What surprises Oscar the most, sitting in his morning econ class, was how little had changed from before the break. He was still known around the school as the prime minister’s son, just with the bonus of now also having a very public friendship with a hot prince—Jack’s words, not his.
The online buzz surrounding him had also changed quite a bit. It was positive now; Edie had even sent him an article from GQ about Carlos’ and his ‘bromance’.
The media had calmed down too, thank God, but his mother still made him follow through with the media plan. His Instagram had gained hundreds of thousands of followers since his trip to Spain; Jack had even taken to calling him an internet celebrity. How the selfies of him with a thumbs up hit half a million likes in a day, Oscar didn’t want to think about, and he definitely didn’t want to think about the picture Carlos posted, posed the same and with a witty caption making fun of him.
Of course he was better at all things social media too.
While Oscar had gone back to school a couple of weeks after the so-called ‘incident’ at the wedding, Carlos had gone to London with his best friend and started working for a charity that had already helped more than fifty thousand children according to the Instagram post Carlos had shared and Oscar had dutifully liked and commented on.
It wasn’t like Oscar felt useless, sitting in class learning stuff he learned in third grade, but he did feel… weird about it, he could admit.
Carlos may have been served everything on a silver platter, but he worked for it too and, as Oscar had come to learn, he was kind. He wanted to help people, so he did.
Oscar wishes it were as easy for him to do too.
But he feels good about what he’s doing.
Because he is helping too. It might not be in the way Carlos is, but he is helping and making a difference too.
He has worked here since he was a teenager, first as a volunteer, then student helper and now fulltime, kinda.
The office is small, but well. Oscar loves it.
“Evening.” He says walking in, throwing his jacket over a nearby chair.
“Hey,” Daniel responds, with his nose down the screen of a computer. “Maggie called earlier, said she needed help with some of the new prints.”
Oscar nods in reply. “Sure, I can help.” He sits down and turns on the computer, being met with the usual ‘Ricciardo for Congress’ logo.
He’d met Daniel years ago, when his mother was only mayor and Daniel just a young and upcoming politician. Daniel was well-liked, the favourite of the youth, but held some power over the elder too, when a scandal came to light.
Oscar was too young to really understand what had happened, even if he felt like he did back then. His mother and him had argued for hours about it and even if they were on the same side—the same side if you ask those against Daniel—Oscar still felt like she just didn’t understand. She was mad, understandably, just like Oscar was, and she wanted to make it right, just like Oscar did, but she didn’t understand why Oscar wanted to make it right, no matter how hard he tried to explain.
But the more he tried to explain, the less he felt he himself knew why he felt so strongly about it.
Daniel was thrown out of politics and had to rebuild it all from scratch.
And Oscar wanted to do all he could for him to succeed.
So, maybe Oscar wasn’t changing the lives of people like Carlos was, but he was changing history, making sure that Daniel would be the first openly gay politician in parliament.
It’s also good credit on his degree, which is just a plus.
Working ten to fifteen hours a week—usually more, don’t tell his mum—was nothing to Oscar, he barely even noticed as the time flew by. Once he was in the zone with his work, school, and schoolwork, it was hard for him to snap out of it. Which was one of the reasons his mother had made the weekly family dinner a thing.
It was rare all of them were there, together, at the same time, but they all tried to make an effort, though some more than others.
His sisters had no problem the last couple of weeks to make the effort, all of them much too happy to be witnesses to the torture their mother put him through, in the form of asking and probing and poking about a certain European royal, no matter how many times Oscar told her she probably knew more than he did.
And—well. He does know about Carlos’ whereabouts. But his mother doesn’t need to know that.
He gets back late, the rest already together in the dining room.
“You’re alive?” His sister asks, dryly. “I thought I would have to send out a search for you.”
“Ha ha.” Oscar sits down and takes a plate.
His mother steps in just as Oscar takes his first bite.
“Hello,” she mumbles looking at them, a phone to her ear, bowing down to kiss each of their heads. She sighs and hangs up, taking her place between her children. “Why did you let me run for prime minister?”
Edie snorts. “Because we know better than to stop you?”
His mother just groans in reply and pulls her shirt out of her pants, a clear sign that her day as the prime minister was over.
“Tim’s not joining us?” Mae asks.
“Nah, he had some business up in Queens.”
His mother’s husband had his own business to run, even if he left most of that life behind once she’d gotten elected, and often missed the family dinners because of it.
But it’s also nice just having the five of them together, alone, however rare that is.
“Did you see that video I sent you?” Mae speaks.
And they were off. It isn’t that Oscar doesn’t love his sisters, but sometimes he just needs to go to bed and sleep for the next ten hours and not be in a room with the three most hyperactive people he knows.
His phone vibrates in his pocket. Oscar ignores it. It happens again. Oscar lets out a sigh and fishes it up. He looks from side to side, making sure no one would notice him breaking the no-phone rule, before looking down. First there was a single message from Jack, a link Oscar doesn’t want to open in a room with his mother, but under it, and that is what really makes Oscar’s heart race, is a text from Carlos.
It’s stupid, a picture of a koala with the simple: this u? under it.
Oscar can’t help the snort he lets out.
For some awful reason Carlos’ begun to text him at every odd hour of the day. Usually, it was just a link to an article about them and a quick comment about what they should consider next, but then sometimes, like this, he would send a picture of an animal that reminded him of Oscar.
It started with his own dog, who was lying in a mess on the floor. Carlos had written you are a bad influence. Oscar hadn’t replied until the next morning. Mate what? That’s all you.
And then came the racoon and then the–
“Earth to Oscar, helloo,”
“Huh?” Oscar looks up to find four pairs of eyes on him.
“Oh sorry, were you busy looking at your phone?” His mother asks, her brows raised in a judging manner, a smile on her lips.
He pockets it without another word.
“It was probably the prince again.” Edie mock whispers. “Ready to swoop him off his feet.”
“Be nice.” It’s Hattie who comes to his defence. “He wouldn’t swoop him off his feet as much as push him to the floor.” She giggles.
Oscar glares. “It was Jack.” He says, technically not lying.
“Enough of that,” their mother interrupts them. “I wanted to talk to you about the campaign, with the election coming up soon.”
“I know, we are already behind.” His mother shakes her head and takes a big bite. “I talked to the administration about opening some internships at the office.”
Oscar sits up straighter. “Wait, really?”
His mother nods, a smile on her lips. “Not a lot of work, of course you’re all busy, I know, but some days. I miss you when you’re all out and about every day. I have no time to see you.”
“I have to talk to Daniel,” Oscar says.
“No worries, I already talked to him. And it will be purely communicative, maybe some shadowing me, if you’re up for it.” She laughs. “You’re smart. I’m sure you could convince the rest of the squad to join too?” She lifts an eyebrow, eyes moving between her children.
“Eww, don’t call us the squad mum, Jesus.” Edie groans. “I’m too busy with school.”
“I don’t want to work for you.” Edie speaks. “What would I even do? Sit there and look pretty as pictures get taken of me?”
“I was more so thinking you could handle social media.”
“What? You’re good at that stuff.”
“Yeah, I doubt the people of Australia will understand her humour.” Oscar snorts, barely dodging the cheese she throws at him. She has been throwing a lot of stuff at him lately, Oscar thinks, picking the sticky cheese off his chair.
His mother tilts her head and shrugs.
“It’ll just be us two then,” she says. “How fun!”
“Yay…” Oscar whispers and finishes his drink. “Fun.”
When he walks past her office the next day and sees a board hanging on the wall with a picture of him and each of his sisters titled; internship, he stops. Under Hattie is a post-it with No! written on it.
Oscar snorts and places it over her face, finding the block and writes yes on his.
He had never imagined working for his mother, never imagined even working in politics at all, if he was being honest, but sometimes life takes you where you are needed and not where you want to go.
Five years ago he would have scoffed at the idea of working on the campaign, been in disbelief his mother became the prime minister and fallen over with laughter seeing what else Oscar had… accomplished in those years.
Five years ago he had a very clear idea of what would happen, how his life would go. And nothing went to plan. But Oscar likes where he is now, likes that he can help, help his mother, help Daniel, Mark, his father.
But sometimes he still wishes more than anything, that he could have done what he grew up wanting to do, even if it was impossible now and forever.
A slurp throws him out of his slumber.
“Do you really want to do this?” Hattie asks. “I’m sure mum would understand if you told her no.”
“Of course I want to do this.” He folds his arms. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I dunno, it’s mum you have to work for? And—I mean—I know it’s probably only grabbing coffee for the team and making sure they have chargers and stuff, but don’t you think you can do better?”
“It’s not that horrible.”
She shrugs and mirrors his stance. “Didn’t say it was. Just. It’s a bit of a downgrade from Ricciardo, isn’t it?”
“If you’re so worried, you can keep an eye on me. You could take the job.” He wriggles his eyebrows and laughs at the expression on her face.
“Piss off.” She mumbles, putting her straw to her mouth. “Excuse me for being worried about my only brother, who overworks himself and can’t say no to anything.”
“I can say no.” Oscar says indignantly.
“Oh really?” humour taints her tone, “name one time you told someone no, one time you told mum no.”
“I—uhm,” Oscar floundered, “there was the time with—you know what this is stupid. I don’t need you to tell me what's good for me anyway,” he rolls his eyes, “and don’t you have homework?”
“Don’t you?” she throws back at him with a single raised eyebrow.
And—oh shit. Yeah, he does have an essay due for tomorrow. “Fuck.”
He runs back to his room, Hattie’s laughter following him the entire way.
He’s scrolling through his phone doing international economics—when he should really be taking notes but can’t be half arsed when the professor keeps blabbering on about whatever—when he stumbles over the article.
‘European royalty’s secret mistress!’ the title reads. It shouldn’t have caught his eye, it wouldn’t have caught his eye, if it wasn’t for the picture of Carlos plastered under it.
A quick skim through the piece makes Oscar chuckle.
It seems whenever Carlos is involved with anything, if it’s his work or just a walk in the park with his dog, the news outlets combust.
He copies the link and sends it to Carlos before he can think too hard about it.
But we were ever so careful
but you weren’t the one who had to sit through an hour-long meeting about the need for proper protection
because of a woman I have never met even once in my life
Oscar snorts, loudly, his entire row turning to look at him. He slides down in his seat and keeps his eyes low.
It’s like the text ignited a fire. Suddenly Carlos is texting him every day, not just when he sees an animal who bears a striking similarity to Oscar, but also when he’s bored, sitting in one protracted meeting after the other.
Or when he’s being driven around by one of the many drivers employed by him. Which, by the amount of texts Oscar gets, happens a lot. It doesn’t seem like Carlos enjoys being still for too long.
Oscar writes it down on his ever-growing list of Carlos facts he is memorizing.
It becomes a part of his routine. Wake up, shower, eat, check whatever message Carlos has sent him while he slept, reply, go to school, work, work, work, eat, sleep. Repeat.
Oscar is being driven to school now too, actually, Mark sent to follow him around—for what feels like—twenty-four seven. His mother thought the increased media attention could create a security risk and had therefore upped all of it that surrounded Oscar and his sisters.
And sure, more people come up to him to say hi, and sometimes make fun of him, but nothing has happened that really means he needs to have two secret service people around him at all times incognito.
He tries learning to live with it. It won’t be for forever at least, only until all this has simmered down.
Weeks pass without Oscar noticing. He had fallen into a pattern, so when his mother sits him down and tells him they would have some American officials visiting for thanksgiving, what surprises Oscar the most is that it’s already November.
Not that he hasn’t noticed the premature Christmas decorations decking the streets, or the horrifyingly terrible Halloween party Jack dragged him to in October.
While the rest of the house is running around like headless chickens, Oscar is scrolling through the google alert he had put on Carlos’ name. Not obsessively or anything, no, it was purely informative, to see if the royal had done anything that Oscar could use in his mandatory three posts about Carlos a day.
Though he has been told it isn’t necessary anymore; the media hype around them has gone down, and with that the number of articles calling Oscar names too.
But, well. Oscar doesn’t really mind. He enjoys replying to the odd number of tweets Carlos posts, likes commenting undecipherable emojis on his Instagram, and making fun of the theories the fans make up about them, with Carlos.
They range from possible to so out of the world Oscar can’t help but laugh.
He takes a screenshot of an article trying to convince everyone that it wasn’t actually Carlos and Oscar, but instead two imposters sent from the US to cause international disruption, to hide the secret flying cars they were building.
maybe you should ask your guests
yeah im sure they could give vague answers and threatening looks better than you.
There went a minute before he texted again.
Fernando tells me to get off the phone :(
Apparently it’s rude to ignore the prime minister of England
Oscar rolls his eyes and puts his phone down without replying. He looks up at the chaos unfolding in front of him.
Not only had the Americans brought everything they thought was needed for a proper thanksgiving dinner, but they had also brought a live turkey.
A turkey that would much rather not be alive, it seems.
It had started with trying to bite itself out of its cage and when the door finally went off, the first thing it did was try to jump out of a closed window.
And of course, Oscar is the only one to see it all happen. Because, for whatever reason, his mother had decided to put the goddamn bird in the room beside his.
“I just don’t get why it’s here,” Oscar waves a hand around the hallway, “shouldn’t it be in the kitchen or something?”
“A live animal in the kitchen?” his mother says, flabbergasted.
“Yeah? Isn’t that where they belong.”
His mother drags a hand down her face.
“Will they even notice if it dies now instead of tomorrow? A dead bird is a dead bird no matter when it has died.”
“Jesus Oscar!” his sister exclaims, “try to be a bit nicer, hey. It’s not the bird fault it’s suicidal.”
Oscar glares down at the feathery ball of hatred.
“We need someone to look after it, I think.” His mother says, looking at her children.
Edie puts her hands up. “Absolutely not.”
“Yeah, no I’m out,” Mae pretty much runs into her room and slams the door behind her.
Oscar opens his mouth to talk but before he can, Hattie points to him. “Would we have known any of this was happening if it hadn’t been for you?” she accuses.
“Well, we would be having a very dead bird there instead, I think.”
Hattie huffs. “Bird allergies run in the family, right? I don’t want to get sick before the dinner.”
Their mother nods thoughtfully. “Bird goes to you then, Osc. Sorry.”
Oscar throws his hands up. “We share the same DNA!” he calls after them.
He looks down at the bird; the bird looks up at him. Its beady eyes pierces Oscar’s before it throws its head back and lets out a screech, then runs for the walls of the cage.
“Ok, uhm.” He pulls the cage into his room, sets it right beside the door and opens a window. He doesn’t know how a turkey smells after a couple of hours in the same room, but he can’t imagine it smells nice.
He tries to fall asleep, but ends up turning every couple minutes, the insistent chirping keeping him awake.
Oscar sighs and tries to smother himself in his pillow. He doesn’t know what else he had expected him to say.
He turns over once more and gets his phone. The Americans will probably forgive Oscar for being exhausted tomorrow if it meant he kept their beloved bird alive long enough for them to kill it personally.
He should’ve just set it free in the hall, see how his sisters would like that. Well, actually he should’ve accepted the flat he was offered when he started his degree years ago, instead of living with his mother and sisters in what is practically a mansion meant only for the prime minister.
The thing about scrolling through social media after you’ve become a meme, is that even once you have swiped away from everything you think might show your cake covered, horrified face, there will still be that one person who uses it as a reaction.
Oscar squints at the picture of Carlos shaking hands with a British official, looking all windswept and ridiculously handsome.
On top of the picture was Oscar’s own face, the text saying everything is so boring without you bae
Oscar snorts and takes a screenshot and is about to send it to Carlos when he realizes how big of a loser he would be if he did that.
He settles for something simpler.
How do you know what I'm wearing?
Oscar stops, bites his nail and sends the screenshot anyway. Carlos has probably learned enough about him by now to know he is a giant loser, anyway.
Do they only allow you into England if youre boring
The prince will personally throw you out if you show up in colour
Good old Georgie boy at work there
His royal highness prince George yes
A dear friend of mine if you have to know
Ill be sure to be less treacherous then
Oscar fiddles with his phone for a bit, not getting a reply from Carlos.
Is it a rule all thirdborn royals have to stick together?
The texting bobble goes back and forth for two minutes before Oscar gets the text. He counts every second.
It is 2 in the morning for you, no?
Oscar reads the text one, two, three times before replying.
This will sound really stupid
Oscar sends him the middle-finger.
The Americans have brought a bird with them for the feast
And it keeps trying to jump out the window
So my mother made me its babysitter
Like I can’t close my eyes for even 2 seconds without it screaming
Oscar rage types quickly. His anger does not subside at the emojis Carlos replies with.
They are killing it tomorrow!!
And still I am forced to look after it
And it keeps glaring at me
Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic
Oscar walks over to the cage, snaps a picture and sends it to Carlos.
It’s out for me I know it
The sounds its making is making me want to pull my ears off
My headphones don’t even work
I quite enjoy the sounds of turkeys from the few times I have hunted them
He’s calling Carlos before he knows it.
“Does this sound joyful to you?!” He says holding the phone against the cage, the turkey taking that as a sign to shut up for the first time since Oscar first saw it. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
Carlos’ bursting laughter fills the room from the other side of the phone.
“It seems like quite the disruption.”
“It has been going on and on for hours, mate, I swear!” Oscar drags a hand down his face and leans up against the wall.
Carlos laughs again. “Oscar?” he then asks, “have you really called me, in the middle of a very important gala, to complain about a bird?” He sounds bewildered, as if he can’t believe the nerve Oscar has.
“Yes, obviously.” He replies, before he could say something else, something he would much rather say. “I should keep you on the phone actually, maybe that’s all it takes for it to shut up.”
“No! I want to hear.” Carlos tells him.
Oscar huffs and puts the phone on speaker. A minute goes by in complete silence.
“How do you um… get a turkey to make sound?” Oscar asks hesitantly.
“Try gobbling,” Carlos says. “See if it gobbles back.”
Oscar blinks. “Are you serious?”
“We hunt them all the time.” There was some rustling on the other side of the phone. “They are very delicious to eat, especially in spring.”
“No, really they are!” Carlos tries to convince him. “You just have to get into the mindset of a turkey, and they will flock right to you.”
“Get into the mindset of a turkey, that for sure sounds true.”
“No, no, it is,” Carlos says, “just do as I say, okay? First, you need to get down to the turkey, and look it in its eyes, real close eye contact.”
Oscar for whatever reason decides to trust him. He sits down next to the bird and looks at it. “Right.”
“Then, when you have established dominance, put your hand to your nose and move your fingers.”
Oscar is not going to do that, thank you very much. He hums.
“And then, when the turkey is comfortable with you, you befriend it and when it guilts you into not murdering it, you buy it a holiday home in Malaga and—”
“You’re such a fucking dick!” Oscar yells and stands up, startled by Oscar's sudden movement, the bird stands up to its full height and flaps its wings letting out a truly ear-numbing screech. “Did you hear that? See! I told you, that awful bird is nothing but…” Oscar trails off at the sound of Carlos wheezing.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught that, did the bird say something?”
“Asshole.” Oscar hisses into the microphone. “Have you even hunted them or was that a lie too.”
“You are a very gullible person, Oscar, has anyone told you that before?”
Oscar grumbles and collapses back into his bed. “Fucking Americans,” he lays face down on his bed and waits for Carlos’ laughter to subside.
“Can’t you leave it alone? You live in a big house, I’m sure there is an empty room for it.”
“The bird keeps trying to escape, that’s the whole problem. If I leave and it’s gone when I come back…”
“Can your sisters not help?”
“If you think my sisters would ever willingly help me with anything,” Oscar sighs, “do your sisters help you when you ask them?”
Oscar snorts. “That’s what I thought.”
The bird begins to chirp again, though less loud than before.
“Are you just gonna spend the rest of your night watching the bird?”
“Well—yeah, what else should I do? I can’t exactly fall asleep with that demon in here.” Oscar grumbles.
“‘Just relax’ he says. Mate, how will I be able to do that.”
“Just do what you normally do to relax.”
Oscar turns over. “Do I look like a person who regularly relaxes?”
Carlos huffs a laugh. “You look like a person who should. You can try yoga or mindfulness, that could work.”
“Is that what you do? Listen to a voice tell you to breath and you just what—do it?”
Carlos is silent for a moment.
Oscar’s intrigue piques. “Oh? What does a Spanish royal like yourself do then? Check your bank account, make sure the country is still running, see if there’s any poor orphan you can help.”
“No, no I… it doesn’t matter.”
“C’mon Carlos, you can tell me.” Oscar can’t help but wonder what could be so embarrassing Carlos wouldn’t want to admit it to him, the leader of the loser’s club.
“I watch a series sometimes. It’s very soothing.”
“A series?” Oscar asks, not impressed.
“Yeah mate, I call bullshit. I need the name of it.” Oscar waits for a reply that doesn’t come. “It can’t be that bad.”
“It’s a Spanish series; you won’t know it.”
“Spoken like someone with something to hide.” Oscar curls himself under his blanket.
Carlos let out a long sigh and then a string of Spanish Oscar couldn’t decipher. “Laisladelatentaciones.”
“Huh?” Oscar tries to go over each word in his head, slower. It clicks. “Mate, do you watch Temptation Island? Is that what relaxes you?!” Oscar can’t help the cackle he lets out.
“Shh! Not that loud! And it’s not temptation island, it’s a Spanish tv series about couples and—”
“Oh my god, you watch love island. The Spanish version of it.” Oscar tries to muffle his giggles in his pillow. “Christ.”
“At least I have something to help me relax! Contrary to you, when was the last time your pulse was under ninety again?”
“You can’t take this from me, I’m sorry. This is great.” Oscar stares up at the ceiling, his chest twitching. “This brings so much more character to you. Here I thought you were just as boring as the next prince, but no. You have multitudes.”
“I’m not boring.” Carlos sputters.
“No, yeah, definitely not.” Oscar laughs. “What is your dog’s name again?”
“I—what does that have to do with anything?” Carlos stutters. “Piñon is a great name.”
“And let me guess, Piñon is chestnut brown.”
Carlos’ silence answers him.
“You’re so predictable, but this? This I couldn’t predict.” Oscar shakes his head and falls further down his bed. “A prince enjoying love island.” He muffles a yawn against his palm.
“You need to sleep,” came Carlos’ voice, his tone the same Oscar would expect him to sound like ordering around peasants.
Oscar had almost forgotten they were still on call, his eyes slipping shut.
A soft chuckle sounds in his ears. “Goodnight, Oscar.”
When Oscar awakes in the morning, he doesn’t have it in him to feel embarrassed about the call. Not even when he looks at his phone and sees Carlos had been on the other side for close to an hour while Oscar slept, before he hung up.
In the middle of the dinner with the Americans he is forced to attend, Oscar’s phone buzzes with a picture of Piñon. Oscar grins. It is a very cute dog, he will admit.
Christmas break always happens at his dads. It has been tradition since way before his parents divorced, and his mother was elected, and really, why should it change, then?
And usually, when Oscar is here, no matter the time or day, what plays on the television is a nonstop replay of racing clips.
When Oscar was younger, he used to believe that one day he would be one of them. One of the drivers who lifts the trophy up in the sky, who drives like he will never stop, who steps in a car that belongs to him.
It didn’t happen, not like he wanted it to, but still, he watches the channel every time he stays at his dads.
Today there’s a complete replay of the 1992 rally world championship being shown.
Oscar hasn’t seen it like this before. He has seen clips, sure, clips of Carlos Sainz crossing the finishing line days after his wedding to the royal princess and becoming the first royal rally winner. Seen the compilation of the greatest ever overtakes, of which Sainz had six in the top fifty.
Oscar can’t deny that watching him drive was exhilarating. No matter what he did, the car answered. It was flawless.
Oscar’s father comes to stand behind him on the couch.
Oscar stuffs some more chips into his mouth.
“He really was one of the greatest ever, huh?”
“Yeah.” Oscar hums, wincing at the close corner he takes, the car on two wheels before he expertly balances it back and drives off, away from the cameras filming.
“Do you know if your prince races too?”
“He’s not my prince,” Oscar bristles, “and no. It hasn’t come up.”
“Hmm. Well, I’m sure if it’s anything like that,” he nods to the screen, “it would be a wonder to see.”
He tried to bring up Carlos’ father once, but it didn’t go anywhere. If it was on purpose or not, Oscar doesn’t know. But he took the hint.
No matter how many questions Oscar has about the racing legend, Carlos’ father was more than that to Carlos, much more. And Oscar doesn’t want to press.
He knows if Carlos caught wind of the slight hero-worship Oscar has going on for his dad, he would never be able to live it down. But he doesn’t have to know.
“Food’s ready in an hour, just so you know.” His father pats his hair softly.
Oscar snaps another picture for Carlos, this one of their Christmas tree.
Being under the same roof as his entire family was usually enough to make Oscar feel like death. But being under the same roof as his entire family and having them all arguing over each other, over Oscar, as he tries to keep himself out of it, is enough to make him want to stand up and go jump in a ditch.
He doesn’t. But just barely.
His mother and father rarely spend the holidays together, not since before they got divorced. Oscar and his sisters didn’t even have to choose which parent to spend it with, they were both so busy that one of them was almost never available.
But not this year, no this year they decided, without any input from their children whatsoever, that they should all spend it together as one big happy family that they just weren’t, though not for lack of trying. And Oscar applauded them, really, he did, but goddamn if it didn’t make him wish he just should’ve accepted the invitation from Jack to go with him and his family to Europe.
The air gets hotter, the lights seem to burn brighter and before Oscar knows it, he’s out of his chair and stalking away from the house. He hears his sister shout after him but ignores her in favour of finding a spot of quiet.
He opens his phone and scrolls down to Jack’s name, then hesitates. The younger had told Oscar his plans for the break, had told him the entire family would be locking their phones away.
He goes back to recent calls, his finger hovering over another name, clicks, and waits with bated breath as the phone rings, once, twice and then—
“Hello?” Carlos answers, the noise of a nearby television nearly drowning him out, “Oscar, are you there?”
“Oh! Uhm—hi. Sorry, I don’t know why I called,” Oscar drags a hand down his face and then through his hair, “this is so stupid,” he whispers under his breath.
“You are not stupid,” Carlos' voice breaks through his thoughts, “is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine, sorry for calling you. It’s just—family dinners you know? And it’s—fuck it’s Christmas eve and I’m calling you like some sort of creep, Christ. This is why I don’t have any friends,” Oscar barks a pained laugh, his voice breaking, “I’ll just hang up now, sorry for disturbing you.”
Oscar holds the phone back to his ear at Carlos’ outburst.
“No, no, It’s fine,” he says, “it’s midday here, I’m just with Ana, getting ready for the big dinner. Decir hola,” he speaks to someone else—his sister Ana, Oscar guesses.
“Hello!” a chirpy voice sounds, “Carlos is wearing one of those face-masks—”
Carlos shushes her loudly, speaking to her in scratchy Spanish. Oscar laughs.
Carlos talks again after some rustling, “are you okay? Do you need me to call anyone?”
“I— no, thank you. I’m just having a bit of a shit day.”
“I can talk to you. If that will make you feel better?” Carlos asks, hesitantly.
Oscar just breathes down the line.
“We will be going to the church soon. It will be televised I think, it usually is. Then there will be a big dinner, with all the important people, and when that’s over we have a smaller one, just for family, where we open gifts from each other,” Carlos says, his voice soft. Oscar can hear the wind, harsh through the small microphone. Carlos must’ve stepped outside too. “It’s tradition, has been since Bianca was born. My mother thinks Bianca might be pregnant, even if it is so soon after the wedding.” Carlos sighs, Oscar listens, “but probably not. Just wishful thinking from her. She wants grandchildren.”
Oscar lets the relaxing voice of Carlos wash over him as he tries to get his erratic breathing under control. It’s funny, really, how Oscar hadn’t even noticed the tension in his shoulders and jaw, or the quick heartbeat beating against his chest, until Carlos began to talk.
He tells him of how their Christmas usually goes, which is a stark difference to how Oscar’s does. But he hadn’t expected anything else. Oscar comes from a middle-class family that rose through the ranks, and Carlos is literally royalty, from one of the oldest countries in the world.
“And what about you?” Carlos asks, “how are your Christmases typically?”
Oscar huffs. “Chaotic. But not like today,” he looks towards the house, “we don’t always spend it together, it’s the first time in years both mum and dad have had time to be at the dinner, actually. I think they forgot why they stopped, you know?”
“They weren’t always like this, but now, it’s like every time they are in the same room a nuclear explosion happens. They don’t even argue or anything, they just don’t act like they used to,” he sighs, “maybe we’ve just grown up enough that they don’t feel like they have to hide anymore.”
It’s relieving getting it all off his chest. He’d never felt like it was anything he could talk about with his sisters, or even Jack, which didn’t leave anyone he could talk to. His circle was very limited.
Once he started talking it was hard for him to stop.
He tells Carlos all about how he felt when his parents first divorced, the relief he felt. But also, how weird it was coming back from boarding school to see his sisters having accepted their mother’s boyfriend into the family seamlessly, a man Oscar had never met and barely even heard of.
Carlos just listened, didn’t interrupt but made sure Oscar knew he was following what he was saying.
Oscar starts explaining what happened at the dinner when he sees a figure come towards him. He trails off.
“It sounds like you did your best,” Carlos says.
It’s not like he never has been told he did a good job, it’s just, he’s never been told what he does is good enough.
“I—ah, uhm. Thanks.” He hiccups. “I have to go, but this was—this was… just thanks mate.”
“No really. Thank you,” Oscar pauses, “see you next year.”
There is a delay before Carlos replies. “See you. Merry Christmas.”
Oscar echoes his words and hangs up, just as Hattie comes to stand beside him.
“What do you want?” He demands.
“Just wanted to see where you were,” she pulls her sweater closer around her shoulder, even though the heat was searing, “you’ve been out here for, like, an hour, dude.”
And he had. It was like time had stopped the second Carlos picked up his call his call.
“Yeah well, I needed a breather.”
“Don’t we all,” Hattie snorts, “really wish mum hadn’t confiscated my vape.” She sighs.
Oscar raises an eyebrow. “The one with literal drugs in it?”
They stand in silence for a couple of minutes.
Oscar rolls his shoulders back. “We better get back inside before they send a search party.”
“Yeah.” Hattie waits a second before she asks the question Oscar knew she had been waiting to ask. “Who were you speaking to? I saw you were on the phone.”
Oscar shrugs. “Just Carlos.” At her raised brow he continues. “Turns out we have a bit more in common than I thought. Nothing more.”
“Hmm,” Hattie doesn’t sound convinced, “let’s just get back before all the good biscuits are gone.”
what’s the dress code for new year’s?
Tuxedo, business casual, Ibiza
The door slams behind him as he stalks into the room.
“Which one of you invited Carlos?!” He asks into the room. His sisters all look up at him. It was the annual dessert tasting day, the table filled with all the cakes you could imagine. Oscar takes a cup of tiramisu.
“Erm,” Edie speaks, “for the party?”
“Yes, for the party.” Oscar nods, looking from one to the other to try and check for their ticks and tells.
“Wasn’t me.” Mae quickly denies.
“What? You’ve barely invited anyone; it was getting sad,” she shrugs, “you should’ve invited him yourself, actually. You would’ve if you weren’t such a pussy.”
Oscar scoffs. “Erm, excuse me?” He lifts the spoon to his mouth, nearly moaning at the taste. He knows which dessert gets his vote.
Edie has her head tilted, a dangerous smirk on her face. “It’s nice you’re making friends that aren’t us.”
“I have friends who aren’t you.”
“Like whom,” she snorts. “Jack?”
“Well, yeah.” Oscar itches his neck, “and Logan, Fred, Arthur…”
“Oh please, we all know you haven’t spoken to any of them in years.” Hattie rolls her eyes.
Oscar mopes into his tiramisu. “You should uninvite him; he has plans. It’s rude to make him come all the way over here just for a single day, and alone at that.” He makes up excuses.
“His friend is DJ’ing,” Hattie says, “you know, the one you kind of know.”
The amount of times his name pops up in his and Carlos’ texts is surprising. Oscar hadn’t even known they knew each other, but apparently, they not only know each other, but they are also best friends. Carlos’ words, not his.
He frowns. “I wasn’t even gonna go.”
“Boo!” Mae flicks a piece of cream after him.
“Now you have to,” Hattie grins, “no hiding in the bushes this time.”
“I wasn’t hiding in the bushes…” Oscar sighs at the looks he gets. “You three are mean, do you know that?” He points his spoon at them.
Hattie just starts humming a song, the other two quickly joining in.
Oscar leaves the room and opens his Instagram; goes to the account he has followed since he was thirteen and Lando was an up and coming go-karter, who had everything Oscar wanted. Lando’s latest story features Carlos, sitting in the seat of a private plane, headphones on.
Oscar leaves the app just as he gets a text from Carlos. It’s a picture from the sky.
He sighs when the picture finishes loading, a view from a plane over the ocean.
It was official then, nothing Oscar can do to change it. Carlos is coming to Australia.
It was all Oscar could think about when he laid in bed, trying to sleep. Carlos was most likely halfway to Australia by now, only a couple of hours more and Oscar could find him and see him face to face for the first time since Spain.
He wouldn’t, but he could.
He wakes up from his dream–filled with dark eyes and soft hair–moody.
Though the party starts at nine, the stylists come knocking on his door at ten. In the morning. An hour after he woke up.
Oscar sighs and rubs the sleep out of his eye.
This wasn’t just a party, no, this was the event for young people who want to get into politics. Since his mother was elected, she made it clear the future was the youths willing to step up, and then she organized a gala to give them a voice. A place they could act grown in a grown up place.
Of course that didn’t last long.
Now it was considered the it party of Australia, the one everyone dreams of getting invited to. Oscar mostly dreams of going back to sleep. He would be up until after midnight, anyway. Why couldn’t any of them give him just ten minutes for himself?
It was awful, he thinks, having to be pampered and dressed like he can’t do it himself.
Before dinner, their mother calls for the four of them.
“Just a little closer,” she says. “Oscar straighten your back a bit, try not to step on the dress.” She looks down at the photographer’s camera. “Perfect.”
Being dressed up, all four of them at the same time, also meant sibling picture day.
Oscar tries to loosen the neck of his shirt, somehow sitting too loose and too tight at the same time.
When they’re done, his mother comes over to him.
“You look so handsome today,” she says, fixing his bowtie. “Are you trying to impress anyone?” She seems to be possibly scheming at the thought.
Oscar rolls his eyes and steps out of her reach. “No,”
“Well, whoever it is, they’re probably arriving now.” She hums, ignoring his previous statement.
Oscar turns quickly to see the first couple of cars coming into the driveway. He takes a deep breath. “Happy new year’s.” He tells the first guest to arrive and then the tenth and the hundredth, until Hattie comes and takes his place.
He doesn’t see Carlos. Not that he’s looking for him or anything. He just isn’t a difficult man to find.
The dinner doesn’t drag on—for once—and ends just as the first fireworks goes off.
Oscar goes and hides in a bush.
Before he can take even one deep breathe, a voice calls for him.
When he turns, he’s met with Carlos' deep eyes.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, humour in his tone, “hiding?”
Oscar scoffs. “Hiding? From my own party? Sure.”
Carlos shrugs. “I usually find you hiding at parties, your own or not.”
“You’ve found me once,” Oscar determines, “and I wasn’t hiding.”
“No, you were drinking all the champagne. From the corner, behind a two-meter-tall cake.”
Oscar ignores him. “What are you doing out here?”
Carlos turns his head towards the tent, where drunk people are spilling out of it. “Lando wanted me to dance with him.”
“So you are the one hiding, then.”
“Hardly.” He denies, looking away.
Oscar stares at him, noticing the loose tie, the crumbled shirt and no jacket. “Or maybe you are out here for something else?” he notes. “Someone else?”
Carlos snorts. “No, I—I just needed some air.”
Oscar gives him another look. Maybe it’s the alcohol speaking, but Carlos looks almost small in the Australian night.
Oscar leans up against a nearby tree and looks up to the sky, where hundreds of fireworks are lighting up the night. The light colours Carlos’ face blue and green, his eyes searching the horizon. Oscar looks away when his eyes meet Carlos’. Blue and pink sparks go off in the distance.
“Do you—” Carlos turns to him and cuts off. “Never mind.”
“No, no, tell me.” Oscar grins, his vision painted white from the flashing lights. “You’re kinda my friend now, you know.”
Carlos rolls his eyes. “Why did you think I was out here with someone?”
“I dunno, I mean look at you,” Oscar waves a hand over the royal, “I’m sure there’s hundreds at this party ready to throw themselves at your feet when you look like that.”
“Maybe,” Carlos looks away. “Just. Not the one I want.”
“Mate what? You’re royalty, you’re the royal. I don’t think I’ve met someone who wasn’t willing to—hmmpf.”
Carlos’ hand grabs his shirt as he presses his lips to Oscar’s. Oscar exhales lightly against him and pushes closer, his hand coming to grab at Carlos’ unfairly soft hair.
It’s only when he’s roughly pushed away that he realises what they’ve just done.
He opens his eyes to meet Carlos’ wide and terrified ones.
“Huh?” Oscar breathes. Before he can say anything else, Carlos turns on his feet and runs.
Oscar loses sight of him immediately; hidden by the tree they had been leaning up against.
“Oh,” Oscar says. “Oh, fuck.”
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