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Carlos walks into their shared apartment with the widest grin and a tiny, squirming bundle of fur in his arms.
“A surprise!” he announces, beaming like he’s just won a Grand Prix.
Oscar, who’s curled up on the couch watching highlights from their last race, lifts an eyebrow. “Is that... a dog?”
“A puppy!” Carlos corrects, bringing it closer for Oscar to see. The little golden retriever pup wiggles, snorts, and promptly tries to chew Carlos’s chin.
Oscar eyes the chaos warily. “We don’t need a dog.”
“We need joy, cariño,” Carlos says dramatically. “Look at this face.”
Oscar looks. The dog sneezes into Carlos’s neck and then licks him sloppily.
Carlos is enchanted.
Oscar is... not.
…..
It starts small. Oscar feels like a third wheel in his own home.
Carlos baby-talks the puppy more than he ever talks to Oscar. He even lets it sleep in their bed, right between them, curled up in Carlos’s arms.
Oscar wakes up one night to find himself with no blanket, no boyfriend, and a dog snoring like it owns the place.
He glares at the dog. “You’re not even cute.”
The dog sneezes in response. Carlos mumbles, “Love you, bebé,” in his sleep.
Oscar doesn’t ask who the bebé is meant for. He knows the answer. It’s got fur.
….
Oscar watches as Carlos carries Turbo—tail wagging, tongue out, a literal golden blur—into their apartment like it’s some kind of royal arrival.
Carlos: “Isn’t Turbo the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?”
Oscar (deadpan): “No.”
Turbo immediately starts licking Carlos’s face. Carlos giggles.
Oscar narrows his eyes.
This is war.
….
Oscar walks into the bedroom and finds Turbo sprawled across his side of the bed.
He points at the dog. “Move.”
Turbo blinks. Flops over with a tiny huff. Doesn’t move.
Carlos leans in from the doorway. “Turbo likes your scent. Isn’t that sweet?”
Oscar: “That’s not sweet. That’s a territorial threat.”
….
Carlos is besotted. Every spare moment is spent playing fetch, taking photos, and calling the dog “mi tesoro.” Oscar used to be “mi tesoro.” Now he’s just “Oscar, can you hand me the leash?”
Oscar’s petty side kicks in.
He starts hiding the puppy’s toys. “It’s called enrichment,” he claims.
He passive-aggressively refers to it as “your child.”
When the puppy chews on one of Oscar’s shoes, Carlos laughs and says, “Oh no! It’s teething.”
Oscar says, “Oh no! It’s going up for adoption.”
Carlos glares. The puppy hiccups. Oscar sighs.
….
Oscar sits down next to Carlos on the couch. Turbo immediately wedges herself between them, curling into Carlos’s side like she owns it.
Carlos absentmindedly pets her.
Oscar stares. “I was sitting there.”
Carlos: “There’s room on the other side.”
Oscar (coldly): “I’m not sitting behind enemy lines.”
Turbo yawns. Tail thumps against Oscar’s leg.
He swats it away.
……
Oscar finds one of his shoes in the hallway, completely massacred. Foam everywhere. Laces chewed to oblivion.
He holds it up. “Which one of you is responsible?”
Carlos looks guilty.
Turbo barks joyfully.
Oscar stares at her. “You knew that was my favorite. You targeted it.”
Carlos: “She’s teething!”
Oscar: “She’s strategic.”
……
Oscar wakes up one morning with a suspicious weight on his chest. He opens his eyes.
Turbo is there.
Staring.
Inches from his face.
He freezes.
Turbo licks him once—sloppily, triumphantly—then snuggles into his neck and falls asleep.
Carlos peeks in from the doorway. “Aww! She loves you!”
Oscar: “She’s asserting dominance.”
But he doesn’t move.
Not even a little.
……
It happens unexpectedly.
Carlos is away for media day. Oscar stays home, trying to enjoy a quiet morning, but the puppy won’t stop pacing and whining at the door.
“Great,” Oscar mutters. “You miss him already? You’ve known him two weeks.”
The puppy finally gives up and pads over to Oscar with a tiny, pitiful whimper. Then, in a move that shocks them both, it climbs awkwardly onto his lap and curls up.
Oscar stares down at it. “What do you want from me?”
The puppy sighs and falls asleep.
……
Oscar pretends it’s a fluke. He doesn’t mention it to Carlos. But then the puppy starts following him around the house like a shadow. Watches him cook. Waits outside the bathroom door.
Falls running toward him when he returns from training—skids across the floor, ears flopping wildly, tail wagging like it might fly away.
Carlos catches the scene once, eyes wide with wonder. “I think... it likes you more than me.”
Oscar shrugs. “I feed it. Dogs are transactional.”
But he scratches behind its ears just right. He buys it a plush F1 car toy. He starts calling it “champ.”
….
One night, Oscar gets home late and finds Carlos asleep on the couch, the puppy curled up on his chest.
He feels something unspoken squeeze his chest—warmth, maybe. Or peace.
The puppy lifts its head, sees Oscar, and immediately wiggles off the couch to barrel into his legs.
Oscar scoops it up instinctively, and it gives him a sloppy kiss right on the nose.
Carlos, still half-asleep, smiles. “You’re both my babies,” he murmurs.
Oscar rolls his eyes but doesn’t let go of the puppy.
“Fine,” he whispers into its soft fur. “You win. Just don’t steal my shoes anymore.”
……
Later that week, Oscar is found asleep on the couch, curled around the puppy in the exact same position Carlos used to be.
Carlos stands there, arms crossed, heart full, watching the two loves of his life snore in harmony.
“I knew you’d fall for Turbo“ he whispers proudly.
Oscar, half-asleep, flips him off—without moving an inch from where the puppy is tucked into his chest like it belongs there.
Carlos takes a picture anyway.
…..
Carlos, fixing his cap and pulling on his race suit:
“Okay, I have meetings and quali, so Turbo’s yours, cariño. Be nice!”
Oscar, holding the leash:
“I was supposed to do a track walk. This is not my job.”
Carlos kisses his cheek. “It is. You’re her other parent.”
Oscar glares down at Turbo. She wags her tail and sneezes on his shoe.
He sighs. “Fine. But I’m not carrying her if she gets tired.”
Fifteen minutes later: Oscar is absolutely carrying her. Like a baby.
He tells no one.
…..
Oscar’s spotted by Lando, George, and Alex in the paddock—holding Turbo, baby bag slung across his shoulder, puppy food poking out.
Lando, smirking: “Mate... is that a treats bag?”
Oscar: “She needs her nutrients.”
Alex: “You’ve got the dad look.”
Oscar: “I’m doing what any responsible adult would.”
George: “So, like, Carlos?”
Oscar, gritting his teeth: “No. He gave me the dog and ran.”
Turbo barks like she agrees.
….
Charles walks past them. He’s got Leo pulling his shoe one way, Jimmy perched on his shoulder, Sassy tucked under one arm, and Donatello hissing in a backpack.
He looks haunted.
Oscar eyes him. “Rough day?”
Charles: “I think Jimmy peed in my shoe.”
Oscar: “Which one’s Jimmy?”
Charles, sighing: “I no longer know. They all look like cats.”
Leo suddenly bolts after a butterfly and pulls Charles across the gravel.
Oscar winces. “...Good luck. I am only dating Max not this goblins.”
Charles: “Send help.”
….