Chapter Text
That day was disastrous from the very beginning. First of all, Carlos slept through his alarm, which meant no gym before classes. Therefore, Leclerc had to find another spotter and would probably kill him later because, apparently, Charles was ‘too shy to ask random people for help’ – totally insane and not even plausible but that's what he kept insisting on. It also meant that Carlos would have to go there in the evening, during rush hour, which was, well, a dubious pleasure. But most importantly, he didn’t have time for breakfast, which was, technically, a crime against his own stomach as he had four classes in a row. His only chance for survival was a coffee place just around the corner from his uni.
Soaked to the bone from unexpected rain – alright, maybe not that unexpected if you have time to check the weather – he reached the counter. There were only a couple of chocolate biscuits in the showcase, and he would kill for a sandwich but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Carlos had no damn time to go somewhere else.
“Flat white and a biscuit. Carlos,” he mumbled to the barista while checking his phone.
A notification popped up, informing him that his assignment was finally graded. Lower than he’d expected. His genius thoughts must've gotten lost in translation. Why on earth did a business major need philosophy classes anyway? Carlos bit on a biscuit with a dissatisfied pout.
“Flat white for Karl is ready,” said a taller barista behind the counter. “Flat white. Isn’t it yours? Karl?”
Carlos examined him, puzzled, then looked around. A blonde next to him was putting a lid on her matcha latte and seemed unwilling to identify herself as Karl, so he grabbed the cup with a nod. How could one possibly lose the ‘os’ in Carlos? It wasn’t exactly an exotic name, was it?
Rainwater was still dripping from his sleeves, and suddenly Carlos felt deeply pathetic standing there with a mislabeled cup in his hand. He glanced back at the guy behind the register, who had maybe just misheard him — who knows, the place was noisy as hell. Still, it felt oddly personal. Besides, the guy looked kind of familiar, though Carlos couldn’t quite place him. The queue hid most of his figure now, and Carlos himself was far too busy trying not to be late for class.
It wasn’t that Carlos was holding a grudge, exactly, but he did spend a significant part of the seminar imagining Immanuel Kant receiving a cup with imma cunt scribbled on it. No, it wasn’t a grudge. It rather resembled a persistent itching sensation on the inside of his skull. If he somehow knew the guy, it had to be mutual, no? Come on. How do you forget a hot Spanish guy? Carlos didn’t know that many Spaniards his age in the UK. And if the guy did know him, then why on earth did he write the wrong name?
He definitely wasn’t someone from school. Most people at Carlos’ boarding school had trajectories planned out for them years in advance – finance internships, law schools, family companies. Not coffee shops. Snobbish thoughts? Maybe. But Carlos was just trying to think logically. Maybe they’d had some classes together at uni at some point. Maybe they went to the same gym — the guy certainly looked athletic from what Carlos could tell. Unfortunately, none of his theories rang any bells.
By the end of his last class, Carlos had already decided to replace his l-carnitine drink with another coffee just to see the guy again.
He was definitely an athlete. The pink-and-blue uniform shirt fitted snugly over his broad shoulders. An image of a steaming coffee cup, which, by the way, didn't have any stupid names on it, was slightly stretched between his pecs. A small badge on the left one stated: ‘Oscar’. His biceps flexed as he shook the marker with eagerness.
“Course the bloody thing stops working now,” the guy muttered. “Perfect timing.”
And then the puzzle came together. This sarcastic intonation, this Aussie accent. Karting academy during one summer years ago, right after Carlos finished Year 10 No wonder Carlos hadn’t recognised him immediately – Oscar had practically doubled in size since then.
“You can order, mate.”
Lost in thought, Carlos did not immediately understand that the guy was addressing him, so he mumbled:
“Flat white, please. Carlos.”
Ay, joder. He probably should’ve said it more clearly. Or maybe spelled it. How would Oscar recognise him if he didn’t hear the name properly? It was too late now – a woman in a suit had already occupied Oscar’s attention with her ‘salted-caramel-but-make-it-less-sweet-and-more-salty’ order.
Carlos wondered if he himself had changed. It’s always hard to tell when you see yourself in the mirror every day. The guy, however, had definitely put on some muscle. Not that he was a twig before, he was just… smaller. And younger. Carlos was supposed to have leg day today, but now he would definitely add some biceps work. Dumbbell curls, maybe. Or barbell curls. Anyway, he hadn’t done pull-ups in ages.
“Flat white for Carlisle.”
Maybe Carlos had been impolite the first time around, but now, clearly, it wasn’t the case. He pouted, looking around again. What were the odds that the lovely old lady to his left had been so inspired by Twilight that she’d named her French bulldog after Edward’s father and was now ordering coffee for him? Not very big. The dog in an ugly sweater stared at him with an unfriendly expression, which was weird – dogs usually loved him. It was just a horrendous day. Tomorrow, everything would be alright. Tomorrow Oscar would recognise him, and they would laugh about it together.
Carlos took his coffee. By that point, Oscar was nowhere to be seen – presumably having disappeared into the back in search of a new marker.
“Thank you,” he said to the tall barista with floppy hair and headed to the gym.
Carlos didn't do his leg day routine that evening. He didn't work on his arms either. He spent two hours on a treadmill trying to walk it off.
The next day Carlos woke up before his alarm went off. The sun was shining through his window promising a great day – how could it not be with weather like this and so much time left before classes?
He went for a run, took a shower, and opened his fridge. Then closed it again. He had another idea for breakfast.
Half an hour later, Carlos pushed open the door. Oscar was there, on shift, listening to some guy’s order with a polite smile on his face, leaning forward so he could hear him better. He seemed friendly. Approachable. Maybe yesterday hadn’t been rough only for Carlos after all. Today Oscar definitely seemed to be in a better mood. Oscar’s cheeks looked ridiculously cute when he smiled. For a second, Carlos wanted to squeeze them.
Taking his place in the queue, Carlos took a look at the assortment. Turns out, if you come early, you can get a croissant or a creme-brulee tart while they are still fresh and actually in stock. Still no sandwiches though, let alone healthier options. If he kept coming here, his calorie tracker stats would become a mess.
Carlos could swear Oscar’s face dropped when he saw him. The guy went from all smiley to all bitchy the very moment a girl in front of him swiped her card and moved aside revealing Carlos.
“You can order,” Oscar stated dryly.
But why? Why was he acting this way? What could Carlos possibly have done wrong?
“What would you recommend?” Carlos leaned over the counter, batting his eyelashes and pointing at the showcase.
The only weapon he could come up with against Oscar’s bitterness was flirting. If Oscar didn’t fall under the charm before, he would definitely fall now, right? Doing the eyes had been working on people since the day Carlos was born. Oscar could not be an exception.
“Everything’s decent.”
And Oscar… was not elaborating.
“Oh, but what’s your favourite here?” Carlos insisted.
“My favourite here is a paycheck.” Oscar sighed. “But you might like a chocolate croissant I guess?”
“Great! A chocolate croissant and a flat white then. My name is Carlos.”
“To go or for here?”
“I think I’d like to stay,” Carlos winked, pushing a hand through his hair like he was in a shampoo commercial.
“That’s six eighty. Cash or card?”
Flat. Emotionless. Come on!
“Card,” he smiled and swiped his card, making sure Oscar could see his full name on it. Well, not full-full - just the main part.
No reaction followed. If this didn’t ring a bell, Carlos genuinely didn't know what possibly would. He stayed there for a bit too long after the transaction passed, looking at Oscar expectantly. Come on, Oscar, come on!
The guy finally opened his mouth again but instead of ‘ah, Carlos, that’s you!’ he got a nod and a “you can sit and wait over there, mate”.
Disappointed, he took a seat by the wall painted with huge triangles apparently meant to be minimalist representations of mountains. It didn’t look bad. Actually, the interior was decent and surprisingly stylish for a place with such moderate prices. They even had those cool ceiling-high windows and those pretend-to-be-designer translucent blue tables and chairs.
“Flat white and chocolate croissant for Karim,” black-haired guy with the French accent called with a wide smile.
Carlos grabbed the cup with a frown. Right. So staying in still earned him a takeaway cup with emotional damage.
Honestly, vete a la mierda, mate. Maybe Carlos should just stop coming to this stupid Alpine coffee shop. Their coffee wasn’t even good enough to put up with an ill-mannered barista who kept writing wrong names on his coffee cups. Carlos ate his croissant in two bites and headed out.
“So what he doesn’t remember you? It’s been a while.” Charles said between sets while Carlos was changing the plates on his barbell. He dragged the back of his wrist across his forehead, leaving a faint chalk streak behind. “You speak English, don’t you? You can just come and say ‘hi, I’m Carlos from the karting academy’ or whatever.”
“It’s not just this. He didn’t fall for the eyes!”
“Oh, the eyes. Tough guy,” Charles mocked.
“And he was rude!” Carlos went on, straightening up and rolling his shoulders. “I will not go there again, no.”
“Mm-hm.” Charles grabbed his water bottle, taking his time with a sip, clearly unconvinced. “No, no, Carlos, you should. We should go together. Right now.”
Ah, Charles. He never listens to what Carlos says.
“My friend Pierre works there,” Charles added, already reaching for his towel. “I should give him his urban design notes back anyway.”
Most likely a lie. Carlos could swear Charles wasn’t even taking urban design this semester. But that was how Carlos found himself, twenty minutes later, standing in front of Alpine again.
Charles was already beaming by the time they reached the counter.
“Oh!” he exclaimed. “So your Oscar is Arthur’s friend Oscar!”
“He’s not my-”
And also, how is this even possible?
“Hi, Oscar! Long time no see!” Charles leaned onto the counter like he owned the place. “Why did you stop coming over?”
Oscar looked up, and just like that, he was smiling. Not even with some polite customer service smile. Like, actually smiling at Charles and completely ignoring Carlos’ existence.
“Charles,” he said, way too warmly. “I’ve just been taking every shift I can. Trying to save up for tickets home.”
“Oh, I see, I see,” Charles nodded sympathetically, then immediately brightened again. “You should come for dinner this Sunday. We’re having… something. I don’t know, my brother’s cooking.”
Not fair. How does Charles get Oscar coming to his place, and Carlos gets death stares and wrong names on his coffee?
“I’m serious,” Charles went on, pointing at him. “I won’t take no for an answer. Leo keeps asking about you!”
Oscar huffed a quiet laugh, ducking his head for a second as he reached for a marker. It did something stupid to Carlos’ chest. Leo is a dog, guys! Come on, not that funny – just stupid!
“Your menu’s huge,” Charles added, glancing up at the board. “What would you recommend?”
“Actually,” Oscar said, all polite and attentive. “We've got something perfect for you. Have you tried glacé?”
“Oh, oi, I love glacé,” Charles grinned. “Yeah, I’ll take one.”
Of course he would.
Carlos stayed exactly where he was while Charles tapped his card and slid away, immediately getting distracted by Pierre at the grinder.
He wasn’t even sure how long he’d been standing there before–
“You can order,” Oscar said flatly, finally honouring Carlos with half-hearted attention. Joder, he wasn’t even looking at him properly.
“Flat white, please,” Carlos said, then, because apparently he’d lost all dignity, added, “The name is Caaaar-los.”
Too much. Definitely too much.
For a split second, it seemed like Oscar was about to smile – his mouth twitched in a very promising way. Just a moment later, Oscar winced.
“To go or for here?” he asked, flat again.
“I-” Carlos glanced over his shoulder. Charles was laughing at something Pierre said, completely useless. “Same as Charles.”
Oscar pressed his lips together, dragging the marker across the cup with a faint scratch.
“Cash or card?”
“Card.”
No eye contact, no reaction – nothing. Carlos tapped his card harder than necessary.
Up close, Oscar looked even more familiar. He had the same teeth, the same moles on his face. He was just older now. Carlos swallowed. There was no way Oscar didn’t remember him. He was definitely doing this on purpose.
Miserable, Carlos drifted toward the far end of the counter where Charles was still talking to Pierre. Pierre switched to English the moment he noticed him – so not entirely invisible, apparently.
“...I was sure it was due next Tuesday. There’s no way I’ll finish it by tomorrow morning. We’re closing at nine.”
“I know! I only saw the deadline this morning. Haven’t even read the brief properly.” Charles nodded, far too enthusiastically.
“Awful. And that’s one glacé and one flat white for Charles,” Pierre called out, sliding the cups forward. “Two coffees, calamar? You’re planning to study all night?”
Great. Now Carlos didn’t even exist. Both coffees for Charles, Oscar’s attention for Charles. Extremely fair.
“No, one’s for Carlos! We basically have the same name, didn’t you know? Carlos and I.”
“What?” Carlos blinked, thrown off.
Pierre was already back to work, too busy wrestling with a matcha pitcher to care.
“I googled my Spanish name,” Charles went on, delighted with himself. “It said Carlos! So I’m Carlos and you’re Charles. Isn’t it funny?”
Very funny. Carlos might’ve laughed under different circumstances. Right now, he was too annoyed to manage more than a tight exhale.
Carlos had been successfully avoiding Alpine until the middle of May. To be fair, it wasn’t particularly difficult – finals season had swallowed everyone alive, and Carlos was too humbled by the entire situation to keep voluntarily showing up just to get psychologically tortured over coffee.
Unfortunately, physically avoiding Oscar did absolutely nothing for the Oscar problem itself. Charles talked about him constantly: Oscar helped to fix their router, Oscar baked them banana bread. Oscar this, Oscar that. Apparently, Oscar had babysat Leo while Charles was away with his family for the weekend. They should probably adopt Oscar at this point.
Charles 00:14
[attached image]
Charles 00:14
Look who finally escaped his coffee mines
Carlos opened the picture. Pretty late for Oscar to be at the Leclercs’ place, no? The guy was standing in their kitchen wearing a dark t-shirt which was hugging his shoulders too tightly. Leo was attached to his calf like a koala while Oscar tried to stir something in a bowl one-handed. His bicep looked obscene. Carlos absolutely did not zoom it in.
Me 00:15
??? And?
Charles 00:15
You should sort your weird stuff out so we can all hang out together
His weird stuff? More like Oscar’s childish behaviour.
The phone buzzed again.
Charles 00:16
[attached image]
Charles 00:16
See what you’re missing
This one was worse. Oscar was sitting cross-legged on Charles’ sofa with Leo asleep in his lap, listening to something Arthur was saying with a soft, sleepy smile. He looked disgustingly domestic like he’d been staying over. Carlos stared at the picture for far too long.
It made absolutely no sense to feel jealous. Jealous of what exactly? Oscar clearly liked the Leclercs more than him, and there was nothing new about that. And yet, the unpleasant feeling kept gnawing at his stomach.
Me 00:19
It’s HIS weird stuff. Ask HIM why he hates me this much
Charles 00:20
He doesn’t hate you
Me 00:20
Sure
Charles 00:21
He just gets weird every time I mention you
Carlos frowned at the screen. Weird? What the hell was that supposed to mean?
Me 00:22
Really? Well, I don’t like it when you talk about him either.
And then Charles stopped. Like entirely: no pictures, no casual mentions of Oscar dropping by. Not even “Oscar said this” during gym sessions.
The thing was: at first, Carlos felt relieved, yes. But then, very soon, increasingly, horribly restless and too aware that hearing about Oscar had somehow become part of his day. By the end of the week, he caught himself almost asking twice. By the middle of the next week, he gave up.
Me 22:47
So… how is he?
Charles 22:49
You told me not to talk about him
Me 22:49
I did not say that
Charles 22:50
Carlos! You literally did!!!
Me 22:51
Fine, whatever
Me 22:52
But how is he?
Charles 22:52
Ask him yourself?
Me 22:52
I can’t
Charles 22:53
You can
He probably could.
Carlos had been sleeping badly for over a week. He already had too much caffeine in his system, though most of it came from instant coffee he made in a mug he didn’t even bother washing between refills. He had too little time to finish all his assignments and an unfortunate tendency to start thinking about Oscar the second things got quiet, which meant he never properly relaxed.
He showed up at Alpine embarrassingly early, still half asleep in a hoodie and yesterday’s sweatpants, fully intending to grab coffee and leave before his brain could sabotage him again. He’d see Oscar, mentally check that he actually existed and hadn’t somehow been invented by Carlos’ sleep-deprived brain over the past few weeks. That was it.
“Hello,” Oscar said, almost robot-like, “what can I get for you?”
No recognition – some things don’t change. Not surprising anymore, yet still offending. Carlos felt something dropping in his chest once again.
“Flat white, please.”
Oscar reached for a cup.
“And the name?”
There it was. Carlos stared at him in disbelief for a second. Oscar couldn’t seriously be doing this.
“I need your name not to mess up the queue. It’s a policy,” Oscar added without looking up.
Not to mess up the queue? Look at this professional!
“Oh, come on, Oscar.” Carlos let out a disbelieving laugh. “You know my name.”
That finally got Oscar’s attention. Slowly, he looked up.
“Oh,” he said coolly. “Do I?”
“You clearly do,” Carlos shot back. “You just keep avoiding it for some reason.”
Oscar’s expression changed instantly.
“Well,” he said quietly, “maybe I don’t want to remember the name of the guy who bullied me.”
For a second, Carlos genuinely thought he’d misheard him. Bullied? Him? What the hell was Oscar talking about?
Carlos blinked.
“What?”
“You heard me. You’re holding the line. Tell me your name and wait for your order over there.”
“No, I-” Carlos stared at him. “I never bullied anyone!”
Oscar laughed once under his breath.
“Right.”
“I’m serious!”
“Okay,” Oscar nodded shortly. “So now you're also gaslighting me. Fine. Next one pl–”
“No, wait,” Carlos said quickly. “I’m sorry?”
“Did you just ask me if you are sorry?”
“No, I just… I still don’t understand what I did.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
“Okay,” Carlos nodded. “Then let me buy you a drink so you can explain it properly.”
“A drink? The one my coworker makes?” Oscar huffed. “Nah, mate, I don’t even drink coffee.”
“No, cariño, an actual drink.”
Ay, mierda. The word slipped out before Carlos could stop it. For half a second neither of them moved. A faint flush climbed up Oscar’s neck so quickly Carlos almost thought he imagined it. Oscar’s fingers tightened around the paper cup in his hand. Does he… does he know what cariño means?
“Oh,” Oscar said after a moment, noticeably less steady than before. “Right.”
Carlos swallowed. He hadn’t even meant to flirt this time. At least not consciously. Oscar just looked unfairly pretty when he was annoyed. And now he was looking directly at Carlos for the first time in what, eternity?
Finally Oscar cleared his throat and glanced away first.
“My shift ends at nine,” he said cautiously.
“I know.”
“…You know?”
Mierda once again. Now he sounded like a creep. He’d heard it from Charles, obviously, but that definitely didn’t make him sound less creepy. Ah, Dios mío.
“Khm. Yeah, I mean…” Carlos rubbed the back of his neck. “I know Alpine closes at nine.”
“Right,” Oscar said again, quieter this time.
“So…” Carlos shifted his weight. “I’ll come by at nine then?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you write my name?” Carlos asked finally.
Oscar blinked, confused. Somehow he looked even more flushed than before.
“What?”
“On the cup.”
Oscar glanced down at it as if he’d completely forgotten it existed.
“…Yeah. Today your name is Carol.”
This one was maybe deserved.
“Close enough.” Carlos smiled.
Carlos still had an assignment to write, but he couldn’t care less – he already had enough points for a passing grade anyway. There was plenty of time left, but by six he was already standing under the shower staring at a razor.
Not that anything was going to happen, obviously. This was just drinks. One drink, actually. A completely normal drink with a guy who hated his guts. But Oscar had accepted his invitation, right? And he’d been looking at Carlos with those… Carlos had always thought he was the one with the eyes, but Oscar’s were a completely different matter altogether. Carlos exhaled sharply, pressing the heel of his palm against his face.
Madre de Dios.
On one hand, shaving his entire body because a pretty guy had agreed to go out with him was deeply humiliating. On the other – what if? Not even sex necessarily. Maybe they’d just… end up shirtless at some point. Or pantless. God. He was pathetic.
Accepting his fate, Carlos reached for the razor.