When Carlos Met Gummy – CS55
Original request was by @runs-with-sciss0rs but I lost the ask!! Here it is: F1 driver! Reader x Carlo fix idea below hehe — (I love the art one so much genuinely in the top 5 of F1 fics I have ever read…) Carlos’ family sponsored your karting while you were growing up bc you were broke and showed promise and his family is very well off — queue jealous Carlos since his parents love you and no kid likes sharing attention —> leading to your rivals to best friends to lovers journey throughout growing up and making it to F1
Summary: A detailed account of your relationship with Carlos as it went from rivals to friends to something more
Pairing: Carlos Sainz x childhood friend!driver!reader
Warnings: I think this is the longest thing I've written, daddy issues, bad language, google translated spanish, time jumps, alcohol, mentions of bullying, angst, fluff, deeply cheesy, lmk if i missed anything!
Team Radio: Hi lovelies. It has been SO long. I got this request months ago and it compelled me so much that I had to make a playlist and a pinterest board for inspiration. It's heavily inspired by When Harry Met Sally (as the title suggests). I'm honestly really proud of this, so I hope you like it too! Requests are open, and please feel free to let me know your thoughts in the comments! Love, E
The First Time We Met We Hated Each Other
2007
"Can you pass me my–"
"–no."
"…At what point are you going to become mature?" You spat, expression curdling at the smugness on Carlos' face.
"You first."
"Kids," Carlos Sr, your sponsor and manager (who you affectionately called Lolo), scolded you both as he handed you the gloves you'd been trying to ask his son for. "Behave, both of you. If I get called up to talk about your behavior one more time you're going to find yourselves walking home," He grumbled, his words dragging the weight of all your past incidents behind them like a millstone. You and Carlos nodded your heads wordlessly, but not without sneaking glares at each other through your visors. "No more bumper cars on track either. I mean it."
Carlos Sr was a kind man. You were the only daughter of a single dad whose dreams of karting glory had been dashed by his own impoverished upbringing, and the rally champion had offered to sponsor you after seeing the promise you showed in your dad's beat up kart that he'd had since the 1970s. Since then, you'd grown to revere him not only as a mentor but also as a sort of fairy godfather who plucked you from your rags and transformed your pumpkin into a carriage.
While Sainz's generosity was not lost on you, your own father very quickly began to take advantage of it. Now in addition to sponsoring and managing you, Carlos Sr would often get calls the night before a race asking if he could drive you and act as your mechanic for the day. Whenever you asked your dad why he couldn't come, he always said he had to pick up another shift at work. "If you won't get a job then that means I have to miss your races sometimes," he'd tell you, as if you weren't thirteen and in school. As if he wasn't the one that wanted you to race in the first place, the one who put the taste in your mouth that you could no longer live without.
"I'm sorry you had to bring me today, Lolo," You sighed to your mentor while his son was doubtlessly rolling his eyes at you. The older man patted your helmet gently.
"It's no problem, Chiquita." He looked up and scowled at two boys clucking and snickering as they passed by on the way to the track. "Why do they always make chicken noises at you, Y/N?"
Because they say I have chicken legs, you thought, but merely shrugged to your mentor. "Maybe they think I'm scared."
Carlos didn't know why that made his blood boil. He should be relieved that you don't rat him and his friends out for teasing you. It was just infuriating that you never reacted. All he wanted was to get a rise out of you, to pay you back for stealing his father's attention away from him, but you never stood up for yourself, and in his eyes it made you weak.
"Don't walk so close to me, people might think we're friends," Carlos scoffed as the two of you made your way to your karts on the track.
"You wouldn't be so lucky," You spat back, flicking today's thumbtack off of your seat.
You were used to bullies. You were a girl in karting, it came with the territory. You were outnumbered and outclassed. It wasn't that you didn't care, or that what their tormenting didn't bother you. You wanted to kill them. But at the end of the day, why give them the satisfaction? You'd beat most of them anyway. Besides, you'd grown accustomed to it. Hiding your hair in your helmet before you went to the track made sure they couldn't yank your ponytail and checking your seat for thumbtacks had become part of your pre-race routine.
The race went well, with Carlos victorious and you taking P2. You wished your dad could have been there to see it. You definitely took some joy in turning to the rest of the boys pulling in behind you and giving them a little bow. Fuck them. You particularly reveled in the glare from Santi, the boy who came P3 and was also your worst offender. He was gangly for his age, sporting a face full of freckles and a head full of bad intentions.
Carlos was just happy to take the win, and couldn't have been thinking about you less as he and Santi headed to the podium. You lagged back, not interested in getting your hair pulled or tripped or anything else Santi had up his sleeve. The latter offered a piece of gum to Carlos as he gnawed obnoxiously on his own, which Carlos took and tossed into his mouth as you approached them. A disgusted grimace distorted your face while you watched Santi stretch his gum between his teeth with his dirty fingers. The three of you shuffled in awkward silence until Santi's name was called and his spindly legs ascended the steps to the podium, leaving you and Carlos alone. He was perfectly content to ignore you, not eager to ruin his good mood by interacting with you.
"Don't smack your gum like that, it's gross," You chided, pulling your hair tie out and letting your hair down as you shoved past him to follow Santi.
Carlos' eyes grew charred and spiteful. For some reason, that comment was the final straw for him. Sure, he teased you like the other boys did, but he never really wanted to hurt you. Not like Santi with his ponytail yanking and his thumb tacks. But now he was itching to. He'd held himself back for all these months while he watched his father coach you, dote on you, give you the time that should have belonged to him. And after all of this, now you're trying to boss him around?
"Fine," he growled, pulling the hot pink wad of gum from his tongue and smushing it against side of your head as you walked up the stairs. There was nothing you could do – you had no time to stand in shock and disgust, no time to turn around and punch him square in the jaw – so you just walked to your step on the podium, fighting back searing tears of embarrassment while you smiled and waved.
Carlos strutted up to the top step after you, but the half second of vindication that accompanied his lashing out quickly crumbled into heavy stones of guilt in the pit of his stomach. In the months that he'd known you, he had never seen a tear on your cheek, never seen your bottom lip quiver, never seen you break. He figured it would happen eventually, that Santi and the boys would go too far or your father would miss one too many races, but he never thought that he would be the one to make you cry. He never thought he would care. Yet here he was, against all odds or logical reasoning, caring.
He did his best to shake the feeling and tell himself that whatever it was, it wasn't compassion. It was fear, he rationalized, imagining how his father would react if he found out. He just didn't want to get in trouble, right?
Santi had evidently caught sight of your newest accessory and was howling with wicked laughter like a hyena in the face of weaker prey. "C'mon, Gummy, hop up," he jeered when he and Carlos positioned themselves on the top step for the group photo. Carlos waited for you to bite back at the bespeckled boy, to scoff at how unimaginative the nickname was, to throw the fact that you beat him in his face, anything. Instead, you stepped up silently, reluctantly wrapping an arm around Carlos' shoulder and forcing another smile for the cameras.
You stormed down the stairs as quickly as you could when the ceremony was over, disappearing from Carlos' view while he gathered his trophy and hat. He figured it was just best to go on ignoring you. He knew he'd hurt your feelings and that acting out hadn't brought him the satisfaction he'd hoped for, so it would be useless to continue to fight. He caught your gaze when he began descending the steps – you were waiting for him. Your cheeks were splotchy and crimson with embarrassment and your nostrils flared against heaving breaths as you tried not to cry.
"Why the fuck would you do that?" You asked, worlds firing at him at point blank range and with intent to kill. He tried to push past you but you gripped the shoulder of his race suit and tugged, turning him back to you. "I'm serious, Sainz, why the fuck would you do that to me? Do you realize that this isn't going to come out? I might have to shave the side of my head!" Carlos gulped. He hadn't realized that. Fuck. "What have I ever done to you?!"
His eyes were transfixed on the pink glob plastered against the long strands of hair growing just above your ear and his mouth hinged open and closed as he tried to figure out what to say. "Look, Y/N, I'm sorry," He tried.
You stepped back from him like the very air around him was poisoned. "Bullshit, you're sorry. Don't mock me."
Carlos' thick brows furrowed in frustration. He was trying to be nice, why couldn't you just accept that? "Why are you getting so pissed at me? I know I messed up, but Santi and the other guys have been doing shit like this for months and you never say anything to any of them!"
"Because they're too stupid to know any better and you're not!" You bit back, stunning him into silence. The words were sharp and sour against your lips as you jabbed your finger at him. "They can't help being cruel! Getting upset with them would be pointless, but you can help it and you chose not to! So fuck you, Sainz." The expletive sizzled in the negative space between you like venom as you picked at the gum that was still tangled in your hair. A single tear spilled onto your cheek, reminding him of a painting of a fallen angel he'd seen in school.
"I don't care if you hate me, but you're not allowed to hate me because I'm not well born or well brought up or from the kind of family that can summer in Mallorca every year! You're not allowed to hate me just because your father believes in me. And I know you think I'm weak because I'm not like you, but thank god I'm not. I don't want to be anything like you! I want to be like your father, and you should too." Your words stung like hornets as you turned to walk away.
All Carlos wanted was to be like his father. It was all he could think about until you came along. He wanted to blame you for distracting him, taking his eye off the prize, driving him to choose nastiness and derision instead of gentleness and generosity, but…
"You're right," Carlos sputtered, his words reaching out to stop you from walking way. You slowed, but didn't stop. The confession left him feeling naked, grossly vulnerable but…free. "You're right. You're right about all but one thing." This made you turn, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.
"And just what am I so wrong about?" You fumed, daring him to piss you off again.
"You're wrong not to believe that I'm sorry. I really am." Remorse bled around the edges of his tone, which cut through the air like an antidote. He scratched the back of his neck nervously. "Believe me, I don't know why, considering we can't stand each other but… I am so sorry."
Your razor blade gaze softened slightly, glistening eyes searching his guilty ones for the slightest hint of insincerity. You found none. All the space between his lashes that was usually reserved for contempt was now inexplicably occupied by contrition. It was the first time since you met him that Carlos' eyes had ever looked like his father's.
"Uh," Carlos offered, suddenly enthralled with picking at a loose thread on his sleeve, "I've heard you can get gum out of your hair with peanut butter. There's some in Papá's bag for when we make sandwiches, I think. I could help you get it out?"
Before either of you could say any more, Carlos Sr rounded the corner and approached the pair of you. "Congratulations, son," he smiled as he embraced the bashful teenager before turning to you. "Y/N, you drove beautifully…" He trailed off, noticing the sticky mess on the side of your head. He stepped over to you and knelt to examine the damage. "Did someone put gum in your hair?" Carlos paled with dread as you averted your eyes from his father. "Chiquita, who did this to you?"
Carlos bowed his dark head and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable fallout that would ensue the moment his name touched your tongue.
"Just one of the boys."
Carlos' large eyes flew wide with bewilderment, now scanning every inch of your face for an explanation. After everything, you'd just saved him. An announcement sounded over the speakers ordering the karts to be cleared from the track. The older man groaned. "I need to load the karts, but when I'm finished, I'm expecting you to tell me who it was, Y/N. You two just get your things packed please."
You nodded and floated past both men like a ghost, gazed fixed straight ahead even as your rival scrambled after you. "Why did you do that?" He asked when he was sure his father was out of earshot.
"I don't know."
---
Never in your life did you think you'd watch Carlos Sainz Jr. shove his entire fist into a jar of peanut butter, but here you were. The two of you sat cross legged on the floor of the little garage area where your things were stored while Carlos Sr facilitated loading the karts into the van. Your race suits were unzipped to your navels and your rib vests were discarded beside you.
"You look ridiculous." Your comment startled him slightly, dark eyes darting up to yours as he tried to wriggle his hand out of the mouth of the jar. It was the first time you'd spoken since he'd apologized, and the hint of humor under your words, however faint, made them taste homemade. He was careful not to look too amused as he pointed a peanut butter coated finger at you.
"You're awfully mouthy for someone at risk of getting this stuff dumped in their lap," he warned, though there was no intention behind his threat. You didn't respond, but your expression was soft. You were to him like a mountain covered in fresh snow – your usually spiky edges smoothed over and mellowed, but a cold stoniness remaining below, still treacherous and ready to defend.
The mouth of the plastic jar caught against his knuckles again and prompted an exasperated sigh. "Could you…" You complied even before he finished asking you to, grasping the base of the container and pulling it in the opposite direction until his hand came free, a glob of peanut butter clinging to his fingers. Carlos reached his hand out warily, like he was afraid of setting off a bomb he was trying to diffuse. You sat stiff as a board, allowing him to gingerly press the goopy paste to the offending gum wad in your hair, but shuddered at the squishing sound it made next to your ear.
"Sorry," Carlos cringed, a breathy chuckle slipping out without consent. "I…this is…"
"…so incredibly weird?" You finished. The absurdness of the situation as threatening to make you laugh in spite of yourself. Somehow, he was starting to crack the iciness you felt toward him. But you hated him, didn't you?
"So incredibly weird," he agreed as he tried to work the peanut butter against your scalp to loosen the gum's hold on it. "Okay, I think we have to let it…marinate or something." A smile tugged at your mouth as he leaned back on his elbows, but you did your best to hide it by chewing at your bottom lip. You didn't like how effortlessly he found little back doors and secret passageways to get past the walls you'd put up to keep him out. "I'm sorry I was so jealous," He admitted.
You sighed. "I'm sorry I yelled."
"I'm not," he shook his head, disturbing his fringe of thick black hair. "I needed someone to snap me out of it. Thanks for the snapping out."
This time you didn't hide your smirk, though it stung the raw skin beneath your eyes to do so. "I guess I should do it more often then."
He smiled back. "Honestly I'm surprised it took so long."
"You stand up for yourself and it makes you assertive. I stand up for myself and it makes me a bitch. If I want to make it to Formula One, I don't just need to be good, I need to be liked. I don't always have the luxury of self defense."
Carlos' eyes fell as he thought about what you'd said. "That… that doesn't seem fair."
"It doesn't, does it?" You agreed, though your tone bore no signs of condescension.
"Can I ask you something? And if it's stupid, just pretend I never said anything."
"Ask away," you nodded, "though knowing you it probably will be stupid."
"Oh, wow, thanks."
"C'mon, ask me."
"Why don't I hate you anymore?"
You gawked at him, a little taken aback by the question. Not because it didn't make sense, but at the fact that he asked it. "I was… I was thinking the same thing."
"It doesn't make any sense," Carlos continued, gesturing with his hand still covered in peanut butter. "We've never liked each other, I've been jealous of my father giving you all his attention, we regularly try to kill each other on track, and you just yelled at me and told me I was nothing like my father. I should hate you, right? So… why don't I?"
"Probably for the same reason I don't either, I guess. You've teased me for months, you put gum in my hair, and yes, we can't forget the numerous attempts at vehicular homicide. I have every reason to loathe you forever."
"But you don't?"
"I don't think so."
You both let the confession hang in the air like perfume for a moment. You picked at the skin on your thumbs awkwardly and Carlos chewed at his nails. "You should tell Papá the truth when he asks you." You met his gaze and quirked a brow, as if to ask him why. "For one, I probably deserve it, but also… he doesn't think like your dad does. He doesn't value being tough over being safe. I hope… I'm sorry if that was–"
"–No, it's fine," you reassured him.
"We can probably try to take the gum out now," He suggested. You nodded quietly, allowing him to lean towards you and gently pinch the troublesome wad between his fingers.
The two of you were so focused that you didn't notice the silhouette of Carlos Sr leaning against the doorway. He observed silently, taking in the way his son carefully pulled the gum from your hair, how you both recoiled and laughed when your gooey hair smacked against your cheek and stuck there. He'd never seen you smile at each other.
"Y/N," he finally spoke up, startling you slightly. You and Carlos got to your feet" as he approached. "I need you to tell me who put the gum in your hair. Your father has entrusted your safety to me, I'm not going to let you be treated like this."
You glanced at Carlos, who wore a curious expression – his chocolate eyes told you everything. Go on, they whispered, you should tell him the truth. You looked back to your mentor, who waited expectantly with arms crossed.
"It was Santi."
Both Sainz's eyebrows flew to their hairlines, though Carlos Sr's quickly fell back down in a scowl. "That brat," he sighed. "Alright, I'm going to mention it to his father." He placed the van keys into Carlos' clean hand. "Put your stuff in the car and wait for me. And," he smirked, "try to clean yourselves up, okay?" He patted your shoulder and mussed Carlos' hair before marching off, and you couldn't help but pity Santi's dad. Lolo's temper was nothing to sneeze at and you were pleased not to be on the receiving end.
When Carlos looked back at you incredulously, you just shrugged your shoulders and stuck out your hand. "Peace offering. Truce?"
A smile spread across your former rival's face and he smacked his peanut buttery hand against your outstretched one. The sticky brown pasted squelched between your palms and over your fingers as you shook hands vigorously. "Truce."
The Next Time We Met, We Became Friends
2010
Ever since that fateful day three years ago, Carlos had gone from your rival on and off track to one of your biggest defenders. Nobody dared to tease you (at least to your face) as soon as the son of El Matador was on your side. Though Santi had been left behind when the two of you started in Formula BMW earlier in the year, the nickname he had so rudely bestowed on you ended up catching on, to the point that even Carlos called you Gummy now. You didn't mind, honestly you found it endearing, and it reminded you of the day you and Carlos became friends. In return, you gave Carlos a nickname of his own – Chili.
The two of you were attached at the hip, both on the podium and off track, so it wasn't unusual for you to be sprawled out on your stomach across his hotel bedspread, his face below yours as you brushed a face mask across his cheeks.
"Why is it so cold?" He carped, clutching his arms over his bare chest in an effort to quell his goosebumps.
"Don't talk," you scolded, brushing the green mask between his upper lip and the tip of his arched nose. "You might hate it now, but in twenty minutes your skin will look so good that Carlotta won't be able to stay away from you."
He blushed beneath the cold paste layered over his face. The image of the tan, raven haired Italian girl from his class flashed across his mind and made his heart pound. "I don't think she'd want to get with me if she saw me right now." He was probably right – in addition to the vomit colored mask, his fringe was tied up with a scrunchie to keep it off of his face, making him look like some sort of demented unicorn.
"Well luckily she's not the one who has to look at you right now," you teased, rolling off the bed to wash the dirty brush in the bathroom sink.
"Speaking of crushes," he called, sitting up to lean against the headboard, "have you made a move on Viggo yet?" He knew that you had had a crush on a Scandinavian boy who raced in your series for a while now.
"No," you groaned, reentering the room and flopping down beside him on the bed. "I feel like I've made it obvious that I'm… interested. But I don't want to freak him out!"
"In that case, you're probably going to have to change your entire personality."
"Have I told you lately that I can't stand you, Chili?"
"Oh yes."
You smiled, resting your hands over your stomach and sighing contentedly as Carlos flipped through the channels on the TV. "Can I ask what might be a stupid question?"
"Better than anyone I know."
You rolled your eyes. "I know that you and Carlotta are into each other, but… have you kissed or anything?" Carlos shook his head but didn't take his eyes off of the movie on the screen. "Have you ever kissed someone?" He shook his head again, squirming slightly with embarrassment.
"Have you?" He asked.
"No," you hummed, adjusting your head to see the TV better. Your forehead was inches from the thigh of Carlos' flannel pajama pants. "I'm kinda scared that I'll be bad at it."
"Me too."
You tilted your gaze up to look at his face. His eyes were still glued to the screen, but you couldn't quite tell if he was just deeply invested in Buffalo Bill discussing lotion with a girl in a hole or if he was trying not to look at you. "I bet you wouldn't."
"Wouldn't what?"
"Be bad at kissing."
He finally looked down at you. "Why, do you think about kissing me?"
You gagged. "No! No, I just… ew, Chili, I was just trying to be nice!" You laughed and smacked his leg, making him smile impishly.
"I don't think you'd be bad either."
It was a strange compliment. It was meant to be kind, but something about it made your stomach churn anxiously. The two of you resigned yourselves to silence, watching a Spanish dub of Silence of the Lambs and feeling like two poles of a magnet – there was a charge between you that hadn't been there before, but you couldn't tell if it was pulling you closer or forcing you apart. When your timer finally went off, you both lazily crawled off the bed and padded into the hotel bathroom.
"What if," Carlos began, voice bubbling as he splashed water on his face, "what if we could practice?"
"I don't follow," you mumbled through the bleach-stiffened washcloth you were using to remove the green sludge from your cheeks.
"I just mean… what if we kissed each other?"
You bristled, the hair on the back of your neck standing straight up and a flush blistering across your cheeks and the tips of your ears. You stared at him, eyes wide, and waited for an explanation.
"I don't mean kiss kiss," he backpedaled, "But… look, we're sixteen, neither of us have had a first kiss and I think it's safe to say we're both kind of embarrassed about it. If we kissed each other, we could get the first kiss out of the way, zero pressure, and it could be practice for the real thing," he babbled, pulling his bangs out of their scrunchie and letting them flop onto his damp forehead. "You know what, just forget I said anything, it was a stupid idea –"
"–Okay."
"Really?" His big cow eyes gawked at you in the bathroom mirror, watching every flick of your own.
You shrugged. "If there's anyone I trust to not judge me, it's you. As long as it doesn't make anything weird."
Carlos shook his head vigorously. "It won't mean anything."
The two of you walked back onto the plush carpet of the hotel room, suddenly conscious of your bodies and the space between them as you stood and faced each other awkwardly. "So…" you trailed off, confused at the way your heart twisted as his gaze flitted between your eyes and your lips.
"I guess we should…" he breathed, shifting his weight nervously. His freckles were beginning to melt into the peachy blush rising in his cheeks.
"Why am I nervous?" You asked, voice more hushed than you'd intended, hardly audible over the horror movie that still droned on in the background.
"It's just me, Gummy."
You steeled yourself, taking a determined breath before closing your eyes and leaning in. It felt like an eternity before his lips touched yours. You both jolted back for a moment, surprised by the contact, before returning to each other more intentionally. The kiss was warm and achingly slow, deeply tender and exploratory.
But it didn't mean anything. It was just a simple gesture between two friends.
It didn't mean anything that your mouth found a home latched around his plush lower lip and your hands, unsure of where to go, moved to rest against his bare chest. It didn't mean anything the way his fingers fluttered along your jaw and beneath your chin, like if he touched you you'd slip from his grasp like water. It didn't mean anything the way his long nose pressed into your cheek and nuzzled there. It didn't mean anything that this was by far the most gentle another human had been with you, mentally, emotionally, physically. It didn't mean anything.
It wouldn't mean anything.
It couldn't.
It shouldn't.
It did.
The realization that something inside you felt entirely different moved you to pull away. He stared at you between thick lashes, breathing deeply through half parted lips. Finally, he spoke. "I don't think you have anything to worry about."
You blinked, trying to banish the floating feeling in your legs and ground yourself. "Hm?"
"You said you were worried you'd be bad. You don't have anything to worry about."
"Oh," you breathed. "Thank you, I guess. Likewise. Carlotta is lucky."
"Thanks."
You pushed a loose hair behind your ear to try and expend some of the nervous energy building up in the pit of your stomach. "I should probably go. Your dad will be back from dinner soon and we both need to get some good sleep." You scurried past him and retrieved your facemask container and scrunchie from the bathroom before heading toward the door.
"Hey, Y/N?"
You turned to look at him. He hardly ever used your name anymore. "Yeah?"
"We're good, right?"
You gulped down the confusion the kiss had left you with and nodded. "Yeah. It didn't mean anything. We're all good."
---
2012
Carlos sipped on his coffee as Carlotta, his girlfriend of two years, curled into his side. It was Christmas morning, their first Christmas together, and the Sainz clan was milling around in pajamas and gradually gathering near the tree to unwrap their gifts. The driver's phone buzzed in the pocket of his sweatpants and he fished it out to answer it.
"Well, Happy Christmas, Gummy," Carlos grinned into the phone.
"Happy Christmas, Chili," you greeted back. "I'm sure you have lots of plans today so I won't take up much of your time, but I just wanted to wish you and the family happy holidays!"
Carlos lowered his phone. "Gummy says hi, everyone!" He announced, and was met with a series of pleased grunts that would have been more enthusiastic if their coffee had kicked in. He brought the phone back up to his ear. "What are you up to today?"
"Oh, not much," you sighed, "just hanging out."
"Is it nice to be home with your dad?" Carlos asked unceremoniously, but his dark brows furrowed at your silence before his shoulders slouched in realization. His own father, enthroned in his favorite armchair across the room, cocked his head at Carlos' change in demeanor. "He's not there, is he?"
"No."
"Where is he?" Carlos leaned forward, leaving Carlotta with no shoulder to perch her head against and one more reason to resent you.
"Uh, probably with his new girlfriend's family. I'm not really sure. He just told me they were going on a trip and wished me a happy Christmas."
"Well when did they leave?"
"Day before yesterday."
"Is anyone there with you?"
"Chili, it's fine, you know I like my space anyway."
"Gummy, come on, are you really spending Christmas alone?"
Carlos Sr rose from his chair and migrated across the room to his son. "She's alone?" He asked. Carlos nodded. "Well tell her to come here straight away!"
"Gummy, Papá is insisting that you spend Christmas with us," Carlos relayed, rising to his feet.
"Chili…"
"No, no discussion. You're coming over, I'm leaving to pick you up right now."
"No, Chili, don't," you urged. "You don't want to drive your fancy car in my neighborhood. I promise I'll be there."
"If you're not here in an hour I'm coming to get you," he warned, though there was no suppressing the triumphant grin on his face at having convinced you to come over.
Carlotta sighed as Carlos sat back down in his couch crevice and wrapped an arm around her. "What is it, amor?" He asked, kissing her cheek.
"Nothing, I just liked the idea of Christmas being just the family, that's all."
"Gummy is family, Lottie."
"I know, I know. I like her, I really do, it just feels strange to have you invite another woman over."
Carlos ran his free hand through his hair tiredly. "She's not another woman, amor, she's just Gummy," he promised as he brought his coffee cup to his lips.
45 minutes after the initial phone call, you pulled your beat up car into the driveway of the Sainz family home. You never liked the exterior of the house, it was too brutalist for your taste, but the inside was surprisingly warm and cozy, thought that may have just been because of the people who lived there.
You clutched a bouquet of flowers wrapped in brown paper that you'd picked up for Reyes and a tote bag packed with a change of clothes and your knitting was slung over your shoulder. You hesitated at the front door, urging your heart to slow down. For some reason, every once in a while, your heart would start pounding like a war drum when you were around Carlos. You figured it was because he stressed you out so much over the past year, which you spent as teammates in F3. The man drove like a crazy person, after all. It couldn't be those old feelings that pinched your heart two years ago in that hotel room. You simply wouldn't allow that.
Immediately after you knocked, the sound of raucous high pitched barking echoed behind the door and soon enough it swung open to reveal Blanca, Carlos' older sister. She squealed in delight and hugged you tightly while Oli jumped against your legs. "Gummy's here!" She called, leading you into the foyer. You quickly embraced Reyes and offered her the flowers, apologizing for showing up unannounced.
"Oh, stop it, Y/N, you know you're always welcome!" She pinched you before heading to the kitchen to put the flowers in water. You pulled off your hat and coat, which Blanca snatched from you, and you were immediately scooped into the arms of Carlos Sr.
"Thank you for having me, Lolo," You smiled into his embrace. "You really are too generous."
"Never too generous when it comes to you, Chiquita," he assured you as he gave you an extra squeeze. "Besides, I know you'll pay it forward by making me some hot chocolate later, yes?"
You laughed for the first time in days. "Yes, of course." Your mentor patted your shoulder before you crouched down, finally giving your attention to the yippity Maltese that had been begging for it. "Hi Oli!" You cooed as the dog jumped to lick your face. You feigned injury, falling to a heap on the floor and letting Oli leap and sniff all over you while you ruffled her fur.
"Not going to say hi to me?"
You looked up to see Carlos smiling down at you. "Why would I say hi to you? I'm here for your dog and your parents."
"Come have some coffee."
"Sorry, I'm not sure if you've noticed but I'm currently being mauled by a savage beast," you winked, gesturing to the cotton ball of rage he called a dog.
Carlos sighed and smirked at you impishly before grabbing hold of one of your ankles and dragging you across the wood floor like a horribly deformed mop while you screeched with laughter. He dropped your leg when he'd gotten you to the living room and you found yourself face to face, or rather face to fancy slipper, with Carlotta. The Italian woman leaned down, offered you her hand, which you took, and pulled you to your feet.
"Hi, Gummy," She greeted you, her voice sweet but stale like day old frosting.
"Hi, Carlotta," You nodded back, brushing off the dog hair that your clothes had collected on their trip across the floor. The two of you got along fine, but neither of you really had any desire to get to know each other on a deep level. It was just a bit of a square peg, round hole situation.
The living room was glowing with early morning sun through large windows and crackling firelight from the hearth. Christmas lights twinkled on the tree in the corner, under which laid a hoard of gifts that was almost overwhelming in its abundance. Your gaze shifted from the gifts to the people around them, who were all finding their seats: Lolo giving his youngest daughter a kiss on the cheek, Reyes offering the dogs a taste of the eggs leftover from breakfast, Blanca pulling a goofy face when she noticed your staring. It was such an unfamiliar thing for you, seeing such a happy family.
You were pulled from your musings by Carlos ruffling your hair before handing you a mug of coffee, prepared just the way you liked it, before sitting next to Carlotta on the couch behind you. The Italian woman spread her legs out over her boyfriend's lap as if to say back off.
"Gummy," fourteen year old Ana called from where she and Blanca had settled across the room. "Come sit with us!"
You smiled, stepping over Oli to get to the girls before turning to Reyes. "Do you need help passing out gifts?"
"Oh, no. That's the boys job," Carlos' mother smirked, perching on the arm of Lolo's chair and coaxing him out of it. Carlos got to his feet to join his father as you sat in the chair next to Blanca. Ana plopped down at your feet and you immediately raked your fingers through her long hair. Every time she saw you, Ana wanted you to braid her hair. You wove the strands in your fingers absentmindedly and smiled as the men handed gifts out to people. You didn't even mind that there would be nothing for you, you were just pleased to be there. It was the most content you'd felt in a while.
Carlos approached you and his sisters and waved a box in front of you. "Ana's pile is down there," you gestured with your head, hands still tangled in her hair.
"It's not for Ana, it's for you, idiot," he smirked. Your brows flew to your hairline in surprise.
"What?"
"Relax, it's really nothing. I'm just going to put it here, yeah?"
You nodded wordlessly as he set the box down. The gift opening commenced, and you suddenly felt nervous when it came to be your turn. "To Gummy, from Chili," you read off the tag, "may these things come in handy when you leave me in the dust." You quirked a curious brow at your teammate and smiled as you tore into the wrapping. The first thing you pulled out was a framed photo of the two of you in your race suits. You were perched on his shoulders and blowing a huge bubble while he laughed. The next thing you pulled out was a jar of peanut butter.
"It's so you can have one just in case I'm ever not around to get gum out of your hair," he beamed as you threw your head back with laughter.
"Have I told you lately that I can't stand you, Chili?"
---
Though this year had been your first Sainz family Christmas, the Sainz New Years Eve party was an event you never, ever missed. For the last three years, you'd come over for two things: festivities and a sleepover with Carlos. This year, while you knew you wouldn't be having a slumber party now that Carlotta was there, there were still plenty of traditions to uphold.
"It's almost time," Blanca shouted, wringing her hands at the TV in the living room.
"Okay!" You shouted from your post behind the bar in the kitchen. Nobody could mix a cocktail quite like you, and you always joked that the only good things your dad did were introducing you to racing and alcohol. "Chili, want your usual?"
He was too busy chatting to hear you, but Carlotta did.
"What's the usual?" she asked.
"He and I always have Manhattans on New Years," you explained, raising your own to show her.
"Ugh," she grimaced, "you're much braver than me. I don't like brown liquor. Just make him a tequila soda, I know he'll like that." You begrudgingly complied. He always had tequila around her because it was her favorite to steal sips from. It was sweet, you supposed. It just didn't really feel like him.
"You're lucky, you know."
"Why?" you asked. You couldn't think of anything you had that Carlotta should be jealous of. She was rich, gorgeous, in a long term relationship, came from a happy home…
Carlotta gestured to the Sainz family, all laughing together in the crowded living room. "They all like you better than me."
You paused. You were inclined to agree with her, after all the sisters both made their distaste for her relatively evident, and there was more than one occasion that you'd seen Lolo scowl at her. "I don't think that's true," you lied, but you were cut short by Carlos' eyes meeting yours and lighting up. You knew she saw it too. "But even if it was, Carlos doesn't," you continued, handing her Carlos' tequila soda. "That's what matters, right?" She nodded coldly.
"Gummy!" Carlos shouted over the din, "bring the grapes, come on!"
Everything with you and Carlos had to be a race. All through the last year when you were teammates in F3, you'd race to get into your cars, race to find your hotel rooms, race to finish your meals, to say nothing of the on-track racing going on. So it made sense that one of your New Years traditions was to compete to see who could eat their midnight grapes the fastest. The twist was that you were shoving grapes into each other's mouths. It started as a joke, just the two of you being stupid teenagers, but his family found it so funny that it had become a staple at every New Years party since.
"Okay, Carlos and Gummy, get ready!" Ana shouted as the countdown started. Because she wasn't allowed to drink yet, this was her biggest source of entertainment all evening. Carlotta scowled as you and Carlos poised yourselves like wrestlers about to grapple, overcome with fits of giggles. As soon as the first stroke of midnight hit, the two of you furiously crammed grapes into each other's cheeks, not really paying attention to the rest of the bell tolls. Everyone, including you, erupted into a fit of laughter. Somehow, you both managed to chew all twelve grapes before falling into each other's embrace. This, you thought, this is exactly where you belong.
Carlos had only just swallowed his final grape when Carlotta pulled him away from you and locked her lips with his. It was New Years, of course it was going to happen. But something in your chest cracked at the sight of them. It was like the stitches holding your heart together were cut, and now the whole thing was unraveling. You may not have known what love felt like, but acrid green jealousy was a familiar taste against your tongue.
The dam you had built to suppress everything suddenly crumbled without warning. Every feeling you'd had for your best friend since that night in the hotel, no, since he got gum out of your hair, crashed over you like a wave, and there was nothing you could do. The chapter of your life where you didn't care, or you could at least pretend not to, was finally closed, and it was like you'd forgotten to dog-ear the page.
You watched him kiss her, rest a large hand against the small of her back while the other one lazily nursed a glass of tequila soda. The music and cheering and merriment around you faded to a dull roar. You wanted to kiss the tequila from his lips – you didn't even like tequila, but maybe you'd like it that way. You wanted to feel his hands brush like butterfly wings against your face again, you wanted to feel his nose press into your cheek.
"Happy New Year, Chiquita," Lolo beamed, yanking you back to reality. There was a split second before you turned to the old man that you met Carlos' gaze, and you thought you might have seen a hint of longing in his bottomless brown eyes. You quickly shook the thought from your mind as you embraced Lolo. It couldn't have been longing. If anything, it was just your own reflection.
And Then We Fell In Love
2019
It had been seven years since you last acknowledged that you had feelings for your best friend. You'd done your best to quell them by convincing yourself that you'd just been lonely that night with nobody to kiss on New Years Eve. Ignoring your feelings quickly became a lot easier after that year, because the following season saw you move up to F2 and Carlos move to GP3 and Formula Renault 2.0.
Racing in different categories was the first time that you and Carlos didn't see each other every week since you'd met as children. The distance, while difficult, did make it easier to omit certain feelings that stained the edges of your memories together. Of course you still saw each other occasionally if you were in the same city and you still attended the Sainz New Years Eve party every year, but for the first time, Chili and Gummy no longer came as a packaged deal. It was like you two were on parallel trajectories – always the same, but never intersecting.
You moved up to Formula One in 2016, albeit as a Red Bull reserve driver, only a year after Carlos joined Toro Rosso. The world wasn't ready to see a woman in an F1 seat quite yet. Still, moving up to the racing category of your dreams also meant that you slowly began to see Carlos more, and of course you still got on like a house on fire. Casual waves across the paddock became an occasional lunch, until you were back to giggling like school girls and trading secrets in the wee hours of the morning.
Now, three years later, you had finally taken your rightful place on the grid, this time at Williams, alongside another younger rookie. George had become like a little brother to you, looking up to you and doing his best to get on your nerves whenever he needed a laugh.
While you still got plenty of hateful commentary from those who felt you had no business driving beside 19 other men on the grid, you had amassed a bit of a cult following over the years, particularly of young women who were seeing themselves represented in the sport for the first time. You were well liked throughout the paddock, and all of the drivers adored you (though none as much as Carlos). You were finally living your childhood dream.
So why were there nights that left you laying sleepless and aching for something you didn't know was missing?
Tonight was one of those nights, and you were almost thankful when your phone began buzzing on the nightstand. At least this was a distraction. You reached for it languidly and smiled at the caller ID.
"Can't sleep, Chili?" You picked up. The sound of a strangled sob on the other end of the line sent a shock down your spine and you jolted straight up. "What's wrong?"
"She was supposed to be the real thing."
"What?" You asked, already climbing out of bed.
"Carlotta and I broke up, we broke up and I need you to come over here." He rambled, his words running together like wet paint.
"Okay," you assured him, "okay, just hang on, I'm on my way."
Your mind was racing as you scurried down the quiet halls of the upscale hotel. You thought about how the one person who's opinion of you only seemed to sour every time she saw you was Carlotta. Though Carlos did his best to keep their relationship private, she was ever-present in the Mclaren garage and ever intent on keeping you at arms length. She had apparently gotten tired of Carlos' justifications of your friendship, not caring that you were "coworkers" or that you were just "one of the guys".
Maybe that's why your heart fluttered a little when he told you she was gone.
He looked a mess when he opened the door. His shaggy hair was sticking out in all directions like he'd brushed his hands through it a million times. His eyes were raw and red, their focus drifting under the weight of the tequila he'd consumed, the remainder of which sloshed brazenly in the bottle he clutched in one hand.
"Oh, Carlos," you sighed, your heart breaking for him. You expected him to fall into your arms, to invite you in, to start blubbering about how much he missed her, to fall flat on his face, something. But instead, he continued to block the entrance to his room with his broad shoulders and lean out unsteadily to look at you.
"I need you to do something for me," he slurred. His tone, while intoxicated, was deadly serious.
"Okay."
"I need you to tell me not to kiss you."
You stared at him, searching his grief-burned eyes for answers. Why is he asking you this? You didn't know. You just knew that you didn't want to do what he asked. Every second that lingered between you in this moment was another sledgehammer to the walls you were trying desperately to keep your feelings for him hidden behind. You thought you'd grown up, you thought you'd moved past this… this thing, whatever it was. This childhood crush, this love of all loves. You thought it had died, but oh god, this feeling inflating like a balloon in your chest was Lazarus, alive and walking and threatening to stomp on your heart.
"Why?" You asked, voice quiet.
His eyes bore into you and you watched him desperately trying to stay focused on your face as his balance wavered against the doorframe. "Because," he reasoned, shrugging his shoulders hopelessly, "it shouldn't be you."
You felt your heart screaming in your chest. Please, it begged, please make it stop, make him stop. He didn't want you. He wanted her. She was the one he'd practiced for on your lips. You were suddenly thirteen again, gum tangled in your hair, and he'd put it there. This man, your best friend, your soul mate, who stood inches from you, face dangerously close to your own, had just wadded up your heart and handed it back to you without even realizing it.
If you'd had an ounce less dignity, you would have kissed him anyway, right there in the hallway of the hotel. You would have let him imagine it was her just so you could have a little piece of him. You wanted so badly to let him make what to him would've been a mistake and to you would've been the answer to every prayer. But before you ever loved him, you were his friend, and as his friend you couldn't let him drunkenly destroy himself, even if you wanted him to. So you looked deeply into his limitless brown eyes, cleared your throat, and firmly told him, "Don't kiss me."
Your chest burned and your eyes threatened to well up as you spoke. Neither of you moved. He exhaled shakily, sending the stench of alcohol into your face. "Okay," he whispered. You watched a tear slip from his eye, and as you followed it down his scruffy cheek you felt one escape onto your own face. You were sure his tears were for her. You knew yours were for him.
"Okay," you nodded, tearing your gaze from his and forcing yourself to walk away. Just hold it together, you thought, keep your head up until you're back at your room. You didn't know whether he was still watching you or not. Sobs were beginning to push themselves into your throat even as you tried to swallow them down. The elevator doors dinged as you walked past them, and to your dismay Lando and George stepped off right in front of you.
"Hey, Gum–" George's jovial greeting was cut off when he caught sight of your face. "Hey, are you alright?"
"Oh yeah, fine," You lied, hastily swiping a hand across your cheeks as you pushed past the two rookies. "Just got something in my eye. Um, Lando?" You added, clearing your voice to mask it's shaking, "Just a heads up, Carlos is pretty wasted in his room right now. If you get bored you might check in on him."
"O-okay," you heard the young Mclaren driver stutter behind you. You knew that neither of them bought your excuse, but you prayed they'd have to common sense to pretend.
You threw yourself onto your bed once you'd finally reached the sanctuary of your room, chest heaving out heartbroken cries into your pillow. It had been a long time since you'd felt so acutely alone. You just wanted your best friend to comfort you, to console you, to let you rant and rave and wail about everything you thought and felt. It just so happened that he was the one person who you could never, ever tell.
---
You sipped coldly on your even colder drink as you watched a blonde woman with seemingly endless legs fawn over Carlos, who was across the room at the bar. Sometimes you wondered if there was a supply closet full of leggy blonde women somewhere at the FIA headquarters. They were always in such heavy supply at galas like this one.
Your relationship with Carlos since that night a few weeks ago had become…strained. You weren't even sure if he remembered your conversation, he was so drunk. It was the first time since you'd become friends that you and Carlos hadn't talked about something. Maybe you would eventually, but for the past few weeks you'd been trying and failing to pretend like everything was normal.
You felt trapped, caught between the desire to preserve your friendship and the need to grieve, and while you tried to do so privately, the incessant Linda Ronstadt pouring from your driver room and lack of Mclaren-Williams movie nights had made George privy to a change in dynamic between you and your best friend.
So while George and Lando whispered across their table about feeling like children of divorce, you leaned against a pillar, leg jutting out of the impossibly high slit in your dress and manicured finger stirring your drink absentmindedly.
"Hey." Carlos' voice beside you nearly made you jump out of your skin. "Shit, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I just…" You looked at him expectantly, your gaze as indifferent as you could muster. "Do you want my cherry?"
The question brought a flush to your cheeks that you weren't expecting. Ever since he could drink, he'd always gotten his manhattans with cherries, even though he didn't really like them. He just knew that you did.
You nodded. "Sure."
He grinned, fishing his cherry out of his drink by it's stem and handing it to you gingerly so as to not drip anything on your dress. You plucked the ruby colored fruit from its stem with your teeth and bit into its succulent flesh, choosing to ignore the way his eyes flitted down to your red lips.
"I suppose I should consider myself lucky that you came over here to give me your cherry when there are such fair maidens to woo elsewhere." Carlos quirked a quizzical brow at you. "Miss fem-bot over at the bar?" You clarified.
"You're an ass."
You laughed put a hand to your heart in mock surprise. "You mean her acting like a complete sycophant didn't make you fall desperately in love with her?"
You watched Carlos pull at the collar of his dress shirt anxiously. "No. No, I'm not in love with her."
"Ooh, juicy. Who then?" You pressed. While you had to assume that his breakup with Carlotta was still very fresh in his mind, you hadn't talked about it. You'd asked once or twice if he'd wanted to, but he'd always declined. If you couldn't fulfill your best friend duties by being a shoulder to cry on, maybe encouraging him to get back out there would be enough to distract him from the obvious.
You looked up when he didn't answer your question to see him staring intently at you, and where you expected to find humor behind his eyes you were met with something else. It startled you a little, tripping an alarm in your head. "Carlos, stop."
"Stop what?"
"That's not a funny joke."
"I'm not laughing." It was true – you'd never seen his expression so stony. "Tell me you don't feel the same way."
This can't be happening, you thought, chest heaving and mouth hung slack in disbelief. Not after how hard you'd worked to get over him. You searched his deep brown eyes, which burned into yours with unmatchable intensity, for any way to debunk the myth he was trying to speak life into, because in your mind there was no way it could actually be true.
But your search was only rewarded with a look of longing – the longing you thought you'd made up on New Year's Eve seven years ago. It was the same look he'd given you after Carlotta had stolen him away for a kiss, which probably tasted like tequila when it could have tasted like cherries.
"I love you, Gummy."
You turned spitefully on your heel and marched away from him, though you knew he was not far behind, and cursed your wobbly stilettos for slowing you down as you rounded a corner to get away from prying eyes. "Don't mock me, Carlos."
"Gummy, wait!" he called after you.
"I'm not going to stand here and let you make fun of me."
"How am I making fun of you?"
"I don't want to talk about this with you, Carlos."
"You talk about everything with me!" He urged. You whirled around to face him.
"Not this, Carlos. We don't talk about how unfair you're being."
"How am I being unfair?!"
"It was unfair to tell me to ask you not to kiss me," you hissed, jabbing your finger into his chest. "And it's unfair for you to just… just decide to say you love me because you're lonely!"
"You think I'm doing this because I'm lonely? You think I'm risking our friendship because I want to fuck you?"
"You said yourself it shouldn't be me, so honestly I have no idea what the fuck you're trying to do right now!"
Carlos pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, though less out of exasperation and more out of remorse. "Fuck, Gummy, that's not what I meant."
"I'd love to know how you think I should have interpreted that," You spat, arms crossed.
Carlos waited for a moment, allowing the frustration and tension of the moment to dissipate so that nothing was clouding his eyes when he spoke to you. He felt thirteen again, trying to make things right with you while you stared him down. Your eyes hadn't changed. "I said it shouldn't be you because I didn't want to treat you like a rebound," he explained, voice steady and calm. "I didn't say that because you meant nothing, I said it because you mean everything. I didn't tell you I love you because I'm lonely. I'm telling you this because I realized that I've wanted you to be my last kiss ever since you were my first." His eyes never left yours, even as he dragged a hand up from your shoulder to brush your collarbone before coming to rest against your cheek. His gaze was arresting. "I realized that you were the real thing I was practicing for."
He stepped closer to you and cautiously reached out a hand to brush his fingers against your arm. "But you're right. It was unfair for me to ask that of you, and I'm sorry. You've been right about a lot of things, Y/n."
A shiver ran down your spine when he said your name. You'd been Gummy, his Gummy, for so long, that hearing your name roll off his tongue felt deeply intimate. "But?" you breathed, sensing that he wanted to continue and frozen by the feeling of his fingers fluttering against your bare skin.
"You're wrong not to believe I love you. Because I do. I really do." He scratched the back of his neck nervously, and suddenly you were children again. You knew that if he didn't mean it, you'd never be able to come back from this. But those eyes – those unwavering, striking eyes that made your heart twist in your chest – they never lied to you, not since you'd truly gazed into them for the first time twelve years ago. Just like back then, your glistening eyes searching his for the slightest hint of insincerity. And just like back then, you found none.
Without a second thought, your body propelled itself into his and you kissed him fiercely, even as he stumbled back slightly at your sudden advance, taking the waist of his tuxedo jacket in your fists. One large hand found your cheek and the other rested on the small of your back as though he was determined to keep you close. His lips tasted like whiskey, smooth and strong as they pressed desperately against yours over and over again. Gone was the sixteen year old boy who'd been afraid to touch you. Gone was the thirteen year old girl terrified of letting him in. You felt your lip quiver against his as you began to comprehend just how incandescently happy you were in that moment before he pulled away.
"Are you okay?" He asked, concern weighing on his brow when he saw the tears in your eyes. His hand hadn't left your cheek.
"Have I told you lately that I can't stand you?" You laughed breathlessly, thumbing at the red lipstick that was now smeared over his mouth. It was something you'd said to him a million times before, but this time you both knew it meant I love you too. It meant I can't stand being away from you. It meant I can't stand the thought of you not being in my life. I can't stand how you keep putting gum in my hair, but I can't wait for you to always be here to help me get it out.
You'd never seen anyone's heart melt so plainly on their face before. His tourmaline eyes crinkled into a knowing smile that you had a sneaking suspicion you'd see for the rest of your life before he pulled you back in for a smoldering kiss. This time he was braver, more brazen, letting his hands roam down your sides, up your back, over your exposed thigh while yours found a home in his hair. Just as things were starting to heat up, an announcement sounded over the speakers in the ballroom around the corner asking everyone to take their seats.
"We should probably go back in," he panted against your lips, giving your thigh a squeeze.
You giggled. "I think we both need to clean up a little, Chili." His hair was disheveled and if that much of your lipstick had come off on his face, you could only imagine what you looked like.
He smirked suggestively. "I could help you, if you want." He shrugged, melting at the alluring look in your eye. "I won't use peanut butter this time, I promise."