Charlos || Charles Leclerc x Carlos Sainz Jr.

Miami: Part Two

Carlos was thankful that they made him wear the stupid football helmet on the podium, so Charles couldn't look at him in the eye. He tried to savor third place, and the signal that his bad luck was coming to an end, but it was impossible with his stomach in absolute knots.

I should have stayed at Mclaren. He thought hopelessly. He didn't even remember the race. The last two hours had been a complete blur, like he was watching some sort of movie and it would all end soon. He felt himself raise the trophy above his head. He felt the light spray of champagne on his neck. But that wasn't him. He was somewhere else. Floating.

Wow it really is warm out. I can't wait to go back inside. No, I don't wanna go back inside, Charles will be there. Why did I say that? I didn't have to say that. I just wanna go home. I'm gonna be depressed. Why couldn't I have just held it in?? Charles didn't have to know. I didn't have to tell him. WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?

At some point he must've walked back down the stairs. He must have changed his clothes. He must have gotten into his SEGGSY Ferrari and driven back to the hotel. He must have done all of these things but he couldn't quite remember. He was in a dream. A nightmare, really, and he just wanted to sleep.

🏎 🏎 🏎

Bro was flabbergasted. Charles stood outside his hotel door, key hovering over the lock. Carlos's words kept echoing back to him. I think I'm in love with you. Never in his wildest dreams did he allow himself to think that Carlos liked him back, and yet Carlos had said those very words only hours earlier.

Pushing open the door, he scanned the room, only now realizing how filthy it was. Clothes littered every surface, empty water bottles stood on every counter, and take out boxes sat half full near the sink.

He worked on autopilot. Separate the clean and dirty clothes. Fold up the clean ones, put the dirty ones in a bag. Throw out old food and containers. Wipe down the counters. Put the towels away. Pack up everything neatly. Make the bed. Fluff the pillows.

He had run out of things to clean, and now he was forced to think. Carlos liked him. What was he going to do about that? Carlos thought Charles didn't like him back. He had been so flippant about everything and now Carlos was hurt. Charles did like him back. He wanted him to know that. He needed him to know that.

A strange sense of resolve washed over him. His thoughts felt clearer then they had in days. He needed him to know. Charles nearly ran to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Running his hand through his hair, he tried to hype himself up for the next part of his half-baked plan. He slapped his face with both hands, trying to reason with himself before doing something he would probably regret. It didn't work.

He power walked down the hall to Carlos's room, not even hesitating before knocking on the door. He knocked louder, not waiting for a reply.

When Carlos opened the door, there were shadows around his eyes that weren't there before.

"You're wrong," Charles said boldly. Surprise etched itself onto Carlos's face. "I do care."

Without really realizing what he was doing, he had stepped towards the door frame, lifting one hand to rest on Carlos's cheek. He leaned forward and brought his lips to Carlos's. The kiss lasted only a moment before the Spaniard pulled away.

Charles's heart dropped. Oh no oh no oh no I fucked this up. Carlos stared at him, his expression a mix of a thousand emotions. Before Charles could start to apologize, Carlos grabbed his stupid gorgeous face and brought their lips together again.

Standing in the door frame, Charles moved his hand to the back of Carlos's head, carding through his hair. Carlos didn't seem to mind, and snaked one arm around Charles's SNATCHED waist.