It's kind of an odd place to be, Carlos babysitting a table at the club with Oscar Piastri, but Lando's supposed to be back with new drinks "soon", and it's not as if he can just abandon Oscar. Or well, he could, but it'd make him feel kinda shitty and Oscar already hates him, so. He’ll at least wait a polite amount of time before making his excuse.
Oscar speaks up, "I don't hate you." He has been gazing at him since Lando stood up, and the eye contact is more intense than expected. He says it casually, like it is not a big deal and not weird to talk about.
Carlos wonders vaguely if Oscar is a mind-reader. "Sorry?"
"I don't hate you. You told Lando I hate you. I don't." Carlos' heart does a little drop. "Ah." He brushes a hand through his hair to cover his embarrassment "It's not— I did not really think that you did. I just do not think you like me very much."
Oscar tilts his head to the side at this, considering again. "I like you."
Carlos lets out a nervous laugh and glances to Oscar's drink. He must take this as a cue because he then lifts it to his lips and finds only ice. It leaves a sheen on his upper lip. "You are honest tonight."
Oscar shrugs and finally looks away. Carlos almost wants his gaze back, but takes the chance to study him the way he's been studied already.
Oscar turns the glass in his hand. "I guess I’m more blunt when I'm drunk." He shrugs again, like this is something he has heard about himself and is only repeating it back. “Anyway,” he sighs, “you don’t have to stay, I’ll watch the table.” It’s an offer that feels like a dismissal, so Carlos takes it as one. He nods and raps his knuckles against the tables before standing. When he turns back, Oscar’s attention is already on the crowd, studying strangers as they move.
Oscar is kind of ashamed of how attracted he is to Carlos right now.
He came to this barbeque because it's summer, and he really should get out more, and of course Carlos has taken over the grill with his white shirt open and his wet hair pushed back by a blue baseball cap and it's altogether inconvenient while Oscar's been doing his best to ignore him. He's got a few people around him, so it's not like he's available to chat to anyways, which of course doesn't matter while Oscar's busy ignoring him.
But it doesn't seem like Carlos has noticed he's being ignored. Which is rude in it's own right. Or maybe he's ignoring Oscar, which sets a tick in his jaw just at the thought. So he takes a glance, and he's still in that stupid backwards cap laughing at something some guy said and the sun is shining through his shirt and the smoke from the barbeque is curling around him and for a moment Oscar is stunned still by the whole scene.
He manages to swallow around the sudden rock in his throat and tries to remind himself that he's ignoring him. No one else knows and no one else care, but he is ignoring him. He turns to dump his things on the nearest table and promptly jumps into the pool.
What surprises him is that, almost as soon as he comes up for air, Carlos is jumping in right next to him.
“O.P.,” Oscar glances back, doesn’t expect to stop, but there’s Charles jogging toward him. He jolts, and Charles crooked smile makes an appearance as he catches him.
“Charles,” His voice is a little breathier than he’d like to admit. Always a little more honest around Charles. He can’t help the way his tone lifts at the end, the way that screams “I’m surprised you called out to me,” “I’m glad you’re talking to me,” “I’m a little bit in love with you, sometimes.”
He’s running late to the press conference, glances to Charles as he jogs in. Charles is already smiling, light and without pressure, says, “There’s O.P.,” lets his eyes crinkle a little extra. Oscar exhales, lets his hand push his hat down in an attempt to hide his pleasure. He hopes the warmth in his cheeks is explained away by his rushing to the conference. With another glance to Charles, he settles into his seat and focuses on the interview.
It’s at the next driver’s parade that it registers. Oscar’s standing next to Carlos when Charles wanders over, greeting them both, Carlos with a nod and Oscar with another, “Hey O.P.” Carlos pouts, complains that, “Why do you not call me C.S.? Why does he get a nickname?” Oscar blinks, and he realizes, oh, he is being special on purpose. He looks up, Carlos and Charles already absorbed in their own bickering, and notices, for the first time, that Charles cheeks look a bit pink too.
Oscar doesn’t know how he let Lando convince him to come out when he knew it would turn out like this. Lando’s disappeared into the crowd, dancing or flirting or getting a drink, and Oscar’s left wondering if it isn’t too early for him to go home. He looks at his drink, judging how much he has left. It’s low enough to down in one gulp, which is exactly what he’s doing when Charles appears at his side.
“Looks like you’re in need of a new drink.“ Oscar’s made conscious of his state, face flushed from his drinks and additionally flustered by Charles’ sudden appearance. He’s got his eyebrows raised, a subtle smirk like he’s aware of his poor timing. He places his hand on Oscar’s shoulder, guiding him in the direction the bar without waiting for confirmation.
Charles stays close, letting his body brush Oscar’s as they move through the crowd, speaking directly into his ear as they walk. He’s not saying anything important, and nothing in need of response. So Oscar, still on his back foot, takes the chance to catch up. By the time they make it to the bar, Oscar’s settled back into himself.
As Charles leans forward, asks what he wants, Oscar leans forward too, feels his breath against Charles’ ear as he answers, “gin and tonic.” He only realizes what he’s said when he leans back far enough to catch the amusement in Charles’ eyes.
Oscar looks out as Charles orders, watching the dance floor for a moment. By the time he turns back, Charles is watching him, and Oscar feels steady in his gaze. Then Charles’ eyes slip past him and Oscar reminds himself where he is.
He’s caught too long thinking and Charles’ grips his arm, tilts his head in and says something about needing to go. Oscar nods, looks Charles in the eyes, and doesn’t let his disappointment show. He lets his head turn to follow as Charles’ sweeps past before pulling his attention away, swallowing his drink.
He looks up and Max slips into Charles’ open space, so seamless Oscar almost wonders if they planned it. Max smiles, eyes crinkling, and Oscar understands Charles intrinsically.
Max asks what he’s drinking, and Oscar lifts his drink up without thinking. Opens his mouth to answer, but Max is already leaning in, lips wrapping around the straw. It’s too loud to hear Max’s hum, but Oscar sees his eyes light up.
“Gin and tonic,” he nods, appreciative, “my favorite. Maybe we can share.” He laughs, exaggerated in the way he does to be clear he’s joking.
Unfortunately, Oscar, misses the joke. Says, “Sure, I don’t mind,” instead. Stands there like an idiot who can only hope Max loses his memory in the next 3 seconds. Unfortunately, he doesn’t.
Max laughs, surprised. He doesn’t even turn in the bartenders direction. As they talk, Oscar makes sure to hand him the drink rather than presuming he would drink out of his hand and save himself from further embarrassment. As the drink dwindles, Oscar starts wondering if he should order them another or re-attempt his escape.
Before he can decide Max’s eyes slide behind him, “Looks like Charles is ready to go.” Oscar is reminded again that this was temporary, swallows his disappointment with the rest of his drink.
“Sure, of course” he nods, eyes slipping to his now empty glass.
“Take us home?” Oscar jolts, sure he misunderstood. He looks up, struck speechless by Max’s gaze. He looks back, spots Charles waiting by the door, watching them.
“Um,” Oscar’s thoughts are running too fast and too slow, sliding past each other and colliding and being altogether useless.
“No pressure, of course.” Max is still watching him, and Oscar feels a bit like his heart is crawling it’s way into his throat.
And then his mind clears, and he takes the leap. “Yeah,” places his glass on the bar, sudden confidence leaking into his voice, “Yes. Let’s go.” He turns, letting Max lay his hand on the small of his back as they make their way to the door. He doesn’t miss the smug grin that crosses Charles’ face as he spies them.
The night's cool, a shallow breeze ruffling Oscar's hair as he leans on the thin metal rail. He closes his eyes and sinks into a sigh, letting his shoulders relax and head tilt toward the light casting off the moon. After a moment, he straightens again, glances away from the sight in front of him to catch a glimpse through the window, Max and Charles in bed together. If they were awake, they would surely pull him back in, stubborn and soft he'd be trapped in their embrace. He never can manage to extract himself for too long. Their gravity too strong, multiplied together.
He tries. It would be smarter if he could. Easier. For him and for them. This won't last forever. They'll remember how things were without him, when they were MaxandCharles.
Oscar likes to think of himself as smart. But even he can't deny temptation.
He takes one last look at the moon before closing the door behind him, slotting himself in the space between them, letting himself pretend they're MaxandCharlesandOscar for one more night.
Oscar looks up, cradling his coffee carefully between his hands. “It’s all your fault.” All accusing staring and pouted lips. Carlos’ eyes sweep across his face, noting the dark circles and skipping over the ruffled hair.
He raises an eyebrow, “My fault?”
Oscar nods resolutely. “Your fault.” His childish stubbornness would almost be cute if it weren’t directed so pointedly towards Carlos.
“What did I do?” His tone laced with innocence only serves to deepen Oscar’s scowl.
“You’re—“ he glances away. Carlos doesn’t miss the scrunch of disgust that crosses his face. “You. I couldn’t sleep last night.” And that’s. What?
“You couldn’t, sleep? Last night?” Carlos blinks. “What does that…” have to do with me? He pauses, “You were, thinking of me? Last night?”
Oscar’s back to gazing at his coffee. Turning the cup with his palms, back and forth and back and forth. Carlos is studying the cup with him, misses the pink rising on Oscar’s cheeks for it.
“Yes.” Oscar manages to snap the word out. “I was thinking of you. Last night.” And now there’s no way for Carlos to miss the spread of color, inching its way up to his ears.
“Oscar,” His gaze snaps up. He looks so pretty, and has been so honest Carlos can’t help but say, “You’re glowing.” The scowl makes a return, and Oscar’s grip on the cup tightens.
“I think of you too.” Carlos speaks simply, like the admission is easy to make. It wipes Oscar’s expression clean. “At night,” Carlos’ watches him closely as he adds, “and during the day.”
The cup steadies, balanced only between Oscar’s fingers. He looks up. “Oh.” He swallows, “yeah,” he glances toward the cup again before placing it on the table. “Yes, during the day for me too, sometimes.”
Baku’s a disaster. The kind of race he wants to forget. The kind of race he won’t let himself. And anyways, its impossible to ignore as he’s watching on the sidelines. His phone playing the live feed, sitting next to the pity banana gifted to him by a stray marshal.
(He wonders briefly what Carlos would say. If he would laugh, teasing and lighthearted. Maybe he would pout, ask if Oscar would give him a pity banana, had he been the one to crash.)
He forces himself to watch the podium. He knows it’ll only grow his frustration. The champagne he can’t feel drenching him in disappointment.
But it’s Carlos, so he’ll manage. Just this once.
It’s worse than he expected. He forgot how much he suits the podium. He shines, stark in his white suit. Oscar’s skin stings, the slow warmth of his sun burning deep. The kind of sunburn you can feel as it’s developing. Still, he can’t look away. Gives himself a moment to relish in the sting. His mouth twists, something between a smile and a grimace. He ducks his head, and turns before he can watch Carlos walk away.
“it’s a bit frustrating to how oblivious you are.” + carcar
Oscar is distracted. Too busy watching Lando struggle in a game of pool with Max, so Carlos yanks at his attention. “It’s a bit frustrating, to how oblivious you are.”
Oscars smile fades as he turns his gaze on Carlos, “I’m not oblivious.” Prickling at the accusation.
“No?” Carlos asks, almost convincingly genuine but his tone sets Oscar on edge. He can’t help but bite.
“Maybe I just don’t care.”
“Ah.” And Carlos sounds, almost disappointed by that. Oscar blinks. He’d expected a bite back. He might feel guilty if Carlos hadn’t started it. Like always.
Oscar waits for him to say something else. Scoffs when he doesn’t. Mutters, “Coward,” under his breath. Doesn’t catch the hardening of Carlos’ gaze, having already turned away.
“Coward.” Carlos finally speaks, “Me, a coward. You. All you do is run,” His eyes pinning Oscar in place. He opens his mouth, for nothing to come out.
Oscar forces his words out. “I don’t run.”
“You run. You’re running now.” Oscar swallows. Finds his throat dry. Carlos takes a step forward. Oscar takes one back. Carlos’ eyes darken, he gestures forward with his hand, nods. “You run.”
Oscar is helpless to watch as he turns, and walks away.
