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vamossainz55 · 2 years ago

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always - carlos sainz jr

summary (5.5k words): inspired by always by daniel caesar and requested by one of my favorite people @scuderiasundays. or the one where you and carlos find your way back to each other. warnings: mentions and hints of s*x (no explicit writing), hints towards cheating. a lot of longing, tension, and a disgusting amount of use of the word always. sorry it had to be done.

“feliz año nuevo!”

carlos smiles when his mother comes close, stamping a kiss to his cheek. he wraps his arm around her, hugging her close as the sound of fireworks erupt through the city.

he can hear the cheers from the other houses and the sound of the tv still playing. la puerta de sol is on the screen, a new number he needs to remember for the year splashed on top of it with a nicely written font.

“terminaste todas las uvas?” did you finish all of your grapes? reyes asks, ruffling her son’s hair fondly. carlos scrunches his face slightly but leans into her touch anyways. only two people in the world were allowed to touch his hair, his mother’s just lucky she’s one of them.

“si las terminé,” as he moves to pull his phone can feel the slight rumble in his stomach as proof, along with the ache of his jaw from chewing so quickly.

“y pediste un deseo?” carlos blinks, mind flashing to mere seconds ago after he had chewed down the twelve grapes. he smiles.

“claro mamá” he says before his attention is taken up by his father, who pulls him into a hug. hugging his father turns into hugging blanca, and hugging blanca turns into hugging caco, and that turns into hugging the rest of the group.

soon hugs turned into cheering with champagne. then shotting tequila. and then one or two bottles of beer.

in between all the drinks and laughs his mind frequently goes back to the wish he had made as the clock rang 12.

he really wonders if his wish would come true, the reminder prompting him to take out his phone.

it’s only when he’s looking at the lit up screen that he feels it. the quick movement of his eyes but the slow motion of his vision. the alcohol was surely taking effect and he was definitely starting to feel the consequences.

he unlocks his phone anyways, goes to open whatsapp with one name in his mind. as he clicks on the logo he sees the notification come in. your name sits nicely at the top of the list of conversations.

‘happy new years! i know this will be your year, go get em x’

he smiles, and against his better judgement types in ‘what if its our year?’ it’s cheesy, but in the moment it seems great to him. his thumb hovers over the send button as he tries his best not to think too much about it.

is this too much? he hesitates pressing send, thinking. god. i can still taste the tequila in my mouth. his lips purse and he smacks his lips against each other. why is my mouth so dry? i should go get water. he gives his train of thoughts an approval, nodding to himself before pocketing his phone.

don’t get distracted carlos. he tries his best to make it to the kitchen, but his resolve breaks when another shot glass is being handed to him. he smells it. vodka hm, at least it isnt tequila. he thinks before downing the contents of the glass.

he figures water can wait for later.

its later that night (or maybe he should say morning?) that he climbs up the stairs, more blurry eyed than before with a bottle of water in his hand. he almost misses a few steps, letting out a winded breath when he reaches the top. he finds piñon laying by the railing, head tucked on his legs.

his eyes look up at carlos, clearly having expected him to come sooner. “sorry piñon, tenemos que festejar un poco no?” we need to party a little bit no? carlos asks, crouching down to pet the top of his head.

he watches the way piñon leans into his touch, puppy dog eyes as big as ever and in that moment he remembers his wish. “no te muevas, que estas muy mono,” don’t move, you look adorable he says before fishing his phone out of his pocket.

the battery widget flashes red, a notification announcing he has less than 10% left making an appearance. he dismisses it quickly, swiping to open up his camera app instead.

click.

he smiles at the photo on his screen. he can barely hold himself up though so he gets up on his feet, legs wobbling a bit in the process. he pockets his phone again, he figures he can send the photo later, his bed already calling out his name. he stumbles into it face first, bottle still in his hand.

he dreams of his wish and the text he’ll receive when he wakes up.

but when he opens his phone the next morning to realise his text is still half written without being sent, he’s too embarrassed to even look at it. he deletes the whole text, and doesn’t send you anything altogether.

it’s a quiet day, different to the bustling life he’s used to. it’s something he barely imagined himself appreciating, a contrast to what he used to crave: busy schedules, back to back flights, speeding through tracks, or even streets, the thrill of it all.

madrid always helped him wind down, allow his two feet to settle back on the ground. it’s a nice reminder that there’s a life outside of it all: outside of hotels, outside of planes, outside of cars.

which is why, neatly packed between meetings, trainings, catch-ups with friends, he always slots in quiet morning walks in the city.

he soaks it all in, eyes tracing every window, every door, every crack in each tile he steps on. he’s in the city he calls home, where nothing really changes, but where nothing really stays the same.

small droplets of rain pellet on his skin as he walks, going past the all too familiar park he practically grew up in. the see-saw looks the same, along with the black handles he used to grip whenever his friends would get off from the other side without warning.

he smiles at the memory. his own high pitched voice rings in his ears, letting out expletives that kids his age would more than get in trouble for.

it’s the next step he takes that brings him back to reality. an unhinged tile that’s peaking unexpectedly high.

he trips, shoulders raising slightly as he catches himself with his other foot. distracted, he doesn’t notice the person in front of him, not until he lets out a small but embarrassed breath of relief whilst looking up.

“carlos?” his name rolling off your tongue sends goosebumps to his skin and his eyes grow slightly. “i didn’t know you were going to be home,” you come closer this time, hand going over his shoulder to grab behind his neck. your touch sends a shiver down his back.

despite the buffer of his brain he moves naturally around you, body responding faster than his thoughts. his hands go to your waist just as your cheeks touch. right cheek first, left cheek second. he takes the moment to take it all in. he feels your fingertips at the nape of his neck, your hair gently brushing over his shoulder your perfume still smells the same, the flowery and sweet aroma invading his senses.

he realises he misses it.

he realises he misses you.

“yeah, I just landed yesterday.” his thoughts are slowly prickling in again, and he remembers where he is, what he’s doing. “and you know me,”

you smile, because you do. “always squeezing a walk in?”

he nods, eyes going over you. you don’t have much on you, your phone in one hand and your bag slung over your shoulder.

“always,” he answers.

there’s a moment of silence as you scan over him this time. you notice he doesn’t have anything on him either, just a phone peeking out of his pocket.

“are you-” you start.

“where-“ he laughs when he realises he interrupted you, sheepishly scratching the back of his head.

“you go,“ its said simultaneously between the two of you, and this time you’re both laughing, rosy cheeked and crinkly eyed.

“okay,” he raises his hand so you can’t cut him off this time. “ladies first,” his tongue is resting gently between his teeth as he patiently waits for you to go ahead.

“i was asking if you are going anywhere,” he shakes his head to answer. there’s a second question on the tip of your tongue, but you go for a third one instead. “what were you going to ask?”

“where you are going,” he doesn’t say it like a question, because in that little moment he knows you’re both on the same page. “but, i’m changing it to- if you want to grab coffee with me?”

one black coffee and one latte macchiato sit between you both. the smell of ground coffee floats in the air, mixed with the smell of freshly baked bread.

it’s like the place misses you more than you miss it, the walls feel closer, warmer, asking you both to stay as long as possible. in reality though, you both don’t know how long this encounter would last.

even maria, the older lady that owned the cafe, had welcomed you both with wide smiles and open arms, sneaking past the counter to hug you both. she still remembered your order by heart, shooing you both to sit down before any of you even ordered anything.

it’s been a while since you’ve both sat together like this, scooted into the small table of the cafe, tucked into your corner. the table is as small as ever, and peaking right from under carlos’ drink you spot the little doodle on the wooden table from years ago. carlos spots it too.

you remember the panicked voice carlos had that day. you had been coming back from the restroom just to find him leaning over the table with a far from innocent look. “i messed up,” he had whispered. at first he didn’t want to show you, and his dramatization of it all made you expect the worst.

you were only met with a slight chip on the table, barely noticeable to the naked eye (or to whoever wasn’t looking for it). despite carlos’ demeanor you only laughed, grabbing a marker from your bag. you had made sure maria wasn’t looking before covering it in black.

“it isn’t enough,” carlos murmurs, hunching over again to grab the pen to add more ink.

you remember the gentle sound of the marker going back and forth. you give him a second, and then two, and then three, and by the fourth you nudge his foot. “carlos, i think we’re good.” but of course he shakes his head, an argument about needing the colors to blend. “it’s a marker on wood carlos, it isn’t going to blend,” but alas he doesn’t stop, not for a bit at least.

you go for your phone, sighing softly with a shake of your head. you take a photo of him, writing the caption ‘this is literally your son right now’ and sending it to reyes when you notice the silence coming from the other side of the table.

you glance back at carlos, finding him silently staring at the blob of black he had created. you can tell the moment he realises what he’s done, “... it’s way worse now isn’t it?” he asks, almost comically.

“you’re really something else,” you bite your bottom lip, rolling your eyes as you hold back a laugh. “give,” you say, thanking him when he hands over the marker to you. “now go own up to maria, and i’ll at least try and make it cute.”

he murmurs a sorry, cheeks going red as he lets you fix the problem he somehow made worse. he thanks you with several pecks though, whispering “you’re the best” into your ear.

you end up covering the blob with a heart, and maria finds the whole thing too endearing to even get mad (she had apparently spotted carlos panicking even before you had come back from the restroom).

you’d never admit it out loud, but you were grateful that a memory of you both was sealed somewhere.

as always, your thumb taps at the glass of your coffee cup. you’re quiet, eyes scanning over the foam that’s collected at the top of your drink now. carlos watches you, the way you bring your cup to your lips before taking a sip of coffee. your tongue peaks out for a split second after to swipe at the cloudy texture left behind on your lips and he has to deny the urge to reach out with his thumb to wipe it away for you instead.

“thought you didn’t go anywhere without your red ferrari shirt,” you joke, the warmth of the drink calming your words. carlos only laughs, mirroring your actions to take a sip of his own cup. he places the cup next to the doodle this time, letting his hand rest on the table. his fingers tap over the fading ink, gently tracing the shape.

“so you’re keeping up with my life hm?” carlos teases before sitting back into his chair, hands back at cupping his mug.

“of course i do,” you answer, gently knocking your foot against his. he smiles at the revelation, as if you didn’t still like his photos, or left one-off replies to his stories. infact, you had wished him new years first. despite both of you deciding it was better to part ways, you both continued to put your best efforts in somehow remaining connected.

carlos still wished you happy birthday every year, sent you a photo of piñon whenever he went home, and dropped a comment whenever he was on his instagram (he was glad you had your account on private).

it’s not the same as it used to be though. you’re not really there, but it's enough for now.

“you never texted me back.” carlos looks at you, raising his brow slightly to feign confusion. he knows what you mean though because unfortunately, alcohol induced memory loss only existed prior to going to sleep.

“i… forgot,” he lies, frowning small to himself because it's a bad excuse, a bit mean even.

“mhm,” you give him a proper look before sighing. it was clear that you were frustrated, frustrated that you cared so much about it.

“you know i didn’t mean to,” carlos murmurs, and it isn’t an apology. as much as he wanted to, he knew he didn't owe you one, and frankly, even though you wanted one you’d never accept it.

“i know,” you murmur before taking a deep breath. carlos fights the urge to hold your hands, to tell you that it's fine. so instead, he pulls out his phone.

“i do have a photo for you though, albeit a bit late” he says, unlocking his screen to open his gallery. you perk up at the mention of a picture and you sit up a bit, this time scooting closer.

your knees touch just as carlos turns his phone to show you his screen.

“he’s so cute,” you coo at the sight of piñon staring at you through the phone. slowly reaching to move the phone closer, your fingers go over his and carlos expects you to take his phone, but instead you let your touch linger.

there’s a moment of silence before your eyes shift from the phone to carlos. there’s so much you want to say, but you know it isn’t fair to any of you.

“i miss him,” carlos looks at you. the words feel heavier than they should. they hold more meaning and you both know it. he puts his hand down, fingers tracing over the doodle once more.

“i know, he misses you too.”

some nights carlos stays up late, staring at the ceiling of whatever room he’s staying in for the night. he likes to draw images on the ceiling, imagine something he can’t have but ultimately wants.

he sometimes imagines crossing the finish line first, lifting the trophy, sitting on the top step of the podium. not only once but multiple times. sometimes he imagines lifting the wdc trophy, imagines his name carved into the list of legends in the sport.

as much as he loves the sport, it’s exhausting most times. both physically and mentally. the traveling, although fun, taxes him mentally.

the changing hotel rooms, living out of a suitcase almost every other week gets old pretty quickly when you’ve been doing it for years. friends and family are good company, but sometimes he craves more. a constant, a person to call his.

so inbetween images of the top step of the podium, glimpses of you always seem to appear through his mind.

he let his ritual slip once when talking to lando. lando calls it manifesting, something he’d caught when scrolling through tiktok. and carlos isn’t one to believe in the energy of the universe, but for this he’ll make an exception. some things are meant to be wished for.

and honestly carlos needs to thank lando, even give him a gift, because tonight is one of those nights, and one thing he didn’t expect is to be behind the wheel of his car after being tucked in bed almost two hours prior.

the moment your name flashed across the screen he was already up on his feet.

so he parks in your driveway, just to see you sitting on the stairs of your doorstep. he takes off his seatbelt, lets the engine run for a second as he tries not to think about it too much.

you only look up when he opens the car door, slowly getting up as he comes closer to you. that’s when he notices it, your wet cheeks and swollen eyes. “hey,” you murmur, voice shaky. he doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arms around you before pulling you close to his chest.

and this is exactly why you both didn’t see eachother often. why distance was best for you both. because here he is, on your doorstep with your face tucked into his chest.

he knows why you called, knows showing up isn’t making it easier for any of you, but he’s selfish, and you are too. it might not be the first time you’ve called, but every time it happens carlos is scared it’ll be the last.

it feels like a ritual, carlos climbing into your bed in his boxers and a shirt you had chucked at him from his previous late night visit. no matter how long ago you always kept it with you.

the room is cold, your insistence of not turning on the heater during winter still prominent after all these years. he never minds though, not when your body presses against his under the sheets, not when his arms wrap around you to pull you close.

his lips press against your forehead, soft and careful. he feels you let out a small breath, feels the tip of your nose poking at the center of his chest. he moves to look down at you to find your eyes already on him. “you feel better?” he asks, carefully tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. he lets his fingers graze over your cheek, thumb slowly going under your chin.

“i do, thank you for coming,” you murmur, eyes dropping to his lips. you both know you shouldn’t.

you continue to lay in eachother’s company, letting the familiarity sink in. it’s the perfect moment to forget about it all, about why moments like these were worth the distance and the stress. it’s the perfect moment to think about the what if’s.

and the nights always start like this, with strong composure and innocent touches. but every single time the night fails to end how it starts.

your breath feels warm against his neck and his grip is strong on your waist. your lips always manage to press closer and his hands always manage to go lower.

“carlos,” you murmur. it’s always soft and always so needy.

and carlos should know better, does know better, but his hands are slipping under your shirt, and your fingers are already dipping into the waistband of his boxers.

his teeth graze against the sweet spot on your neck and the sounds you let out spur him on further.

he wants this moment with you.

you always awaken to an empty bed after, with no evidence of his presence apart from the marks on your skin. it never upsets you to wake up by yourself, as it was an easy way for you to run away from the reality of the previous night.

sometimes though you like to imagine what it would be like if he stayed one of the mornings. whether you both would finally talk about everything, instead of tip-toeing around it all, but you never do.

at the ene of the day the risk always seemed to outweigh the rewards.

despite waking up with a certain sense of satisfaction, the feeling was always mixed with guilt, and often times regret. not for the choices made during the night but regret for letting things end in the first place.

the risk of not being on the same page was definitely not worth the conversation. you were just as selfish as carlos. if turning your head towards another direction was all you needed to do then that is exactly what you’d choose.

so life peruses normally, the seasons continue to change. the snow from winter melts as the spring flowers take their time to flourish. but every night when you close your eyes it’s like there’s something missing.

you never seem to shake it off, the only option is to dull it out, seeking comfort in others that don’t just quite make you feel the same way. carlos is no better though.

you see the headlines on ‘hola’ magazine. the photos of carlos going home with a pretty brunette or blonde not far ahead. the girls change every other week and you can’t even bother to keep up, especially not when you have your own little distraction.

this time it’s javi. a friend of a friend who funnily enough works in motorsport too. unlike carlos, he isn’t a driver, mainly arranging the different events that go through spain.

you try to not mention carlos at all, especially when the formula 1 spanish gp gets brought up to the table one month into seeing each other. you just hoped your friend knew better, but unfortunately she doesn’t and you’re the only one to blame for it.

“her ex is a ferrari driver now!” it’s innocent, your friend blissfully unaware of the way you tensed at the mention of carlos. in everyone else’s eyes you were both fine, some would even say great, the picture perfect image of healthy exes.

“oh?” he asks. he senses the tension growing in your demeanor, the way you shift in your seat. your friend notices the questioning look he gives you.

she laughs, genuine, and innocent. “it’s not like that, they’re on good terms. no funny business anywhere.” and it sounds so true that you almost believe it yourself.

the topic washes over the conversation, but your mind stays right there.

her words ring in your head. on good terms. no more funny business. you’d be lying if you said you no longer remember the way carlos’ lips traced your skin, or the way his hand wrapped around your neck.

“so you’d be down to come with me to barcelona?” you snap out of your thoughts at the question, gaze coming up from the table.

“sure, it’d be nice.” you answer, not finding the courage to even make an excuse. your fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt during this. should you give carlos a heads up?

you smile when you get a peck at your lips, nodding when being asked if you were excited. “very,” you say, wondering at the same time when you had gotten so good at lying when it came to carlos.

the sun is shining brightly over the city, no cloud in sight. you can’t complain about the heat though, not when you’re tucked inside the paddock’s hospitality area. your paddock pass hangs around your neck, special guest written in small fine print along with your name.

you’re by yourself at your table, fingers fiddling with your phone’s strap as you wait for javi to get back to you. he had left over an hour ago for a catch up with the board of the track, and although you didn’t mind spending some time by yourself, the wait is becoming longer than you had initially expected.

you’re not short on entertainment, deciding to walk to the balcony as the sound of the engines reverberate through the building.

you watch the flurry of f2 cars pass, each car being pushed to its limit as the drivers attempt to qualify with the best lap possible. the crowd cheers as they watch a new name place itself in p1.

your mind wanders as you watch, thinking about the red badge you had tucked away in one of the zippers of your purse.

you had received it in your mailbox a week after telling carlos you were going to be at the race.

he knew you were coming with javi, the only catch though was that you only received one pass.

you entertain the idea, a quick drop-by wouldn’t hurt any of you. it’s carlos’ home race and it felt wrong to not wish him good luck.

so when javi’s apology appears on your phone saying it would take him a few hours, you find yourself turning away from the track and slipping the tag off your neck as you make your way out.

you shoot out a text, dropping by to say hi.

you get your answer before you even get to ferrari’s building, the red pass now hanging around your neck instead and you find carlos standing idle by the entrance.

the moment he spots you he eyes you over, gaze following down the black and red lanyard to see your tag. as childish as it is he finds himself smirking, well aware of who’s name you were carrying around with the badge.

you’re let in easily, carlos pressing the button to open the doors from the inside. he gives you a hug, finding comfort in the way you tucked your chin over his shoulder.

your badge is between his fingers when you pull away. he flips the badge over, reads over the text before letting it go. he does nothing more of it, simply asking you how you were before taking you upstairs to his room in search of more privacy.

the room is bright red, a contrast to the white walls you were used to during his time at toro rosso. you make no issue of making yourself comfortable though, sitting on one of the chairs that’s pressed against his table.

“the whole country is rooting for you,” it’s merely an observation of your time so far, countless of 55 merch dispersed all around the crowd. “you nervous?” it’s supposed to be teasing, but carlos knows you enough to notice the place of concern in your question.

“a bit, shitting myself actually.” the confession comes out more serious than not and he simply tries to brush it off with a laugh. “but hey- can’t be worse than last year hm?” the joke falls flat between you both and there’s a silence that is almost suffocating. despite carlos’ good nature and strong spirit, you knew him well enough to know he was still letting past performances follow him.

the seconds feel like hours before you speak up, trying to determine what is best for you to say. you know carlos was one of the last people to want something sugar coated for him. “last year was.. something. but if anything- from what i saw today the crowd believes in you.”

carlos lets out a lighthearted laugh, and you know what he thinks of your answer. “don’t just say that to make me feel better.”

his eyes bore into you as you say the next words, and you let your eyes meet then. “you know, i say that because i believe in you too.”

throughout all the years you’ve known him, one thing never failed to be true: you had always believed him from the beginning, and at the end of the day you’d always be rooting for him.

“thought i’d get to meet your boyfriend today,” carlos says, resting on the edge of his table as he crosses his arms across his chest. you can’t tell if the remark is meant to be a jab, or whether it was something carlos wanted to do. “it’s serious?”

he doesn’t look jealous, simply leaning his head to the side as he waits for you to answer. you could lie, say that it was serious and you wanted it to go somewhere, but you’d both know you wouldn’t be telling the truth.

the choice you end up with is to not answer altogether, letting out a sigh instead. that’s all that carlos needs to know so he nods, taps his fingers over his arm. “how much time do you have?”

you watch him walk over to the door, and you pinch the end of your dress as your eyes trace his back. “i think i need company for the nerves.” he explains, “is it okay?”

it isn’t okay, but javi wouldn’t be back for at least two hours. “i have as much time as you need me,”

you expect carlos to lock the door, for both of you to ignore the elephant in the room and just continue the cycle but the lock never clicks.

instead he turns back around, a nervous expression on his face. you feel the energy of the room shift, and you watch carlos come closer. “actually… is it okay if we just talk?” he doesn’t mean just talking, the fiddling of his fingers giving it away.

“about?”

“you know about what,” carlos murmurs, “i just- i need to know where we’re both at. well, where you’re at.”

you chew your bottom lip, take a deep breath as you tuck your hands under you. “but, what if,” you’re unsure on what to say next. what if you’re not on the same page? what if you realise it’s best to end things? “what if things change?”

carlos smiles small, shakes his head before he speaks. “i’ll always be here, you know that right? even if we’re not on the same page right now.“

“i know.” you murmur as he sits down next to you.

it’s later that night that you break it off with javi with an apology and carlos’ hotel room card in your back pocket.

you stay the night, the morning, and the night after that.

“feliz año nuevo!”

carlos smiles when his mother comes close, stamping a kiss to his cheek. he wraps his arm around her, hugging her close as the sound of fireworks slowly dwindle down.

the cheers have already died down, and the tv is on silent, music playing through the stereo instead.

“terminaste todas las uvas?” did you finish all of your grapes? reyes asks, gently reaching over to fix carlos’ hair. carlos rolls his eyes playfully, they weren’t even ten minutes into new years and two people had already touched his hair.

“no, no las terminé,” he looks away from reyes, unable to stop the smile that was forming on his lips and the warmth he felt spread through his chest.

reyes smiles, follows carlos’ gaze. she doesn’t need to ask but does so anyways “y no pediste un deseo?” and you didn’t make a wish? carlos shakes his head.

“el mio ya se cumplió,” mine already came true.

it takes you a moment to catch carlos staring, and he holds back a laugh when your eyes go wide the moment you realise reyes is there with him. you’re quick to walk over, “reyes, happy new years.” you’re smiling ear to ear, blanca who had stolen you from carlos mere minutes ago trailing behind.

as soon as you’re done hugging reyes he wraps his arms around you from behind, presses a kiss to your cheek before shifting to peck at your lips.

“quit snogging. you didn’t even try finishing your grapes before.” blanca comments which gets her a pinch on her side from carlos but he backs off nonetheless as soon as he notices you getting flustered.

it’s only later that morning, when he stumbles into the bed with you that he finds your lips again. you laugh between kisses, both of you tired and heavy limbed as you sneak under the blankets.

it’s once you’re both settled that carlos speaks up. “happy new year,” he murmurs against your lips, smiles when you murmur it back before kissing him again. he savors the moment, can still taste the hint of mint from your mouthwash. once you pull away he smiles, looking you in the eyes. he can’t help himself, the words being at the tip of his tongue during the whole evening. “this year’s our year hm?” he finally asks.

you smile softly and nod, coming closer before answering with a whisper of promise. “this one and the next.”

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