter. It’s gonna get colder after this.”
“You’ve been eating more, though, right?”
“I had toast yesterday. That’s basically a food group.”
“You know that’s not enough.”
George narrowed his eyes on him as he put down his drink and began getting comfortable on the armchair, “Don’t start mum-mode on me, Carlos. I’ll jump into the snow.” He closed his eyes, getting ready for his nap, and Carlos only watched over him before he eventually fell asleep too.
Which, he figured, was a bad idea to fall asleep half-sitting and half-slumped on the couch for a whole night. But it had been too late the moment he woke up again, with his back aching, and it was bright outside. He heard the muffled clatter of mugs and the low hum of the kettle. Still foggy with sleep, he slowly made his way to the kitchen to put away his unfinished tea earlier.
George was standing by the stove, stirring something in the pot that had a very good smell that made Carlos’s stomach grumble hungrily. His eyes caught the thick navy blue knit jumper with the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, though the clothes hung crookedly on his now-thin frame, slipping awkwardly down one shoulder. George tugged it back up without thinking.
“Morning,” Carlos grumbled sleepily, leaning in the doorway.
George glanced over his shoulder, “Didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Nope. The floor did.”
That earned the faintest smirk from him. “Could’ve taken the bed,” he poured coffee into two mismatched mugs and slid one towards Carlos on the counter.
***
There was another snowstorm outside. Raging and unkind, drifting against the windows. It muted everything around them, including the sound of the wind, the far-off sea, and even the thoughts that sometimes buzzed too loudly in George’s head, which was a good thing today. Because it’d be easier for him to read through his book without getting distracted by another depressive thought that would lead him to stare at the pages for an hour.
The fireplace crackled louder in the quiet room as Carlos put more firewood in, the ones he’d been chopping earlier this morning. It was very nice of him, George thought. The sight of Carlos wielding an axe and swinging it every time he cut the woods in half was fairly good. Or, that was just George’s lonely omega speaking. God knows it couldn’t be trusted most of the time.
“You’re concentrating very hard for someone who told me that was just ‘trash romance’,” Carlos said, not looking up from where he crouched near the fire.
George huffed and turned another page. “It is trash, but I need to know how the idiot gets himself out of this fake dating mess.” He felt Carlos’s gaze through the book he used to cover his face, like it could burn through the hundreds of pages. Soon, suddenly, he felt a second blanket draped over his legs, and he looked up from his book.
“Don’t freeze yourself again.”
“Hm. Concerned about me?”
“You know I always do.”
“Should stop by now. It’s not good for your health.”
“Well, old habits die hard.”
Carlos made his way to the back door, leaving George alone with his book and the fire until it went out. He didn’t relight it and looked outside at the thick layer of snow covering the front yard, arms folded over his chest, as Carlos’s earlier words rang in the back of his mind. He never did think too much about it. All the time Carlos had restocked the firewood, or fixed the porchlight that often went out, or bought another local honey for his tea, George just let him.
Thinking had always been too tiring for him. Not thinking was just easier.
The door creaked behind him when Carlos returned, hair a little wet from stepping outside and cheeks flushed pink from the cold. “It’s settled down. A little.” George hummed noncommittally and turned a page in his book he wasn’t reading. More footsteps neared him. “You’ve been on the same page for half an hour.”
“Are you monitoring me?”
“Come outside with me. Just for a walk, it might help clear your head.”
“It’s freezing,” George shook his head slowly and tried focusing back on his book. He’d lost the plot of the chapter a little.
Carlos waited for him still by the end of the rug, “I’ll lend you one of my coats.”
“You really think that’s the issue?”
“No,” he smiled, shaking his head a bit, “Just thinking maybe the cold will shut your brain up, you’ve been thinking too much again. I can hear your thoughts from outside.”
George ended up closing the book and grumbled, “Ten minutes. If my ears fall off, it’s your fault.”
Ten minutes would become twenty. And neither of them would notice.
***
“You coming up?” George asked with his arms crossed over his chest while waiting in the living room, where Carlos was folding a blanket.
Carlos turned, a little surprised by the question. Usually, George would just leave the door open for him. “Yeah. Just finishing this. I’ll be up in 5.” He saw the other nod, though he didn’t move and just hovered in the archway, still waiting. He looked back, “Do you want me to come now?”
“Yeah.” He blinked at the quiet insistence, the way George’s voice didn’t match his stance—arms crossed like a shield, but tone soft, almost uncertain beneath the surface. He let the folded blanket drop gently onto the back of the sofa then, and crossed the room. “Alright. Let’s go.”
George didn’t move until Carlos was close enough to brush past him in the narrow hallway. Then he turned and followed, wordless, their footsteps light on the old wood stairs. The upstairs bedroom was dim and warm, a contrast to the chill of the hallway. He went straight for the bed, climbing in and pulling the blanket over his lap.
“What is it?” Carlos hesitated by the doorway, watching at first.
“...Just don’t want to be alone tonight.”
“You should’ve just said that.” He stepped in fully then, tugging off his hoodie and dropping it onto the chair in the corner.
“I did,” George looked over at him finally, eyes a little tired, “In my own way.”
Carlos moved to the bed and climbed in beside him without another word, settling in just close enough that their shoulders touched beneath the blanket. They lay there for a while like that, shoulders barely touching, and at first, Carlos thought George had fallen asleep because his breathing was slow and his face turned toward the window. But then he shifted, just a little. “You’re still awake.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” George said quietly, still facing away.
“Want to talk?”
“…Not sure.”
“Then I’ll stay until you do.” That got a reaction, just a faint breath of laughter, or maybe disbelief.
“You always say the right thing…”
“I don’t mean to, I just don’t want to get it wrong with you.”
George swallowed, eyes suddenly too bright. “You already did, remember?”
“I know,” Carlos murmured, shutting his eyes with a sigh, “And I think about it more than you know. I remember everything, the things I did and didn’t do… I left you. That night, after everything. You needed me to stay and I—”
“—you didn’t…” George said quietly, exhaling sharply. He opened his mouth again to speak when a bitter memory resurfaced, but he paused, not really sure if he should mention the small detail or not. Things wouldn’t change if he told him now, and yet again, the memory was beginning to eat his brain the longer he left it unattended. “Did I tell you… You went feral, by the way. That night.”
Carlos looked up sharply, his face caught in a sudden, pained confusion. He didn’t know what to say at first. The words weren’t forming properly in his throat. “George, I— Okay, I don’t remember that…”
“Well, that explains it,” George’s voice started to waver and his breathing became shallow, “I didn’t realise it either, not at first. But then you stopped talking. You weren’t really there anymore. It was like something else took over. I thought you knew. You left so fast after… I thought maybe you remembered and just couldn’t face me.”
“I— Shit... I didn’t know,” Carlos’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. His mind whirled through flashes—heat, skin, breathless pressure—but there were gaps. He remembered being overwhelmed. He remembered the scent. The ache in his own body. But not this, not the point where he lost control. “I swear to you, George, I didn’t remember that happening. I— I never wanted to hurt you.”
“That’s the thing,” George murmured, voice small now. “I didn’t feel hurt, Carlos. I wasn’t even frightened. I was deep in it… my body wanted it, needed it, didn’t care how or who. You could’ve done anything, and I would’ve let you. That’s what heat does to us, doesn’t it?”
“Then, why didn’t you say anything?”
He finally lifted his gaze to look at him, expression unreadable. “Because you left...” The words landed like a blow for Carlos. “Look, I didn’t want to hate you. So I shoved it away and didn’t think about it too closely. But… it stayed anyway, and if I don’t say it now, it’s going to keep eating at me.”
Carlos’s eyes burned as he blinked rapidly to keep the tears from taking over. “I’m sorry... I swear, I never wanted—”
“I know,” George shook his head, “I’m not blaming you or anyone. I just wanted to let it out of the system...”
Carlos moved before he could think twice and gently slid his hand, sliding further until his fingers threaded between George’s. When the other didn’t flinch, he brought his hand up and pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist. Then another, lower. And he leaned in slowly, eyes searching George’s to wait for any sign of resistance: a flinch, a breath held back, anything. But George didn’t move. So, he pressed his forehead to his temple, both of them breathing the same air now, and stayed like that for a long time.
***
Carlos had to leave again when it was about time for Christmas.
He was folding his jacket slowly when he glanced over at George, who hadn’t moved from the couch where he was sitting, still wrapped in the blanket from the night before. His eyes were soft, clouded with sleep, but steady as they watched him. He knew he was leaving, had known since last night, but the reality of it stung differently now.
“You’re really going,” George said, the words more a statement than a question.
Carlos paused, his fingers resting against the zipper of his bag. “I have to. You know how it is.”
“Yeah,” George answered, his gaze lowering to his hands, fingers twitching slightly, almost as though they wanted to reach out but stopped short. “I know.”
Carlos walked over and stood in front of George, his hand moving to rest on the back of the couch. “Look, I…”
“I’ll be okay. I’ve been okay before.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I know.”
“You’ve been quieter lately…”
George shrugged and slipped out. “You’ve been warmer.” That caught Carlos off guard for a split second. George let the silence hang a beat longer, then added, “It’s different when you’re here.”
Carlos hesitated at the door, “Good different?”
“I don’t feel like I’m… sinking.”
“Then I’ll come back soon,” he said quietly, “If not before, then after the holidays. You know I’ll check in.” George knew that already.
And with that, Carlos was gone. And George, left alone in the quiet aftermath of the morning, felt both the emptiness of his absence and the slow warmth of the memories they’d made, however brief.
He wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders, a futile attempt to shield himself from the chill that settled deeper in his bones. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly. The absence of Carlos felt different from what it had been before. There was something final about it, even though Carlos had promised to check in. But he knew how things worked: Carlos was always going, always coming back, but never staying long enough. A small sigh escaped his lips as he dragged himself up from the couch, the weight of his body almost too much to carry. He walked to the window, pulling aside the curtain slightly to look outside.
The snow was still falling heavily, covering the landscape in a thick blanket of white.
“Get it together, George,” he muttered to himself, trying to break the spell of loneliness that had crept in.
***
December 26th
22:14
G: firewood ran out.
G: not urgent. just saying.
22:18
C: you want me to call the supplier?
22:20
G: i’ll do it. just saying it’s cold.
22:22
C: make sure you light the back stove too
C: it warms faster
December 27th
00:07
G: snow’s back again
(Attached: porch photo)
00:10
C: miss it there
C: looks quiet
December 28th
19:32
G: are you in spain?
19:37
C: just got back yesterday
C: I’ve got a week off soon
December 29th
00:03
G: is it normal to feel heat symptoms with no drop?
(Message deleted)
December 29th
00:17
G: ignore that.
G: sorry.
00:19
C: it’s not weird
C: you alright?
December 30th
09:41
G: kettle’s gone weird. starts whistling early.
09:42
C: like you then
C: whistling at nothing in the dark
09:43
G: piss off
09:44
C: i made you smile, did i?
(Read)
December 30th
17:58
G: you said you might come soon
G: are you still coming
18:03
C: yeah
C: I’ll be there by new years
C: do you want me to bring anything?
December 31st
06:01
G: never mind
G: it’s fine
06:08
C: I’m coming anyway
***