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simpforoneandonlycarlossainz · 2 days ago

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Thank you for the Happiest Years of my Life

Summary: After an emotionally charged fallout, Carlos and Y/N find themselves at the end of a love they once believed was unbreakable.

A/n, Buckle up for an angst filled chapter, not really fight or arguement, just resignation cause I am in the mood for tears:3. Do let me know if I should make a part 2 for a happy ending? Its inspired by the song Happiest Year by Jaymes Young. Let me know you thoughts in the notes and if you want you can send me requests for any Carlos x reader oneshot and I will try my best to deliver it to you<3

The lights of Monte Carlo shimmered in the distance, scattering like crushed diamonds across the dark velvet sea. The waves below caught each fragment of light and fractured them—delicate, broken reflections that danced restlessly, aimlessly.

Just like the memories in his mind.

Carlos stood alone on the narrow balcony of the penthouse suite, his knuckles white as he gripped the iron railing. The wind carried a chill that didn’t quite reach his skin—it went deeper, settling somewhere in the hollow part of his chest.

The same suite. The same balcony. The same view.

And yet… nothing felt the same.

Everything looked like it was holding its breath, as if waiting for her to walk back in and breathe life into it again.

The silence inside clawed at him.

He could almost hear her—could almost convince himself that if he turned around, she’d be there, barefoot and half-asleep, wrapped in one of his hoodies, her voice thick with sleep as she mumbled something about the stars being brighter in Monaco.

But all he heard was the soft hum of traffic far below and the wind rushing through a world that had moved on without her.

The suite was still hers in so many ways. Her perfume—warm vanilla laced with a whisper of jasmine—still clung stubbornly to the cushions, to his shirts, to the edges of his thoughts. That scent used to be his anchor. Now, it was a knife.

And then there was the plant.

That stupid little plant she had insisted on buying from a street vendor during one of their walks.

"Even hotel rooms deserve a little life, and this is our home so of course," she had said playfully, placing it by the window with a proud smile.

He hadn’t watered it since she left. Couldn’t bear to touch it. Its leaves now curled inward, starved and browning at the edges—just like him.

Y/N had poured love into everything she touched. Into that room. Into him.

And now?

Now it all felt like an echo of a life that belonged to someone else. A version of himself he barely recognized anymore. One who smiled more. Who slept better. Who believed in forever.

But he let her go.

Or maybe—he pushed her.

And standing there, watching the broken city lights scatter like fallen promises, Carlos couldn’t help but feel the undeniable truth settle in his bones:

He was the one wilting now.

And there was no one left to save him.

The door creaked open behind him—soft, uncertain. Like a memory daring to come back.

Carlos froze. His heartbeat thundered in his chest, loud enough he thought it might echo off the walls.

And then—her voice.

Quiet. Barely above a whisper. Fragile, yet laced with something unshakably familiar. “You still keeping the place.”

He turned slowly.

And there she was.

Y/N stood in the doorway like a ghost wrapped in warmth. His oversized navy sweater hung off her frame—too big, too worn, and yet it looked like it belonged only to her. Her hair was pulled up in a loose, messy knot, strands falling around her face like they used to after long, sleepy mornings tangled in each other. Her eyes… they held storms and softness. Tired. Guarded. But still somehow—him.

Carlos swallowed hard, something raw catching in his throat. “I never stopped.”

His voice cracked at the edges.

She stepped inside with careful, deliberate steps—as though the floor might collapse beneath her if she wasn’t careful. As though the silence might shatter at any moment and take her heart with it.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The silence between them stretched, thick with things unsaid, thick with time they couldn’t get back.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said, quieter this time. Like it hurt to admit.

She offered the ghost of a smile—so faint, it looked like it had been exiled from her lips. “I almost didn’t.”

And just like that, he was 23 again. Breathless in love with the girl who painted light into every room just by standing in it.

Carlos exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair, trying to hold the pieces of himself together. But she was here. And every crack ached anew.

Y/N crossed her arms—not in defiance, but in defense. Like she was wrapping herself in the only armor she had left. “Why did you ask me here, Carlos?”

He didn’t answer right away. He turned from her, walking into the living room where the dim lamplight cast long, empty shadows. The air smelled faintly of her perfume—vanilla and something floral—and it hit him like a punch to the gut.

In the corner, he opened a drawer. Quietly. Reverently.

From it, he pulled a photo—slightly curled at the edges, faded from being handled too much.

He held it out.

She stepped forward slowly and took it from him, their fingers brushing briefly. It was electric. Painful. A reminder of a thousand soft moments now bruised.

It was them.

Tuscany. A vineyard. She was laughing, her head thrown back, sunlight caught like wildfire in her hair. He was mid-laugh, eyes closed, joy unfiltered, real. Untouched by the weight they hadn’t known was coming.

“I found this yesterday,” he said, voice low and hoarse. “And I…”

He faltered.

“I realized I never said thank you.”

She looked up, eyes narrowing slightly in confusion.

He kept going.

“Thank you,” he repeated, firmer now. “For loving me. For seeing me. For staying when I didn’t give you a single reason to.”

She stared at him, lips parting as if to speak. But nothing came. Her eyes gleamed, lashes trembling. She blinked—once, twice, fast—like she could physically will the tears away.

Carlos’s gaze dropped. His next words came out quieter, broken. “I ruined it.”

He stepped back, shame curling through every syllable.

Carlos let the silence hang for a long beat, his hands trembling slightly as they hung useless by his sides. The air between them felt heavy, too thick to breathe.

“I let the world eat me alive,” he said finally, his voice hoarse and low, like it was being dragged from somewhere buried deep inside his chest. “The pressure. The noise. The weight of being everything for everyone except myself.” He looked at her, eyes red and glassy. “Except you.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep going.

“I didn’t know how to ask for help… I didn’t know how to admit I was drowning. So instead of handing you a life vest, I dragged you under with me. I watched you gasp for air while I pretended I was fine. I put it all on you. Every fear, every failure, every bad day that I couldn’t carry anymore—I dumped it at your feet.”

His voice cracked—visibly, audibly.

“I made you carry me… when I should’ve just reached out and held your hand.”

He exhaled, ragged and broken.

“And then,” he continued, quieter now, almost like he hated himself for the words that came next, “I turned it all into poison. Into sharp edges and cold shoulders. Into silence when you needed comfort, into anger when you only offered love.”

Y/N didn’t move.

But he saw it.

The tiniest twitch of her lips. The way her chin wobbled for just a second before she stilled it. Her shoulders sank—not dramatically, not enough to collapse, but enough to say she had heard every word, and that each one cut just a little deeper than the last.

“And you,” Carlos whispered, his voice like glass, “you drank every drop of that poison. Thinking it was love. Believing that maybe if you just held on long enough, I’d come back to you.”

A tear rolled down her cheek, unbidden.

But she didn’t speak. Didn’t wipe it away.

She just let it fall.

And Carlos felt something in his chest rip wide open.

He bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood. Still, he kept going, because she deserved the truth—even if it came late, even if it came from a place of ruin.

“It broke you too, didn’t it?” he whispered, barely able to look at her now. “Loving me... it broke you.”

Her silence was an answer. A loud one.

Not because she didn’t want to speak.

But because there was nothing left to say that could undo the damage.

He saw it in her eyes—the ache of someone who had fought for too long and had nothing left to fight with. The kind of pain that came from loving someone who kept handing you reasons to leave, and still… you stayed.

Until it tore you apart.

Carlos’s chest heaved, the guilt pressing into his ribs like a scream trapped beneath his skin.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t just regret what he did.

He regretted what he turned her into while doing it.

And now all that remained was the echo.

“You pushed me away,” she whispered. “And then you acted surprised when I finally left.”

Carlos nodded. “I know.”

There was a long silence.

Y/N stepped closer, the photo still trembling faintly between her fingers. Her voice was soft, but every word struck him with the weight of months lost and memories bleeding at the edges.

“You know… when I left,” she began, her eyes not quite meeting his, “I thought I’d feel lighter.”

Carlos froze, his breath catching in his throat.

“Like I’d finally put something down,” she continued, voice trembling like a tightrope about to snap. “Like walking away from something too heavy to carry any longer. But it didn’t feel like relief, Carlos.”

She finally looked up—and the pain in her eyes knocked the air out of his lungs.

“It felt like mourning someone who was still alive.”

His gaze dropped instantly, guilt curling in his stomach like rusted wire.

Y/N's breath hitched, and she blinked rapidly, her lashes wet. “Do you know how cruel that is?” she whispered, voice breaking on the edges. “To grieve someone who walks and breathes and smiles for the rest of the world—but not for you anymore?”

Carlos couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Every part of him was splintering under the weight of her honesty.

“I loved you in ways I didn’t even understand yet,” she whispered, her voice cracking wide open. “You were home. You were my constant. I was building forever with you in mind. Every plan, every promise—I placed it all around you like stars in a sky I thought we shared.”

She exhaled slowly, like the words were knives she had to bleed out just to breathe.

“But you… you were building walls.”

He flinched.

“And now you hate me,” he said quietly, almost like he was asking for it. A punishment he believed he deserved.

“No.” Her response was instant, fierce, and full of something tragically beautiful. “I could never hate you. That’s the problem.”

Her voice broke at the end—just a tremor—but it shattered him completely. A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she turned slightly away, as if ashamed of the emotion that cracked through her composed exterior.

And for the first time in months, Carlos let go.

His own tears slipped past his defenses—silent, unrestrained. His chest ached as if something vital inside him had been torn out.

“I still dream about you,” he whispered, barely able to speak. “About waking up next to you. About hearing you laugh in the mornings. Seeing you at the races. About driving you to the airport and holding your hand across the console like always. Like nothing ever went wrong.”

Y/N looked down, and a shaky smile ghosted across her lips—heartbreaking in its fragility.

“I still reach for your side of the bed sometimes,” she said. “Instinct, I guess. My body hasn’t caught up with reality yet.”

Silence fell between them again—but it wasn’t empty. It pulsed with everything unsaid, with memories too sacred to destroy and wounds too fresh to ignore.

It wrapped around them like smoke—soft, suffocating, and impossible to escape. Neither of them moved. Neither of them dared to.

Because this—this was the kind of heartbreak that didn’t scream.

It lingered. It haunted. It remembered.

And it loved… still.

“You were my happiest years,” she whispered, her voice breaking like delicate glass under the weight of memory.

Carlos felt the breath leave his body.

Those words—so gentle, so full of everything they had been—landed like a knife to the chest. His hand moved on instinct, reaching out, fingertips trembling as he brushed the tear sliding down her cheek. He wanted to touch her one last time. To anchor himself in the softness he once called home.

But she flinched—not out of anger, but self-preservation—and stepped back. Knowing if she didn't step back, she will never be able to leave.

“Don’t,” she said, not unkindly. Her voice was like silk being torn. “Please… don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Carlos froze. His hand dropped to his side like it no longer belonged to him. His jaw clenched so tight it ached, but he nodded—once, sharp, painful—like the acknowledgment itself might keep him from falling apart.

Y/N reached into her bag, her movements slow and deliberate, as though every second she stalled would delay the inevitable. Then she held it out to him—a photograph. Just a small one. Faded around the edges, worn from years of being folded and carried too close to the heart.

The two of them in golden hour sunlight—she was laughing, her head tilted back, eyes crinkled with joy, while Carlos stared at her like she was the only thing in the world that ever made sense.

“You should keep it,” she murmured, placing it gently into his hand. “So you remember what it felt like. To be loved like that.”

Carlos’s fingers curled around it like it was fragile, sacred. Like it was the last piece of her he’d ever get to hold. And maybe it was.

He didn’t even look at it.

He couldn’t.

Instead, he held it to his chest, pressing it against the space where his heart was now screaming. As if maybe the memory—the ghost of that moment—could stop the rest of him from shattering.

y/n turned.

Her heels clicked once against the hotel floor, then stopped.

She paused at the door, her back to him, shoulders drawn tight with everything she wasn’t saying.

Then, with a breath that sounded like it took every last ounce of strength she had left, she gave him a final smile before quietly saying, “I’ll always be rooting for you, Carlos. Even from far away.”

And then she opened the door.

And she was gone.

Gone like sunlight slipping beneath the sea.

Gone like the last note of a song that once made you feel infinite.

Gone like a heartbeat slowing down into silence.

Carlos didn’t move.

The door clicked shut behind her with the softest finality, and it echoed louder than any scream could’ve.

He stood there, alone in the quiet, the photograph still pressed to his chest. The room around him felt hollow—too still, too clean. As if all the color had drained out the second she left. Her scent lingered in the air like a secret, her laughter haunted the corners like a memory refusing to be erased.

And his knees buckled.

He collapsed into the nearest chair, chest heaving, the photo shaking in his hands.

Tears fell freely now—messy, unguarded, without shame.

And in the ruins of what once was, all Carlos could whisper, through the wreckage of everything he hadn’t said, everything he hadn’t done to deserve her, was—

“Thank you… for the happiest years of my life.”

Even if it ended like this. Even if it tore him apart. Even if it was goodbye.

It had been hers. And that was enough to break him.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Should there be a part 2?

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