Chapter Text
Charles turned the key in the lock of his house’s front door, not without some difficulty.
It wasn't easy to slip it into the keyhole on the first try when he was quite tipsy and his teammate was completely smeared on him, made almost drunk by alcohol.
Both had spent a night out in Modena, in a karaoke, with various people from their teams. It was a very nice place, they had all had a great time and, above all, most of them had drunk a lot.
Neither Charles nor Carlos had eaten a lot of food, which made them particularly sensitive to alcoholic beverages in a short time. Fortunately, one of the Ferrari engineers who hadn't drunk because he was a designed driver had driven them back to Charles's villa in Sassuolo at past midnight.
It was incredible how devastating could be to gulp down prosecco mixed with beers and glasses of wine - Italy was a land that offered the best to drink, but no one warned you about the consequences of all that goodness.
Once his house’s door was opened, Charles was able to drag Carlos inside and go across it. It wasn’t easily done: Carlos was by no means very alert and was leaning against him as if Charles were his only point of balance. For a long moment, the fear that they would both fall to the floor like two turtles on their shells and never get up again crossed his mind.
Thankfully, the fact that Charles drank less made all the difference, and allowed both of them to stay on their feet.
"Mate, do you know that you have such a beautiful villa?" Carlos asked him with his eyes wide with wonder, as if this was the first time he had entered Charles's house. In fact, he had been there several times since they became teammates at Ferrari.
It made Charles laugh as if it were the genius comedy line from a stand up show on Netflix. "Far be it from me to shock you, but you've seen this place before. Do you see that black and gold plate hanging on the wall? You gave it to me, it's a damasquinado de Toledo! It’s Spanish like you!"
Carlos looked at him as if he had started speaking to him in Japanese. "Huh? Did I really give it to you?" he asked with the bewildered gaze of an alien.
"Yes, mate. Gee, drinking is really bad for you," Charles laughed as he continued dragging him all over his house (the corridor never seemed so long, for God's sake) until he reached the coveted Promised Land: his bedroom.
It was medium in size, with a large minimalist style double bed positioned centrally on the wall. On the left side, there was the door that led to the master bathroom, while on the right there was a glass door that overlooked the villa garden.
Charles managed to drag Carlos to the bed, and deposit him there with the greatest consideration. He didn't even know how, but he was able to position Carlos half-seated to keep his head from spinning and vomiting. He had no idea what level of exaggerated drunkenness he might have come that night, but he certainly wanted to prevent him from getting worse.
Charles himself wasn't in great shape either - heck, but how much had everyone drunk? -, but he was definitely feeling better than Carlos, and that was why he had decided to let him sleep in his house.
He absolutely couldn’t send him back to his apartment without supervision. What if something happened to him? What if he threw up? Or what if he got sick? What if he needed anything? No, he could never have left him alone in those conditions.
Caco was out in Bologna with his girlfriend to spend some time with her, and the last thing in the world Charles wanted was to call him past midnight on a Thursday night of a week with no race and tell him to come babysit his drunk cousin.
He would take care of Carlos without any problems. They were not just teammates, but true friends. For friends you do things like this, thought Charles. He would do the same for me if I needed him.
The silence they had found themselves in his bedroom as Charles was bending down to grab a couple of bottles of water from the mini fridge he had there - it bothered him having to go to the kitchen every time when he woke up from thirst, so he had bought one and put it there, by the door, on purpose - was suddenly ripped by Carlos's voice.
"Coraggiooooo, lasciare tuttooooo e andareeeeee, partire per ricominciareeeee," he started singing at the top of his voice, as if they were still at the karaoke with everyone else. "E per quanta strada c’è da fareeeee, ameraiiii il finaleeeeee."
Well, it must to be admitted: the Italian he sang almost drunk was basically flawless. Charles laughed as he approached him and deposited a couple of bottles of water on the bedside table. "How the fuck do you know this song? Who sings it?"
In turn, Carlos laughed trying to open one, but without success. "It's by Cesare Cremonini, everyone loves him here. You have lived in Italy longer than me and you don't know the local singers yet? Share the love, share the loooooooveeeee!"
"Forgive me, Your Royal Highness, if I don't know all the Italian singers. I hardly know what the Sanremo Festival is," he replied as he pulled the bottle from his fingers and unscrewed the cap.
"We live in Italy, mate. Integrate into the local culture, amico mio!" he exclaimed before grabbing the bottle and drinking. Charles checked that he was getting enough hydration - it was essential they both drank as much water as possible to get rid of all the alcohol, otherwise it would be their end - and for several seconds he was mesmerized by the movement of Carlos's Adam's apple.
His skin was so olive and smooth, it looked like a cascade of caramel. What the heck am I thinking? Better start drinking too.
And so he walked away from Carlos to fetch his own water and gulp it furiously as if he had been abandoned for days in the Sahara desert.
After a few seconds, Carlos spoke to him again. "Come on, sing me a song. Sing like me, don't leave me alone to do it!" he asked him in a tone so pleading and cheerful at the same time that Charles was blown away.
Drunk Carlos was really unmanageable, but in the end, he was as spontaneous and likeable as ever. And he didn't mind that much to comply with his request - by now they had both left their dignity out of his house that night. Or maybe he had abandoned its own after his third glass of Lambrusco.
"I'm fine with everything, as long as it's not Adele because she's sad and you make me cry when you sing her songs," he whispered. True, Someone like you Charles’s performance had gone viral, but it wasn't his fault that he liked melancholy music and sad lyrics!
So he tried to think about what to sing to Carlos without further humiliating himself, and decided to perform Where is the love? by the Black Eyed Peas, his favorite song ever.
"People killin', people dyin', children hurt and you hear them cryin', can you practice what you preach? Or would you turn the other cheek?" he sang to him leaning on the corner of the left side of the bed, where he had deposited Carlos.
He didn't even have time to get to the second part of the chorus that Carlos laughed out loud - and Charles was so grateful that he had chosen a secluded villa to live in. They both were so loud that any neighbors would have already called the carabinieri to report them for noises at night.
"My goodness, luckily you are a driver like me. As a singer you suck! You sing out of the tune, mate!"
That statement made Charles roll his eyes. "How dare you tell me such a thing? I welcomed you into my house tonight, you ungrateful friend!" he exclaimed, placing a hand on his chest, falsely hurt, and then burst out laughing.
True, he wasn't the most in-tune person in the world, but that wasn't the point. Charles’s mind now seemed like a crazy pinwheel: he was going in so many different places at the same time that he didn't really know how the fuck he was still speaking intelligently and maintaining a vague semblance of lucidity.
He started drinking water in a continuous flow again - at least he would have to finish his current bottle, then take another one, and hope that the next day a terrible headache didn’t make him wish he were dead.
As soon as he reached the half of his bottle, Carlos began to fidget again. Mon Dieu, it was just like looking after a temperamental five-year-old.
"I want to get off everything and sleep! Help me!" he told him in an imposing tone as he tried to tear the fabric of his polo shirt from his arms. He was getting nervous about his clothes and Charles was afraid that, moving around so much, he would feel like throwing up. And he honestly didn't want his bedroom to become the scene of such a crime against humanity.
The cleaning lady would kill him, and he would later kill Carlos as well.
"Okay, take it easy, mate. Give me time to get a T-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms from my closet to lend you. They'll fit in, we have the same build," he said before getting up and walking over to his wardrobe.
He did it a little too quickly and his head whirled like a carousel. He managed to remain on his feet by a miracle; he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and, once he was sure that he wouldn’t risk vomiting his soul that night, he finally took the clothes promised to Carlos. He also grabbed his pajamas and put everything on the bed.
He looked up at him and saw that Carlos was literally arguing with the polo shirt and jeans he was wearing. The buttons of his polo shirt were still closed on his neck and he insisted on wanting to get his head out of it anyway - no, he wouldn't be able to do it even in a million years - while his jeans button had been unhooked, but the zip was still locked.
Charles had to laugh for the umpteenth time in less than fifteen minutes. Carlos under alcohol influence was really unmanageable and messy; quite the opposite of the meticulous, tough young man he had come to know over time. He looked as awkward as a newborn baby antelope that couldn't walk.
"Charles! Charles! Predestinatooooooo! Help me, my clothes don't want to let me go, they are stuck on me!" he screamed whimpering as if they were kilometers away and not literally a few centimeters from each other.
Charles made an absurd effort not to let him argue with his clothes for a while longer for pure fun and he helped him out of pity. "Hold still for a moment, please, so I can help you!" he threatened him seriously.
At those words, Carlos froze. "Okay, sorry," was all he said before allowing Charles to unbutton his polo shirt and take off his shoes - he managed the rest, thankfully.
They were friends and teammates, but he would never have dared to take off his jeans out of modesty. However, when Carlos took off his polo shirt and stood bare-chested in front of him before slipping into his clothes, Charles distinctly felt something inside him catch fire and curl up.
My God, what's happening to me? It's just alcohol's fault, I absolutely have to stop drinking so much, that's what he thought.
Once he was sure that Carlos was about to fully put on his pajamas and would not kill himself trying to do so, Charles went into the bathroom with his pajamas in hand to rinse his face with cold water - he definitely needed it - and to change.
Perhaps that strange night was finally approaching its natural conclusion.
He came out of the bathroom with an empty basin in his hand, which he went to deposit beside Carlos on the floor. It was better to be safe than sorry, in case he had to throw up during the night.
Carlos was finally ready, but he hadn't crawled under the sheets. A very wise move, in case he needed to go to the bathroom urgently. He was still sipping some water from his almost finished second bottle and seemed to be much calmer than before.
"Okay, mate. You are good here, just let me take my pillow and go to sleep on the sofa in the living room. Whatever you need, call me. Buonanotte," Charles asserted.
Carlos stared at him strangely and grabbed him by the wrist with a force he never expected from him at that moment. "No, don’t do it. I don't want to kick you out of your bed. Stay here, sleep here, please."
His words weren't what convinced Charles to stay with him, but he saw in Carlos’ eyes a terrible need to have him close, a vulnerability he had never seen before. And so he gave in.
It was already the second time that night he was indulging him in such madness. This is not good at all, Charles. Not at all, he thought absently. But he literally didn’t have the time or strength to analyze such a consideration.
His brain was melting, he was so tired. Besides, he had to rest and drink a little more. And if Carlos wanted him side by side in his bed to sleep peacefully, well... so be it.
Charles walked around his bed and positioned himself on his usual side, the right one. He picked up his own bottle of water and gulped it down to the last drop. He unscrewed the second one that he had previously put there by giving the others to Carlos before, drank a little more, and decided that it was more than enough as a quantity of non-alcoholic liquids in his body.
Then he lay down and felt Carlos turn on his side beside him, approaching him to look at him. So he did the same too.
They were facing each other, their faces and their bodies at a very short distance from each other.
Charles had known Carlos for a long time, but he had never been able to admire his eyes from so close. In his bedroom light, they seemed brighter than usual. His irises were a dark brown streaked with amber... a beautiful color, so warm and full of life. They seemed so deep that they could suck up his soul.
Carlos burst out laughing - Charles probably had an unintelligent expression on his face at that moment. And it was only because of the alcohol! And nothing else!
"What is it, mate? Why are you laughing in my face?" he asked curiously.
Carlos stared at him as if he wanted to analyze every secret ever hidden in the folds of his face; a feeling that made Charles feel incredibly fragile.
This was definitely going to be the first and last time they both reduced themselves like that by drinking.
"Nothing, it's just that drinking relaxes me. And then it loosens my tongue, you know? I'll probably start babbling before sleeping," he told him, slowly spelling out every single word.
"You can talk to me about whatever you want, but if I fall asleep, don't blame me. Looking after you was so complicated and tiring, you owe me a big one!" Charles joked. Actually, he did it willingly - he could never sleep peacefully knowing Carlos was drunk and alone, with no one to take care of him.
"I-I know I'm not so expansive with words or gestures, I think I'm a introverted person who doesn't let himself loose very much, but... but I just wanted to thank you. You've done so much for me since we've met," he whispered with such spontaneous earnestness that Charles felt oxygen disappear from his lungs.
Then Carlos paused for a while before resuming speaking. His eyes had become again some kind of black hole that was attracting Charles without him being able to do anything about it. But have you always had such long lashes? I never noticed it, he wondered thoughtfully, observing him with concentration.
"You welcomed me here as a teammate, as a friend... you made me feel part of the Ferrari family. You are so generous that you are letting me sleep in your bed because you want me to have everything I need, even though I'm almost drunk."
Charles opened his mouth to answer him, but he didn't have time. Carlos anticipated him.
"You are amazing, Charles Leclerc. The most amazing person I have ever met," were the words Carlos spoke towards him.
His speech was so unexpected that Charles gasped listening to him, unable to articulate any sound of reply. He only felt blood flow to his cheeks and turn red as a tomato to the tips of his hair with embarrassment - compliments or nice words off the track always had this effect on him.
Rationally speaking, he had always known that Carlos Sainz Jr. appreciated and respected him; it was inevitable, as they spent a lot of time together not only in Ferrari, but outside of it as well.
But this wasn’t only a result of their close working relationship. You could work perfectly well with a teammate, but not consider him a friend outside the paddock at all. Between them, such a thing had not happened. Charles would not have liked such a thing at all.
They had a strong personal chemistry that made their bond almost unique; their driving styles were not conflicting, but complementary; and, most likely, they currently had the best teammates relationship in all of F1 grid. Having just a three years gap and a lot of passions in common, in a world where there was almost always a tendency to pair a young driver to a more experienced one in a student-teacher relationship, had really made a difference in the long run.
Carlos's sincerity, at that moment, overwhelmed him like a very high wave and Charles felt himself drowned by his good faith. He was such an authentic and honest guy, he was really very lucky to have him in his life.
However, his stomach knotted in a strange sensation to which he couldn’t give a name or a definition. Oh Dio, maybe it's the nausea that's coming back? he wondered. But in the end, he dismissed his concern as if it were a scribbled sheet of paper.
There was nothing to fear: a good sleep, water, a couple of aspirins, and the next day he and Carlos would be as good as new. They had to go to Maranello in the late afternoon, so they had plenty of time to soak up the hangover and avoid turning into scrap.
Then, finally, Charles found the strength to answer Carlos. "Don't mention it, mate. You know I would do it for you, as for anyone else on our team. We are a squadra and we must be united."
His words had a strange effect on Carlos, he realized immediately. Disappointment clouded his eyes, and darkened his features.
"Oh. So would you do it for anyone else? Am I not as special to you as you are to me?" he asked in a faint voice, as if Charles had just broken his heart into a thousand fragments.
God, what have I done? Charles, reassure him immediately! He is so sad, I cannot see him like this!
"No, no, no. Of course you're special to me,” he said firmly. Chares couldn’t allow him to think similar things, also because they didn’t were the truth; he was tipsy, so he didn't have perfect control of all the words coming out of his mouth.
In addition, Carlos was still quite a bit groggy from alcohol and did not have the clarity to understand Charles’s tone. It was obvious that he would never let an engineer or a box technician sleep in his bed at his home after a drinking night! He would literally do something like that for Carlos or Pierre only.
In the end, sadly, not even Charles was that good at communicating what he felt or at saying what others really meant to him. It was the tragedy he carried with him because of all the people he loved who had died and the immense modesty in which he plunged his heart to keep it safe from pain.
"You and I have so much fun together. I know I have a trusted teammate in you, we do many things outside Ferrari. We play chess, padel... you are much better than me playing golf, I swear to you. And you know much I hate saying things like that. I love our competitiveness, it makes me feel alive," he admitted with a smile.
He managed to achieve his goal: his friend's face relaxed, as if he had just been told the best news in the world. And he felt a weight fly off his shoulders at the thought that Carlos was more peaceful knowing he really cared about him.
"I'm happy. Very happy. I feel really comfortable with you too, you know," he murmured with such delicacy that it almost felt like a caress on Charles's skin.
Then he swallowed and Charles again followed his movement with his eyes. Damn, he definitely had to stop doing it.
"Maybe I even feel too much comfortable with you... I would like to show you how much, if you let me," were the words that came out of his full lips.
And at that point, Charles no longer knew what to expect from Carlos. The situation was moving towards an unpredictable direction. And he didn’t know if he wanted or could block it somehow.
But he knew one thing: that he wasn't afraid of anything. He feared no action, or consequence. He was fearless on the track, almost impulsive. And he always accepted his responsibilities honestly.
And, in that moment, he felt the same adrenaline sending a powerful rush throughout his whole body.
"What do you mean?" he asked before licking his lips. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest that he could barely hear himself speak. It was like being in his car, waiting for the light to turn green and the race to begin.
They were on the verge of something, something huge and important and incredible. He could feel it pumping through his blood that was rushing through his veins like lightning.
"I mean this," Carlos said before closing the distance between their mouths and kissing him.
It was nothing more than a simple peck that lasted a couple of seconds, but it was enough to turn Charles’s whole world upside down.
On the one hand, surprise took hold of every fiber of his body. Rationally, he would never have expected such a thing from Carlos.
On the other hand, however, it was a gesture that made complete sense in his mind. As it was the right conclusion to a long process that could never have had any other result than that.
They had been teammates for almost two years and spent many hours together on a daily basis, yet Charles had never realized that Carlos could even remotely feel those kind of feelings for him.
Incredibly, that kiss made all the messy pieces he had inside of him go to the right place.
The way Carlos always looked for him, touched him, was close to him. The precious support that he had never made him lack, even in the hardest moments of their first season together. The lively cheerfulness with which he related to him, the sincere laughter with which he responded to his (admittedly horrible) jokes. How much he teased him about being messy, his advices on how to manage the pressure and how to team up in front of a world outside Maranello that would have liked to see them hate each other and become rivals. The extraordinary ability he had to calm him down when his impetuousness sometimes led him to get angry and question so much about himself.
Shit, Carlos liked him. Carlos really liked him.
And Charles liked their first kiss, and he wanted many others to follow. And no, he didn't want such a thing because alcohol lowered their natural defenses, creating the perfect storm.
Charles Leclerc wanted Carlos Sainz Jr., both drunk and sober. And he wanted him in his life both as a friend and as something more. He had just realized it in that moment, holy shit.
Meanwhile, after breaking away from him, Carlos looked at him in terror. His eyes, those wonderful dark coffee-like eyes that Charles would have gotten lost in, were wide open; almost as if he had committed a terrible act that would lead to a catastrophe of unspeakable dimensions.
Charles saw him open his mouth to say something, but he never gave him a chance to talk to him. He took all of his words and thrust them back into his throat choking them with a kiss.
And what a magnificent kiss it was. It would be burned into his brain forever, he was sure of it.
It was a real, passionate physical contact, which lasted for a time that he couldn’t determine. It could have been ten minutes or a century, Charles couldn't have the faintest idea.
Their lips were glued to each other - God, kissing those full and sensual lips was really a dream - as their tongues searched and chased each other obsessively, almost as if they wanted to overtake each other. Carlos's hands, large and warm, had begun to wander around Charles's face; in particular, they constantly caressed the small mole he had under his left eye, almost as if it were the detail he loved most throughout his body.
Charles also let himself go and devoted himself to his chest and shoulders: they were well outlined under the fabric of his borrowed shirt and the fact that he was kissing him on his bed with his clothes on made him feel such a strong sense of possessiveness that he just wanted to wrap Carlos in millions of hugs and never leave him again.
He slipped his fingers through his black hair - it had become a bit long, he had to cut it - and, oh my, it was so soft and silky. He felt like he was sinking into a cloud with his own touch... it was gorgeous.
While they were removing oxygen from each other's lungs, Charles became violently aware of his own body's reactions to Carlos's and their kisses. He distinctly felt an increasing pressure in his pajama bottoms, and it frightened and excited him tremendously at the same time. He had never felt something like this, so powerful and intense, with any of the girls he'd been with in the past.
He wanted to keep touching him everywhere; he still had so much to feel, to taste, to undress... but that wasn't the right time for them.
So he reluctantly broke away from him and opened his eyes for the first time since they'd started kissing like crazy.
And the sight that greeted him was the most glorious he could ever have imagined.
Carlos had all his hair messed up - Charles was really dedicated to putting his hands in it as hard as he could -, like when he took off his helmet after qualifying and had his locks going in every direction. Each time, he happened to stare at him for a few seconds longer than normal... now he understood why. His lips were swollen (especially the lower one, he had bitten it a lot of times to test its texture) and shiny from the saliva they had exchanged. His warm breath blew on his skin as if it were a sirocco wind. And he had a wonderful smile fucking painted on his mouth that seemed almost unreal.
God, Charles had felt so safe and secure in their kisses. He had never experienced such a sensation before. Perhaps because, for the first time in his life, he had kissed someone he already knew as a friend and with whom the conscious physical attraction had developed naturally subsequently.
Of course, he had always been perfectly aware that Carlos Sainz Jr. was handsome. Honestly, the pictures posted on his IG and his thirsty TikToks about his gym workouts were quite explicit in this regard.
Plus, he was the person he saw more than anyone else in his life, more than his own family. The fact that Carlos was as radiant as the sun had always been a foregone concept in Charles’s life, like knowing that the sky was blue or the Ferrari was red.
But their emotional connection had made a difference. Carlos already knew who Charles was, and vice versa. There was nothing to explain, to communicate between them; Charles could let himself go with him because he felt safe with him.
Kissing with tongue, touching and hugging each other in such an intimate way hadn't been strange at all; quite the contrary. It had been natural for Charles... it had made more sense than anything else in his life. Like when he first got behind a wheel and realized that this was his true destiny.
Carlos's deep voice suddenly broke the bubble of his philosophical considerations due to alcohol and the frenzy of their passionate physical contact.
"Dios mio, I always imagined kissing you would be amazing, but this... this was beyond my expectations or my dreams," he told him softly before snuggling up on his chest like a lazy cat.
Charles felt his heart explode in his ribcage and a bright smile form on his mouth. It was so cute to look at Carlos like that, it was almost as if he had surrendered to him. And he fucking loved it. Not as a matter of control or superiority, they weren't on track at that time collaborating and fighting; but simply because it meant that Carlos felt so protected that he let down his defenses without any fear.
And that thought triggered the definitive epiphany in Charles's mind.
After everything that had happened between them that night, he had the ultimate certainty that he didn't just like Carlos as a driver, teammate, or friend. He liked him first of all as a person and, above all, as someone to have by his side in a love relationship.
He had never consciously thought of such a thing, but there had been various signs before, even that same night. Their kisses had only brought to the surface something that was already inside both of them and Charles had never been aware of.
He wasn't in the least angry or disgusted that he literally made out for a long time with another man. The last twenty minutes of his existence had shifted the axis of Charles's world, changing everything he had ever thought about himself and Carlos.
And it was not as dramatic as he would have imagined; he just took notice of it, that's it. Maybe it was still the alcohol in his veins that made him feel so relaxed, or having Carlos there, in his arms, as if that was the one, true, and only right place for him.
Looking at him so close to him was the definitive confirmation for Charles.
That's why he never wanted to see him sad and he always made an extra effort to make him smile as much as possible when they were together. That's why their moments had always been incredibly precious and special to him. That's why he literally loved being in his company, whether it was playing golf, chess, or doing nothing on the sofas in the Ferrari lounge room. That's why he was happy when Real Madrid won, even though he couldn't give a damn about soccer. That's why he felt so proud of what they were building in the scuderia.
Within seconds, Charles heard a faint snore reaching his ears.
Carlos had fallen asleep like a baby there, right on his chest. Clearly, the alcohol, the fatigue and the emotions he had felt that night had made him collapse.
Charles looked at him again completely blinded by love and noticed for the umpteenth time how handsome he was. While sleeping, he really looked like a Disney prince, and this made him understand that he wanted to continue to have him always like this not only even for that night, but for many others in his life as well.
This thing between us is so beautiful and precious that perhaps it is really worth risking everything to continue living it, he said to himself in the silence of his mind before realizing that he was inevitably slipping into the unconsciousness of sleep too.
He moved for a moment to turn off the lights in the room, being very careful not to wake Carlos. Then he hugged him even tighter, left a kiss in his hair, and made a fundamental decision for the next morning.
Once sober, he and Carlos would talk, so he could reassure him that his feelings were reciprocated. I’ll cover him with kisses and show him that I feel the same things for him too. Carlos is too special, I can't miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Charles thought before falling asleep.
By now he had understood too many things about the two of them and himself that night... Charles had definitely opened his eyes and would never go back.
The sounds in the kitchen thundered in Charles's head. He had spent the night unscathed, he had even woken up at a rather decent time. In addition, he immediately took an aspirin as soon as he woke up which was already taking effect, and he was finishing breakfast for himself and Carlos.
Nothing too much complicated; he had many talents, but cooking wasn't one of them at all. So he simply decided to choose a jazz playlist from his Spotify account, because Carlos had told him that he really liked listening to jazz in the morning, to have some music in the background and start arranging everything he had prepared on the counter surrounding his stove.
Well, jazz wasn't as bad as he had always thought. Chez Baker's My Funny Valentine was wonderful, the piano blended with the trumpet in a sublime way... he should have tried playing it as soon as he had time.
Charles took the toasts out of the toaster, cooked and crispy to perfection, and placed them on a plate next to an endless series of small jams he had pulled from his pantry: cherries, strawberries, apricots. Then he grabbed a jug full of freshly squeezed orange juice that he had just prepared - he wanted Carlos to have healthy things to est that post hangover morning - and placed it next to the rest.
His mind wandered for a moment on a fantasy. What if he had put everything on a tray and carried it over to a still asleep Carlos? Maybe he would wake him up with breakfast in bed and lots of kisses... or maybe it would be wise to hold back until they talked? Charles decided to postpone the crucial decision until after coffee.
He turned around very calmly and looked for the coffee machine. In Italy there was nothing else but the moka, so he was now used to making it that way; and it was really delicious.
The moka was there, leaning near its polished steel sink, waiting to be used. He was about to fill it with coffee when he heard a slow step enter the kitchen and a heavy sigh fill the air.
Carlos had finally woken up and was nothing short of devastated. He sat down on one of the chairs in front of his kitchen counter and buried his head in his arms before surfacing and looking at Charles.
His face was still very tired, almost destroyed by the previous night of revelry. His hair was in every possible direction, and Charles's T-shirt he was wearing around his chest and arms as if it were born to wrap him.
Carlos was perfect there, in the midst of his things, in his house, and that thought made its way into Charles's mind in a nanosecond. Not only he was an impeccable companion on the track or in Ferrari, but he could really be a romantic partner in his daily life as well.
And a similar awareness, albeit a very new one, made Charles smile in such a happy and pure way that he felt his face split in two by the joy he was feeling.
"Good morning! Did you sleep well? How's your head?" he asked thoughtfully.
Carlos looked at him with a lost look before answering him. "Io sono a pezzi. I will never touch a drop of alcohol again except during the celebrations on the podium... Italian alcohol kills me inside," he sighed before putting his face in his hands and closing his eyes.
Charles laughed. It was absolutely incredible for him to watch Carlos and be aware that everything had changed and remained the same between them at the same time.
He was the same as always, Carlos was the same as the night before, but he was different too... but not in a strange way. Everything between them had changed for the better.
"Huh, I can only imagine. Next time I won't let you drink so much!" he exclaimed while he nervously arranged the jam containers with his fingers; he couldn’t even look at him with embarrassment.
He felt agitated, he didn’t know how to start the conversation regarding their kisses and the new awareness he had about himself and their relationship.
But he never had time to talk to Carlos about the subject, because his next words about him changed everything.
"Oh, thanks! You are a true friend,” Carlos told him.
And the use of that specific word, friend, after everything that had happened between them two very few hours earlier, put Charles on the alert. The worst alarm he ever felt in his life; he felt it right in every muscle of his body, which stiffened like a slab of marble.
And ruin fell upon him in exactly five seconds, overwhelming everything else he had planned.
"You even let me sleep in your bed! I know that when I drink a lot I'm a bit annoying and I talk a lot, I am so sorry! I must have tormented you, even if I don't remember it at all… I don't remember anything since we left karaoke in Claudio's car together," Carlos stated sincerely, before rubbing his temples with his hands.
And everything collapsed for Charles like a miserable sand castle torn down by the fury of the waves. Everything he had thought could happen between them up literally until a minute before, the beginning of something beautiful with a special person, was swept away, leaving him as disoriented as after a violent earthquake.
Yes, he felt the earth crumble under his feet and he clung with one hand to the counter of his kitchen to avoid throwing up, even if his hangover was definitely over.
Every single thing had gone up in smoke in front of him, without being able to do anything about it.
Carlos didn’t remember he had confessed to him, their kisses, their sleeping all night hugging together on his bed... he had a black hole in his memory, Charles could see it in his face that it was true.
He was the only one to remember everything. And he felt every memory of one of the best nights ever in his life hurting him worse than a stab in the chest.
Charles tried to crack a smile towards Carlos, but the truth was that he was dying inside. He just wanted to cry, hit his head against the wall, or punch something.
Or maybe do all of three together.
It was all so insane that his brain couldn't really believe it was really happening; his mood had gone from the highest happiness to the worst abyss in such a short time that nausea broke into his stomach again.
He would be now forced to re-establish a sort of normality in relating to Carlos; a normality that, however, no longer existed. He had been lost in his words, his kisses, his arms - something that had just been ripped from him forever and that he would never get back.
Charles decided that he would never reveal the truth to Carlos. He didn't remember anything at all and, at this point, everything between them could only have been the outburst of a drunk twenty-seven year old who might have needed human touch, and nothing more.
Carlos might have mistaken him for someone else, he might have been talking without thinking, or - well, it honestly didn't matter anymore.
Do damage containment now, you will think later about how to put the pieces of your heart together, Charles thought before answering him after a time that had seemed endless in his head.
“D-don't worry, mate. The most important thing is that you feel better than yesterday. I'll give you an aspirin..." he tried to say to him, but his mouth felt sticky, as if a thousand cobwebs had sprung up in his palate and prevented him from expressing himself. "Do you want to eat something now, or would you rather take a shower first?"
Carlos glanced at the counter, full with things to eat, and then gave him a smile so pleased that Charles felt a million butterflies explode all over his belly.
Oh God, until twenty-four hours ago he never thought that seeing his teammate smile at him would make him feel such powerful visceral reactions. Now, his world changed and he would have to pretend forever that nothing had ever happened between them because Carlos didn't remember anything at all.
Charles Leclerc had never experienced a broken heart until that moment, he had never suffered such a thing in love; he had never allowed anyone else to hurt him like that. He felt that damn muscle disintegrate like stardust as he tried to arrange the glass glasses where he should have poured the orange juice that he had prepared like an idiot for Carlos with so much love.
Keep your mind busy until he comes out of the kitchen. After that, you will be allowed to collapse on the floor in a fetal position and cry, was the command he gave himself. For someone who usually expressed his feelings too intensely, he was almost amazed at himself seeing the facade of normality that he had managed to put together on such short notice in front of Carlos.
Maybe it was the deep shock that made him act that way, who knows.
"You even made me such a nice breakfast, I can't wait to get something to eat. If you don't mind, I'd go take a shower. Cold water will surely help me regain some clarity," he told him with his usual cheerful and relaxed tone.
For a moment, Charles's mind was torn apart by the mental image of Carlos naked in the shower. He would have liked to propose to him to do it together after talking, but now... it was useless.
Everything between them had been erased, and he was just a delusional fool.
Charles coughed, trying to get rid of his own impure thoughts - they were by now released like maddened fireflies in his head, and it would be very, very difficult to bring them back to their former place - and answered him.
"Go ahead. Just don't start thinking about the meaning of life and spend half an hour in it!" he exclaimed laughing. But his laugh was so strange and forced in his ears that even Carlos realized it.
A strange sound came out of his throat. God, he was completely losing control.
"Are you all right, mate? Do you still have a hangover?" he asked with a kindness so tender that Charles’s heart began to bleed again in as if he were in the throes of a hemorrhage of feelings.
No, I am not right at all, Carlos. You and I have kissed and I thought that by now we would be talking about what I feel for you too. I thought you would be mine, and I would be yours. Instead you don't remember anything and now I will spend the rest of my life living with everything you have made me discover about you, about me, about us. Christ, I hate you. And I hate myself for not realizing all of this before.
"Yes, I actually have a terrible headache. Drinking a coffee will do me good," he said, trying to be as relaxed as possible towards him, even if it was a desperate undertaking. "In the bathroom closet you will find a red folded bathrobe, it's clean and you can use it. Shampoo and conditioner are inside the shower... now go, so we can drink coffee together in a while."
It was so difficult for Charles to act like a functional human being in front of Carlos and not an empty puppet with a ripped out heart. But he miraculously succeeded and saw Carlos talking to him with a worry-free expression.
"I'm going, I'm going. And then I'll make you listen to some other cool jazz songs from my personal playlist. I knew Chet Baker might be to your liking!" he chuckled before getting up from his stool and walking away from the kitchen to the master bathroom of his bedroom.
Once he was 100% sure that Carlos was away from him, Charles started banging his head against the counter with all the desperation he felt capable of. Maybe a head injury would make him lose his memory, so he would forget about the shitty situation he found himself in and that would become his new normal for who knows how long.
It was beyond all my expectations or dreams, were Carlos's words after their kisses, not even twelve hours before. And now everything had turned into a nightmare with no way out.
What the fuck was Charles supposed to do now?