Chapter Text
“I don’t have to go, Mama,” Carlos tries a little helplessly. His bags are packed already, by the front door of his townhouse waiting for him to go, but she doesn’t have to know that. If she doesn’t want him to go, he won’t; it’s as simple as that.
Except, she sends him a look, one raised brow, and says, “Mijo, you have wanted to go traveling since you were sixteen years old. Now is that time.”
“I’m not sixteen anymore,” he mumbles, looking down. “Maybe it was just a pipe dream. And after everything—”
“Carlos,” she interrupts in her firm but not unkind way. “After everything that has happened, it is another reason to go whilst you still can.” She steps closer to him, touching his shoulder. “You need to live your life. Do what makes you happy. Because it is so fragile, mijo. You know that now.”
Swallowing thickly, Carlos looks away. She’s right. He knows she’s right, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s doing the wrong thing at the wrong time. Or maybe it’s… Maybe it’s not the wrong thing, instead just something so far out of his comfort zone that he isn’t sure he knows how to do it. It’s six weeks, six free weeks like he hasn’t had since he finished high school, and it’s going to be his time to do what he wants. Or it’s meant to be.
The thing is, right now, he doesn’t know how to do what he wants.
“You are not going to the moon,” his mom adds after a beat. “If California isn’t for you, you move on somewhere else. Travel like sixteen-year-old Carlitos wanted to.”
“What if none of it’s for me?”
“You come home.”
It sounds so simple, so all he can do is accept it with a nod. “And what if something happens to Dad?”
She sighs. “Your father is fine, mijo. Nothing will happen to him.”
As if on cue, his dad walks in from the back door. He’s been gardening, Carlos thinks, which is so strange within itself, but that’s the man he’s become. Or he’s trying to become, at least. He’ll be back at work soon enough, semi-retired or not, gunshot wound or not, but that doesn’t bear thinking about.
“Hola,” he greets happily. “Are you off soon, Carlos?”
“He’s stalling, mi amor,” his mom says, tilting her head forward.
“Oh, no, don’t do that, son. You’ll have the time of your life. Just don’t forget about us whilst you’re gone.”
Carlos tries to laugh, but his focus is on his dad’s bulky shoulder. It could be a shoulder pad, but it’s not, it’s a patched up gunshot wound and—
“I will be fine,” his dad adds knowingly, far softer than before. “We all will be.”
Carlos looks up and meets his eye. “Are you sure, Pa?”
“I’m sure,” he confirms. “You deserve this trip.”
His parents are leaving no room for argument, and truthfully, Carlos knows they’re right, so despite the way it feels like he’s going against everything he’s ever believed in, he accepts his dad’s comments with a smile. He tells them he’ll go, that he’ll set off for the first part of his drive tonight, and he’s unsurprised when both of his parents hug him at the same time.
“I’ll miss you,” Carlos says with a lump in his throat. “I love you guys.”
“We love you, too, mijo,” his mom replies, hugging him together.
“Enjoy yourself, son,” his dad adds after a beat, and when they part, Carlos sends them both a genuine smile.
“I will,” he replies, and right now, he can only hope it’s the truth.
—
The drive from Austin, Texas to the west coast in California is far longer than Carlos ever expected.
He knew, on paper, on Google maps. He knew that it would take hours and hours and hours, with both sights and stops along the way, but somewhere around El Paso, not even out of the state, he began to wonder why he didn’t fly.
Because he wanted to take his car; that’s why. Because he’s giving up so much routine and familiarity to go on this trip that taking his car, the one thing that has given him more control over his own life since he was that sixteen-year-old who wanted to go traveling was his car, so he needed that. Needs that.
Still, by the time he drives into the underground parking lot of his new home for the next week, searching for the number eighteen for his spot just feels like the beginning of his journey.
Once he parks and gets out of the car, his legs remind him of how long he’s been sitting still for.
There’s no one else around, so he stretches out every limb. His muscles thank him, his bones click, and he decides he won’t be driving again today, or tomorrow, isn’t sure he wants to see his car for the next week, so he pops the trunk and takes all three bags at once.
He’s never been more glad to see an elevator in his life.
Then, before he knows it, on floor four, he’s trying to figure out his host’s instructions for a keyless entry, battling with the three bags in question and his phone, and letting out something of a hopeless laugh to himself as he finally manages to step inside his new temporary apartment.
“Wow,” he says to no one the moment he’s in. He drops two bags, one clambering against the floor, the other landing with a soft thud. He laughs, too, purposely puts the third down as the door shuts behind him, and he lets out a long breath, padding toward the sliding doors.
There’s floor to ceiling glass with an indescribably beautiful view of the coast. There’s a balcony with a small table and two chairs. And that’s without looking around him inside.
Carlos booked this place, but he can’t believe how stunning it is.
As he pads outside, he takes in the view. The sun is beginning to set already. It’s not quite there, just lower than it would’ve been during the day, still warm, and Carlos can’t wait to get out there. It surprises him, really. He didn’t want to come, did at the same time, and now he’s here, those mixed feelings have shifted into something a lot more familiar.
He’s here. The air is fresh, his mind isn’t racing, and there’s just something so calming about it.
Maybe his mom was right, he thinks as he sits down. Maybe he needs this.
For now, though, he just enjoys the view.
One step at a time.
—
“I can’t believe you left Texas,” Iris says helpful when he calls her, so he scoffs.
“Rude.”
“I’m just saying. I didn’t think you’d go.”
“Is that your way of saying you miss me?”
Iris snorts. “I have just come off a long shift. I don’t have the time to miss you.”
Carlos smiles to himself. He knows that means she does, whether she says it or not. “Well, it’s beautiful here, Iris. You should come and visit some time.”
“You say that like you’re planning on staying forever.”
“Just six weeks,” he says, but he catches himself off-guard as he does. Even just a couple of days ago before he left, six weeks felt like such a long time, but now he’s here, now he’s spoken to his parents and confirmed his dad is okay—still okay, as his mom says—everything already feels different. Like he’s looking in a different light. Like he needed this new perspective to understand.
It’s only the beginning, but perhaps he’s starting to feel hopeful.
“We can deal with six weeks without seeing each other, Carlos,” Iris says, and Carlos laughs again.
“Sure we can.”
“Definitely.”
They’ve done longer, when Iris went missing, but their friendship has changed since then. Carlos doesn’t want to go six weeks without seeing his best friend again, but Iris is busy, and he’s here for himself, so maybe she’s right.
Clearing his throat, he changes the subject. “So, how was your shift anyway?”
“We are not going there today,” Iris replies. “Tell me about California. Tell me about the town you’re staying in.”
“I haven’t seen much of it,” he admits, “but it looked nice when I drove through.”
“What are you doing on the phone to me then?”
He doesn’t know, truthfully. He needed to call home, he thinks. His parents first, then the only other person who’s supported him through thick and thin. Maybe he’s trying to prove to himself that they’re still there, even if he’s across the other side of the country. Maybe he’s reminding himself that he’s not alone, even if he is, technically.
Maybe he can tell himself it’s simply because he wanted to talk to them, and that’s all there has to be.
To Iris, he admits, “I don’t know,” and he can almost hear her eye roll.
“Okay, Carlos, take yourself and that sketchbook of yours and get out of your apartment. Go to the beach or grab yourself a drink, but don’t sit inside on your first night. That’s not what this trip is about.”
A smile tugs at his lips. “You’re right, Iris. I need to.”
“So, do it.”
“Okay,” he says with a breath. “Okay, I will.”
“Go,” she urges, and he laughs.
“Love you, too, Iris.”
“Yeah, yeah. Enjoy yourself. I don’t want to hear from you for at least four days.”
He smiles to himself again, knowing he’ll likely text her again later. She knows that, too, so even as they say their goodbyes, Carlos knows it won’t be so as long as she likes to make out.
She is right, though. This is the start of something new for Carlos, so the least he can do is start by exploring.
—
The beach is beautiful. It’s got white sand and wooden walkways, clean and spotless in ways the beaches in Texas aren’t, and it just seems to span for miles and miles of the coastline, like it’s never-ending. The sea itself is stunning, a picture-perfect blue-green and so inviting, the sound of the waves relaxing in ways that calm Carlos right down to his soul.
He didn’t realize how much he needed this until he stepped foot on it with the sun dipping below the horizon, letting the sky light up in shades of orange and pink.
Because there’s so much beauty here. It’s a west coast sunset, and he knows they are some of the most stunning ones in the world, but no photo can compare to seeing it in person. It’s pleasantly warm, not hot, and the sand feels so silky smooth underneath his feet. Everything seems to shift in his world, his life, just an inch or so to the left, enough that it feels different, enough that Carlos can’t help but be glad, already, that he’s here.
If anything, it’s the most relaxed he’s felt in years, longer.
For a while, he just lets himself focus on the waves. They lap in and out, gentle, soothing, and part of him wants to sit close enough that his feet get kissed by the water on every turn, but he doesn’t, not at the moment. Instead, he sits back a little so he can watch what’s in front of him. He sits in silence at first, says nothing, does nothing, as a few fellow beachgoers trickle by, but the sun almost disappears completely, and Carlos can’t help but take a photo of the evolution of color in the sky. There’s purple now, purple and pink and orange hues, and it’s like nothing he’s ever seen.
It’s inspiring, really. He’s no artist, even with his sketchbook and HB pencil beside him, but he gets a strike of inspiration like he’s about to paint a 6 foot canvas in the same colors as the sunset.
He’s not, he couldn’t, but he finds himself picking up his sketchbook and thinking back to Iris’ advice.
It’s been so long since he’s drawn for any other reason than to get out of his head. Right now, he’d say he’s both in his head and not, but he pulls his sketchbook closer, ignores the previous pages, and opens it to a clean one. He holds his pencil in his hand like he’s a little clueless—maybe because he is—then after a moment, he lets it slide across the page.
Before, he was drawing to stop himself from drowning. Then, he chose this place in the hope of changing that, didn’t really believe he could, but he’s here now, and…
It’s early days, but his mind is quiet, and he finds himself looking forward to the future.
Not much, but enough.
He takes a deep breath.
—
Carlos’ mom thinks the beach looks amazing. His dad sends a thumbs up in the family group chat, and both of his sisters focus on that after heart-reacting to his photo. Carlos smiles at the whole interaction, but his heart aches a little to think he’s leaving that behind for six weeks.
It doesn’t have to be six; his mom is right. But he’s got six weeks off work after… After, well, everything, and he was advised to take it without argument. He didn’t want to, maybe part of him still wishes he was there, back out in the field, back feeling useful, because it’s just a feeling that he’s also struggled to shake.
Still, he’s here now, and the sun has completely set, making way for deep blues and stars brighter than in Austin, and Carlos can’t help but like this, too.
Then, out of nowhere, an adorable and boundy golden retriever runs up to him.
“Oh. Oh! Hello there.”
Quickly, Carlos moves his sketchbook out of the way, just in time for the dog to jump on his leg. Carlos lets them, even if his instinct is to pull back, but they’re very cute and very friendly, and he laughs in ways he hasn’t laughed in months. It bubbles up from deep within, and it feels so much better than he imagined.
“Hello,” he repeats in his high-pitched doggy voice.
The dog reacts. With lots of kisses to his head and an attempt to jump on him again. With a tail wagging overtime and a pant that makes it look like a smile.
Then, there’s a loud whistle, and the dog reacts to that just as quickly, running away, so Carlos watches them go, slipping along the sand, running toward the sea without a care in the world.
A beat later, now dripping, they run back again.
“Hello,” Carlos repeats, laughing again. The dog wags its tail, and Carlos wants to stroke them again, but he gets a playful jump in response to his voice, followed by a call from a man heading toward him.
For a moment, Carlos is too interested in the dog, but he looks up to greet the owner and almost swallows his own tongue.
It’s the moonlight, he tells himself. It’s the moonlight and the fact he hasn’t felt so relaxed in months. It’s absolutely nothing to do with his striking eyes or cheeky smile or—
“Come on, leave the man alone,” he says, somewhat exasperated. “I’m sorry.”
Refocusing his attention on the dog, Carlos shakes his head. The dog comes closer, wags their tail at Carlos, then jumps onto him again, so Carlos laughs and strokes their head, half hoping the dog decides to stay a little longer.
“It’s okay, isn’t it?” he says in that same doggy voice. “And who is this cutie?”
“I’m TK,” the man replies immediately, and Carlos’ eyes snap toward him. There’s a smirk on his face, then he laughs, shaking his head at his own joke, even as Carlos feels himself heat up from the inside out in ways he can’t blame the weather for. “And this is Clover. She’s too friendly for her own good sometimes.”
“She’s adorable.” Carlos lets her lick his cheek again, but a moment later, she runs off toward the sea again. Whether it’s an opportunity or not, Carlos just holds his hand out and says, “I’m Carlos.”
If TK is surprised, he doesn’t show it, just shaking Carlos’ hand. “Nice to meet you, Carlos.”
“You too, TK.”
They maintain eye contact for a moment too long. Despite the dark sky, the moon acts like a spotlight just for them, and Carlos swears he can see every detail on TK’s face through every slow second neither of them looks away.
Then, Clover barks, Carlos jumps, and TK’s gaze moves to her.
“I should—” He gestures behind him, and Carlos nods. “Enjoy your drawing.”
Carlos doesn’t reply in time, but he finds himself watching as TK jogs after Clover, wondering, wondering, wondering…
—
That night, his first night in this town, Carlos dreams of sunsets and vibrant colors. He dreams of green eyes and cheeky smiles, blonde fur and interrupting barks, the first shreds of light after dark, new hope and new beginnings.
Somewhere in the distance, there’s the sound of a gunshot, and Carlos wakes up in a cold sweat.
At three in the morning, he picks up his sketchbook and draws again.
—
Carlos chose this town online. He wanted something by the sea, somewhere quiet and tranquil but not too boring, and this place came up in the depths of Reddit. It’s small and unique, has watersports and nice beach bars, but no one back home had heard of it, not even Iris with her akin to travel. Carlos liked the look of it, though, and decided on it without anyone else’s say so, just like he wanted, but even with hours of research, nothing could’ve prepared him for what it’s like in reality.
It’s full of life, but life here is laid back and settled. It’s small, so there aren’t a million stores and restaurants and cafés, but the places he passes always seem to be open. They’re all independent, quaint and unique, and as Carlos walks around, just exploring for the sake of exploring, he can’t help but think he got it just right.
There’s no rush. He wanders with his shirt thrown over his shoulder, enjoys the warmth on his skin and sun in his veins, and it doesn’t matter if he spends ten minutes just watching out to sea because he’s got all the time in the world. But by the looks of it, so does everyone else here.
He only believes in perfection in an overly romanticized way, but he’s a romantic at heart, and he already loves this town.
This morning, he pops into a bakery, the same bakery he passed yesterday, and grabs a croissant from the kind owner. It must be obvious that he’s new to the town, guesses that’s inevitable in a place where everyone seems to know everyone, so she gives him a few places to look around, and he takes his warm pastry to the local park.
It’s vibrantly green and well maintained, and Carlos is glad he brought his sketchbook with him when he finds a bench overlooking a small lake he can’t help but want to draw.
For the first time in too long, Carlos allows himself to bask in that feeling, in wanting to draw.
Today, it’s not a life raft keeping him floating but simply something he enjoys doing.
Halfway through the sketch, when he looks up, he finds a flash of blonde across the other side of the lake. It comes back again, and he realizes, instantly, that it’s Clover. She’s followed by TK, waving to someone to the left of him, and Carlos’ eyes follow to find a woman with two children waving back.
He wonders, for a second, but his eyes fall back to TK, and TK is gone before he can figure anything out.
That man is something of a mystery, he thinks. He’s there, then he’s not, but in Carlos’ mind, he’s still right in front of him with those eyes full of life, and Carlos can’t help but allow his thoughts to linger.
When he puts pencil to paper again, he draws from memory instead of what’s in front of him.
That’s an escape, too.
—
“Mama, lift your phone up,” Carlos reminds her softly when he gets a great view of the ceiling.
“I am, Carlitos. Be patient,” she replies, and sure enough, she moves the camera in time for him to see her shaking her head as if she’s chastising him. “I am not entirely useless, you know? Your sisters make sure I FaceTime my grandchildren every week.”
Carlos smiles sheepishly. “Sorry.”
“I am just glad to hear from you, mijo. How is California treating you?”
Leaning back in his chair, he looks out at the view in front of him. It scares him a little because his first thought this morning was that he thinks he could get used to this. He came out here with a fresh mug of coffee and a second pastry from the bakery that he reheated, and just sat on the balcony, watching out to sea. It was surprisingly calming. Because at home, he avoids sitting still for longer than a few minutes at a time, but here, he’s been sitting for longer than he knows, just appreciating his surroundings.
To his mom, he tells her the truth: “It’s really nice, Mom. It feels tranquil here.”
“Tranquil?”
He nods. He debates it for a second, but in the end, he figures being truthful is the most important thing after everything they’ve been through, so he flips the camera around and shows her the view in front of him. “That’s the beach. I’ve been taking walks there as much as I can.”
“Wow,” his mom replies. “It is beautiful.”
“Yeah, it really is,” he replies, but when he does, a bead of guilt trickles down his spine, like she didn’t want exactly this for him. Clearing his throat, he sits up straight, as if that’s going to get rid of it, then adds, “How are you and Dad?” as he flips the camera back to face him.
“We are fine, mijo. You don’t need to worry about us.”
“But I do. I want the truth.”
His mom sends him a look. “Your father had a bit of pain earlier, but he has his checkup next week, so he will ask about it then.”
“You should call earlier if it’s serious.”
“It’s not.”
“Mom.”
She sighs. “They said pain is completely normal, Carlos. He has those painkillers, but you know what your father is like.”
Carlos sighs, too. He does, but he almost asks if he can talk to his dad anyway, just in case he can convince him to take them if he needs them. In reality, Carlos knows that won’t happen, knows he gets his own stubbornness from his father, so he has to let him make his own way through it.
Before he replies, his mom adds, “How is your pain?
His walls go up. “Fine.”
“Carlos.”
“It’s fine,” he repeats.
“Well, have you been putting sunblock on it? You don’t want—”
“Mom,” he interrupts. “I’m fine in the sun. I love the sun. That’s why I came here.”
She visibly swallows, nodding slowly. “I worry about you, mijo. After everything that has happened, I am worried you aren’t taking care of yourself properly. I am your mother, okay? So you understand, yes?”
“I am looking after myself. I came here to—” He cuts himself off before he finishes the sentence with forget, but that’s the truth. To get away. To forget about it all. To… move on, he guesses. With his life, both past what happened to him and what happened right in front of him to his own rather.
“I know,” she replies knowingly, and for a moment, all she does is offer him a polite smile. Eventually, after a few seconds, she clears her throat and changes the subject in a way he’s so grateful for. “So, have you met anyone yet?”
Instantly, Carlos thinks of green eyes, brown hair, and sunkissed skin, but still, he shakes his head.
“I’m just exploring by myself,” he tells her.
To himself, he can quantify it as the whole truth.
—
Another selling point of this place was the kitchen.
At home, in Austin, cooking is another escapism for Carlos. It’s different to drawing, both because he actually thinks he’s good at it and because with cooking, he feels like he’s getting something out of it in the end, something he can share with others.
In the immediate aftermath, as much as his mom tried to get him to rest—“Doctor’s orders,” she’d tell him, time and time again, both on the phone and when she’d try to get him to temporarily move back home as he was healing—he would spend hours and hours cooking by himself. He’d make meals for the freezer, then take two thirds of them to his parents to keep them going for the next week or so. Not only did he feel useful, like he was being practical, he’d get out of his head for those hours he was cooking, and the ones he wasn’t, he’d take himself to the farmer’s market for fresh ingredients and new ideas.
As much as he loves cooking, as much as he picked this apartment for its large kitchen, now he has no one to cook for but himself, his feelings have started to shift away from wanting that right now, toward just wanting something different.
He’s cooked a couple of times since he got here, but mostly, it’s been quick meals or takeout on the beach, watching the waves lap at the sand.
Tonight, he’s caught between the two, but as he scours the cupboards in here, he realizes he’s going to have to find a market if he wants to cook properly.
Then again, with that realization, something close to relief settles within him.
Being here is about getting away, sure, but being here is about escaping, too. Escaping from everything he left behind, from what happened, but at the same time, escaping from himself, too. Letting himself break free from that routine he’s so meticulously built up over the years, allowing himself to be free from both everything and nothing and just live as he wants day to day.
And maybe that’s why, with Iris’ voice in the back of his mind, he heads into the bedroom, throws on a new outfit—a short-sleeved shirt with more buttons undone than done up and a pair of fitted shorts with a new belt—and spends a minute or so styling his hair before he leaves the apartment for a while.
He’s searching for something different, he thinks.
—
Ocean Breeze sits right on the seafront. It’s a bar, he thinks, a beach bar that’s got that wooden beach hut kind of a vibe, both chilled and laid back and new and exciting, and even from the outside, it looks great. He can hear music playing, but it’s not too loud or overpowering, just enough to be background music for the half-outside, half-inside deal they’ve got going on.
Of course, intrigued, Carlos heads over.
It’s not super busy, which he’s pleased about, but there are people dotted around, some alone, some in couples or groups, and somehow, Carlos doesn’t feel out of place for being by himself. Instead, it’s a comforting place with casual energy that he already loves, so he steps up to the bar and smiles at the man behind it in his Hawaiian shirt.
“Hello,” he greets kindly. “How are you this evening?”
Carlos blinks at the unexpected friendliness, then smiles. “I’m good. And yourself?”
“Very good, thank you,” the man—Charles, his name tag reads—says. “What can I get for you?”
Carlos glances up at the chalkboard menu. There’s a wide range of alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks, as well as a reminder to ask for the food menu, which Carlos files away for later. In the end, he figures he’s not overly feeling an alcoholic drink, so he picks a mango, strawberry, and pineapple juice blend, getting a smile in response.
“Great choice. That’s my wife’s favorite,” Charles tells him. “I’ll bring it over.”
Thanking him, Carlos smiles back, then heads over to an empty table overlooking the beach. He sits down, facing outward, and lets himself get lost in the beauty of it. Because it really is beautiful. It’s almost picture perfect, he’d say, somewhere he can already find himself wanting to see more of.
Luckily for him, he’s got six weeks here, and nothing to do but to enjoy himself.
A few minutes later, Charles brings over his juice and tells him it’s on the house for new customers. Carlos tries to argue, but he gets nowhere, so he thanks the man and makes a promise to himself to come back tomorrow to pay him back in another drink or two.
Still, for now, he sips his juice and looks out to sea.
—
“Oh! Hello again.” Carlos laughs to himself as he looks down at a familiar golden retriever. She sits at his feet, tail wagging, and a foot behind her, TK from the beach lightly chuckles, moving the leash from one hand to the other.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “She’s never usually this obsessed with someone new, but she saw you from the bar.”
Carlos smiles, leaning down to pet her again, both because Clover waits for it and so he’s not staring at TK for a moment. “I don’t mind.” To the dog, as a distraction, he says, “You’re adorable, aren’t you? Oh, yes, you are, yes, you are,” but a beat later, he looks up again, mildly embarrassed until he sees TK smiling.
“She’ll be looking for you everywhere now.”
Carlos laughs a little. “She’s more than welcome to come over whenever she wants.”
“You hear that, Clove?” TK says, petting her head. “I think you’ve made a new friend.”
“Absolutely.”
TK smiles. “She thinks that just because I got her from a shelter, she can get her own way all the time. I mean, historically, she’s not wrong, but it doesn’t always work with strangers.”
“It does with me,” Carlos replies. “Especially for shelter dogs. Sad story?”
“Failed therapy dog. She wasn’t useful to them anymore, but I’d say she does well.” As if to prove the point, TK calls her with a command, and she heads right over to him, sitting on his feet. He asks for another one, which she does right away, then he murmurs, “Good girl,” as he pets her again.
“Impressive.”
“She is.”
Their eyes meet, and Carlos can’t bring himself to look away. He doesn’t know why, can’t put his finger on it, but TK’s green eyes sparkle much like they did the other night, and Carlos has to swallow down a lump in his throat before he goes to say something, anything else to move his attention away from how good TK looks.
“TK!” Charles calls instead, pulling him out of those thoughts. “Order’s ready!”
With that, TK breaks their eye contact and flashes him a smile. “I should…” He points behind him, with Clover already trying to head to the bar, so Carlos nods. “See you around, Carlos.”
Carlos doesn’t reply in time, but as he watches TK grab a brown paper bag and reusable cup from Charles, he can only think to himself yeah, I hope so.