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Carlos lifted his head from the phone screen he had been staring at blankly for a while to ask the man sitting across from him something that had just come to his mind. And the moment he lifted his eyes, something stabbed into his heart at the sight before him. Charles had fallen asleep. Of course he had. When they decided to return from Belgium on the same plane, Carlos had predicted this would happen. Charles had a superpower of being able to sleep anywhere, anytime. Charles was the sleepiest person Carlos had ever seen. And Charles was the most beautiful sleeping person Carlos has ever seen.
Carlos tilted his head slightly and fixed his eyes on him. This had been one of his favorite views to watch for a very long time. And for a very long time, he couldn’t watch him like this anymore. They weren’t on the same team anymore. The time they spent together was now more limited. Touches were more rushed, conversations more shallow and quick, glances more fleeting. Carlos knew this would happen. Carlos had prepared himself for this to happen. Then why did it still hurt this much?
Carlos let his eyes wander across the man’s face, lingering a little where his dimples usually were. Carlos really loved Charles’ dimples. Carlos loved being the reason those dimples appeared. He loved making him laugh, teasing him to the point of driving him crazy just to win, watching him blossom like a flower when he wins something.
Charles stirred slightly in his sleep and tilted his head as if trying to rest it on his own shoulder. That’s how Carlos knew he had fallen into a deeper sleep. Yes, Carlos had watched Charles sleep many times for a long time.
His eyes caught on the red shirt Charles was wearing. He took a soft breath so the blue on himself wouldn’t hurt as much. He missed wearing the same color as him, working for the same goal as him. Everything with his new teammate felt wrong and Carlos hated that. Even though he tried to feel like he belonged, it felt like trying to fit a puzzle piece into the wrong place. His jokes weren’t understood, they fell flat and created strange uncomfortable silences. Nothing, no one, felt like Charles. And maybe Carlos had already known this would happen.
Carlos couldn’t even remember when everything with Charles had started to feel different. But over time things had changed and nothing had been the same since. Carlos’ eyes returned to Charles’ beautiful face again. Carlos couldn’t do anything else when Charles was around anyway. All his focus just orbited around him and seemed to pull Carlos into his gravity. At first, he had convinced himself this was only about competition, Charles’ lap times, Charles’ speed, Charles’ setup changes, the gap between them, his opinions, etc. etc. etc. But over time that turned into Charles’ smile, his gaze, his comments, his dimples, his sparky eyes, his mood, his laughs... Now that they weren’t on the same team anymore, Carlos had expected this urge to fade. But what a desperate hope. Yet he still wanted to tell him everything first when something happened, still had the crazy urge to consult him about any changes in the car, to share things them only with him, still wanted to ask how his day went, what time he slept, how many hours he slept - first and only to him. He still wanted to race, win, lose, tie, and fight only with him. Oh and it's not a good sign, is it? And worse, Carlos couldn’t even remember when he had fallen this deep. Because he had been the same with Charles as he was with everyone else at first - the jokes, the touches, the conversations, the teasing. Carlos had been the same with everyone, but Charles hadn’t reacted like everyone. Of course he hadn’t. Charles got offended when he teased him, sulked when he lost a competition, flinched almost every time Carlos touched him. And as time passed… he had stopped flinching from his touches, over time started making room for Carlos in his space. And Carlos didn’t know how to handle the butterflies that gave him.
He hadn’t stood a chance, really. Not against the private smiles, the high-pitched laughter at his bad jokes, the inside references only they shared, how much importance Charles gave to his opinion the way Charles lit up when he looked at him. A Charles-shaped hole had carved itself into his heart, and nothing had filled it since.
His gaze returned, inevitably, to that face. See, when Charles was around, Carlos couldn’t look anywhere else. He was a sun, and Carlos couldn’t escape his pull. Carlos couldn’t stop looking at Charles. Charles was like a view made to be looked at. This was the only thing in his life he couldn’t control. Yet Carlos loved control. Carlos controlled what time he woke up, how many calories he consumed daily, how much he cycled, how many hours he slept. Carlos didn’t like amusement parks because he couldn’t take control there. Carlos care about control because it made him feel like he could overcome anything. But he could never reach control over anything growing inside him about Charles. Actually, Carlos had stopped trying long ago. He had accepted living with a Charles-shaped hole in his heart. He had long passed the phase where he didn’t know what to do with it, stopped questioning whether being around him, watching him, looking at him was a need of his soul or just something simple. Especially when Charles looked at him like that, cared about him like that, listened to him like that - the other way was never possible anyway.
When Carlos learned Ferrari would part ways with him, he still ached from the betrayal of his own heart thinking not of his future, not of his career, but first of Charles, and of being separated from him. Not being able to speak to anyone about it only deepened the pain. He couldn’t speak about it with anyone, of course he couldn’t. Some sentences, when spoken out loud, mean confessing entirely different things. Carlos didn’t even talk about it with himself. He didn’t have the strength to enter a battle whose outcome was obvious from the start. He was already fighting enough pointless battles in life. Carlos chose to accept the pain of this feeling, to carry it on his chest without questioning or probing. And anyway, since they didn’t see each other as often anymore, it wouldn’t hurt as much, right? It shouldn’t.
Carlos’s eyes wandered through Charles’s beautiful hair. This season he was wearing it a bit longer. Carlos hated that even this fact gave him butterflies. He watched how his hair rested nicely on his forehead, how his beautiful eyelashes cast a soft shadow on his beautiful face. He looked at his slightly flushed cheeks, the perfectly shaped nose with the tiny freckles on top he knew by heart, visible only if you looked close enough. Yes, Carlos had looked at Charles close enough. And now again Carlos was looking, looking, looking. Because Charles seemed like he was made to be watched. Because looking at Charles felt like rebelling against everything he couldn’t live inside. Because watching Charles felt like blowing softly on a wound inside that would never heal. Because Carlos no longer had the right to watch Charles this long, this recklessly. Because looking at Charles felt like home. As the feeling of familiarity spread through his chest, it mixed with the pain inside. Carlos had accepted that he couldn’t cope this feeling.
But still, he couldn’t help wondering. He couldn’t help wondering how it would feel to let his lips wander over those beloved dimples. He couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like to kiss him, to be kissed by him. He couldn’t help wondering how Charles would laugh if he buried his nose in the curve of his neck. Right then, maybe from the dream he was having, Charles smiled faintly in front of him. And Carlos didn’t know what to do with that smile either and the light pain spread on his chest. This was the side of Carlos that came out almost only around Charles. Fragile. Carlos hated being fragile. But Carlos couldn’t bear being hurt by him, Carlos couldn’t stand being in conflict with him. He didn’t even remember how many times he had taken the first step in their fights. He just knew he couldn’t endure the coldness of the man who looked at him with the warmest gaze and smile in the world. He could take all the steps, walk through all the doors to prevent that. He could rip his heart out and give it to him for not facing this. Because a cold, distant Charles felt like being left outside of the door. He couldn’t bare that.
Yet somewhere deep inside, a little whisper told him he even missed that. When there was something real between them, when they fought, when they clashed, when they forgave each other, when they apologized… he had known they were fighting for something real. Now nothing was like that. Short chats, rushed conversations, brief greetings. Carlos hated feeling not just like he had left the team, but like he had been kicked out of home. He hated watching Charles on stage with his new teammate, despite trying to bond with his own new teammate, trying the familiar ways, wanting Charles to do nothing and form no bonds at all. He knew it was selfish. Of course he knew. But the tifosi and the team loving the newcomer this much crushed something inside him. He longed to be missed. Especially by one person.
His eyes refused to leave Charles, but when the plane jolted slightly, the trophy resting on the seat beside them shifted and caught Carlos’ attention. Third place. Even Charles being so happy about this annoyed him. They used to make fun of third place. When he had left the team, Carlos had convinced himself that this would be Charles’ year. He had wished for it. He had been sure. He had believed the newcomer would help him, lift him higher. Then it would be worth it. Then all the pain, the separation, would at least be worth it. But everything was turning out far worse. While Carlos was already battling at the back with his life on the line, he couldn’t stand watching Charles fight tooth and nail for fourth or fifth place. This was supposed to be the year Charles became champion. Something was supposed to be worth it. It had to be worth it. He felt the anger and resentment rising inside him. But it had nowhere to go. He couldn’t cope with these feelings, so he had bottled them up and sealed them tight.
He took his eyes off the trophy and looked at Charles. The place his eyes loved to return to the most. Again and again. Wherever they went, his eyes would always return there. Over and over. Carlos thought maybe that was what they were destined to be - always orbiting, never aligning. And still, with every breath, every stolen glance, every laugh that wasn’t meant for anyone else, Carlos knew he would keep carrying that hole inside of his heart.
And maybe… maybe that should be enough.