Chapter Text
They stay like that for a while, tangled up on the deck, the yacht swaying gently beneath them. The world is hushed, just the sound of water lapping at the hull and the occasional creak of the boat settling.
Carlos’s arms are still wrapped around Oscar, neither of them saying a word, but the silence feels full—alive somehow, stitched together with the cool breeze brushing past and the rhythm of their breathing syncing up.
Oscar’s cheek presses into Carlos’s shoulder, and his body melts further into the embrace, small and unassuming in his oversized hoodie.
His hands are buried deep in the sleeves, but Carlos knows they’re fidgeting in there, fingers worrying at the seams or tugging at loose threads.
Carlos tightens his grip just a little, as if to say, I’ve got you.
He doesn’t know how long they sit there, the night wrapping around them like it’s trying to keep them hidden.
Carlos thinks he could stay like this forever, the weight of Oscar against him feeling like the most natural thing in the world.
Then the faint crackle of static cuts through the quiet, and both of them go still. They freeze, their heads snapping toward where the baby monitor glows faintly.
Carlos groans, already bracing for the inevitable sound of Sofia waking up.
But the monitor flickers to life, the screen lighting up to show Sofia still in her crib, her tiny face scrunched up. Carlos blinks, leaning in to get a better look.
“She’s—?” Oscar whispers, sitting up just enough to peek at the monitor, his brows furrowing.
Carlos’s lips part in confusion, but before he can answer, Sofia lets out a soft, bubbly laugh, the sound distorted but unmistakable even through the grainy speaker.
Her little fists twitch, and then another laugh escapes her, louder this time, her whole body wriggling with the force of it.
Oscar stares, and then a laugh bursts out of him, unfiltered and bright. “She’s laughing? In her sleep?”
Carlos can’t help the grin that breaks across his face.
“Yeah,” he says softly, his voice carrying a kind of awe. “She does that sometimes. I like to think she’s dreaming about something good. Maybe chasing butterflies or splashing in puddles.”
Oscar leans back, shaking his head, still laughing under his breath.
Carlos just watches Oscar—really watches him.
The way the faint glow of the monitor lights up his face, the messy curls sticking out from the salty sea air, the little wrinkle at the corner of his mouth when he smiles like this. Carlos’s heart stumbles over itself, a sharp ache threading through the moment.
He looks back at the monitor—at Sofia’s tiny, blissed-out face—and then at Oscar again. Something hits him, heavy and sudden. He wants more of this.
More nights with Oscar pressed against him, with Sofia laughing at who-knows-what in her sleep, with the boat rocking them all into this strange, fleeting kind of peace.
Oscar catches him staring, his expression shifting into something half-annoyed, half-curious. “What’s your deal?”
“Nothing,” Carlos lies, his voice coming out too quick.
Oscar narrows his eyes, clearly not buying it, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he leans back into Carlos, his shoulder brushing against his chest.
“She’s lucky,” Oscar says after a long pause, his voice low, almost shy.
Carlos glances down at him, surprised. “Who?”
“Sofia,” Oscar murmurs, his fingers curling tighter into his hoodie sleeves. “To have you. You’re a good dad.”
The words hit Carlos harder than he expects, unraveling something deep inside him. He swallows thickly, unsure how to respond, but his hand drifts almost instinctively to find Oscar’s. Their fingers slide together easily, and Oscar doesn’t pull away.
Carlos squeezes his hand, anchoring himself in the moment, and lets out a slow breath.
Carlos’s gaze lingers on Oscar, their fingers loosely intertwined, and his chest feels like it’s caught in some impossible tug-of-war.
He glances back at the baby monitor where Sofia has quieted, her tiny face serene, her earlier giggles now just a memory.
The faint blue glow from the screen dances across Oscar’s features, sharpening the angles of his cheekbones but softening everything else—the curve of his lips, the way his lashes rest against his cheek when he blinks too slowly.
Carlos inhales deeply, letting the salty sea air settle his nerves. His thoughts are spinning, but one rises to the surface, clear and unwavering: he wants this. He wants Oscar, with all his quiet smiles and guarded edges.
“When we’re back in Monaco,” Carlos starts, his voice low and careful, like he’s testing the strength of the air between them, “how about we go out? Just us.”
Oscar’s head tilts, his brows pulling together in faint confusion as he shifts to face Carlos fully. “Go out?” he echoes, his tone somewhere between skeptical and cautious, like the idea is in a language he doesn’t quite speak.
Carlos nods, a small, hopeful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “A date. Dinner, maybe. Somewhere nice.”
The change in Oscar is immediate. He pulls his hand free from Carlos’s, his arms curling around his knees as he tucks himself inward, like he’s building a wall out of his own limbs. His gaze flits to the water, then back to Carlos, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Carlos… we can’t just… go out.”
Carlos feels the words like a pebble dropped into a calm pool, ripples spreading outward and disrupting the fragile peace they’ve built tonight. He frowns, leaning forward slightly, his voice softer now. “Why not?”
Oscar doesn’t answer right away, his jaw tightening as he bites at the inside of his cheek.
Finally, he lets out a slow breath and meets Carlos’s eyes, his expression tinged with something between resignation and frustration. “People will see,” he says.
The weight of it sinks in all at once. Carlos opens his mouth to argue, to say something reassuring, but he stops short, the reality hitting him like a punch to the gut.
Of course, Oscar’s right. It’s not like when Carlos dated women—those relationships came with hand-holding on the streets of Monaco, photos in the paddock, dinners where the most scandalous thing to worry about was someone catching a blurry shot of them sharing dessert.
But this? This wasn’t the same. Oscar wasn’t just a man. He was a fellow driver. Being seen together wouldn’t just spark rumors—it would set off fireworks. Headlines, questions, speculation that would follow them both into every press conference.
Carlos leans back, letting the weight of it press down on him, his chest tightening at the thought of all the ways this could go wrong.
But then his eyes land on Oscar again—on the way he’s pulled the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands, the faint pink dusting his cheeks from the chill or maybe something else entirely, the small, nervous movements of his fingers tugging at a loose thread.
No. Carlos refuses to let this end here.
He reaches out, his hand resting lightly on Oscar’s knee, grounding them both. “Alright,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “Then we’ll do something else. Something private.”
Oscar’s gaze flickers to him, wary but curious. “Like what?”
Carlos’s lips twitch into a faint smile, one that feels warmer than anything the night breeze could offer. “The family house,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.
Oscar blinks, tilting his head in confusion. “The family house?”
“The one in the countryside,” Carlos explains. “It’s quiet out there. No cameras, no fans. Just us.”
Oscar’s brows furrow. “You want to take me to Spain?”
Carlos nods, his hand squeezing Oscar’s knee gently. “I want to take you somewhere you don’t have to think about who might be watching. Somewhere we can just… be.”
Oscar stares at him, the guarded lines of his face slowly softening. “That sounds… nice,” he admits quietly, his voice so soft Carlos has to strain to hear it.
Relief washes over Carlos, loosening the tight coil of nerves in his chest. “We’ll figure out the timing,” he promises. “After the next race, or whenever you’re ready. No rush.”
Oscar’s lips curve into a small, tentative smile, and Carlos feels like the ground beneath him has shifted entirely, the world suddenly brighter and sharper.
“Okay,” Oscar whispers, his voice carrying just enough weight to make Carlos’s chest ache in the best way.
Carlos squeezes his knee again, his own smile breaking wide across his face. “Okay,” he echoes.
The silence between them settles again, but this time it feels different—warmer.
The soft hum of laughter and the uneven patter of footsteps pulls Carlos and Oscar out of their fragile bubble.
They both turn their heads just in time to see Charles and Lando approaching from the far end of the deck, lit by the gentle glow of the boat string lights.
Charles holds a half-full bottle of wine like a trophy, while Lando balances a precarious stack of mismatched glasses.
“We come bearing gifts,” Charles announces grandly, flopping onto the cushions beside Carlos with zero regard for personal space.
“And moral support,” Lando adds, settling cross-legged on the floor near Oscar and shooting him a not-so-innocent look. “Because, honestly? You two look like you’re in desperate need of it.”
Oscar stiffens immediately, his eyes darting to Carlos as if to say, Help me, please, I’m begging you.
But Carlos—traitor that he is—just leans back against the cushions, one arm draped lazily along the backrest behind Oscar, his expression downright smug.
“Well, since you’re here,” Carlos says smoothly, plucking one of the glasses out of Lando’s precarious stack, “I might as well show off a little.”
Oscar blinks, looking at him with an expression that clearly says Don’t you dare. “Show off what?”
Carlos’s smirk widens as he pours himself a glass of wine. “You.”
Oscar freezes, his ears immediately turning pink.
Lando, to his credit, tries to hide his laugh behind his hand. He fails.
Charles, meanwhile, raises an eyebrow. “Show him off? What, like a trophy you won?”
“Not a trophy,” Carlos corrects. He waves the bottle in Charles’s direction like a pointer. “But if I can’t parade him around the paddock, I can at least show him off to you two clowns. That’s fair, no?”
Oscar’s face is on fire now, his fingers clutching the baby monitor like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality. “Carlos,” he hisses under his breath, his voice sharp but entirely lacking bite.
Carlos ignores him, his grin only growing. “What?” he says. “You’re worth showing off. Let them be jealous.”
Charles snorts, leaning back and kicking his feet up on the table. “Jealous? Of what, exactly?”
Carlos takes a sip of his wine. “Oh, you’ll figure it out eventually.”
Lando outright cackles at that, nudging Oscar with his knee. “He’s laying it on thick tonight, huh?”
Oscar glares at him—or at least tries to. He looks less intimidating and more like a cornered animal, his blush spreading all the way to his collarbone.
He grabs the wine bottle and pours himself a glass, very carefully ignoring the fact that his hand is shaking slightly.
Carlos watches him with a private sort of amusement, his arm still resting along the cushions behind Oscar’s back, so close that his fingers brush the edges of Oscar’s hoodie.
The four of them settle into an easy rhythm after that, the wine flowing freely as the conversation shifts into nothing in particular.
Charles and Lando dominate the chatter, bouncing off each other in a flurry of in-jokes and exaggerated retellings of race weekend chaos, while Carlos tosses in the occasional dry remark.
Oscar, true to form, stays quiet for most of it, only speaking up when someone drags him into the conversation or when Lando throws out something so absurd it demands commentary.
It’s late by the time the bottle runs dry, and Charles stretches with a dramatic groan, his voice slurring just enough to betray his tipsiness. “Alright, I’m officially retiring for the night. No offense to any of you, but you’re terrible company.”
“Speak for yourself,” Lando says, wobbling slightly as he stands. He catches his balance by grabbing the edge of the table, laughing as he does. “That wine is a menace. I’m out too.”
They exchange sloppy goodnights, Lando dragging Charles by the arm toward the cabins, leaving Carlos and Oscar alone again.
The silence settles quickly, thick and familiar now. Carlos turns to Oscar, his lips twitching into a small pout. “So, about those cuddles…”
Oscar raises an eyebrow, setting the baby monitor aside. “Mate, we’re taking it slow. Remember?”
Carlos sighs dramatically, crossing his arms. “I know, I know. But still. I’m just saying it wouldn’t hurt.”
Oscar shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “You’ll survive one night without cuddles.”
Carlos leans in then, his pout softening into something far more playful. “Fine,” he concedes. “But I’m not letting you get away without a proper goodnight.”
Oscar barely has time to react before Carlos is pressing quick, warm kisses along his cheek, the corner of his mouth, the edge of his jaw.
Each one is soft and fleeting, but it’s enough to leave Oscar blinking and blushing furiously by the time Carlos pulls away.
“Carlos,” Oscar mutters, glancing toward the cabins like he’s convinced someone’s about to walk in.
And, of course, someone does.
Charles stands in the doorway, arms crossed, his smirk wide enough to rival Carlos’s. Lando peeks out from behind him, giggling like he’s just witnessed the greatest thing in the history of ever.
“Adorable,” Charles comments.
Carlos doesn’t even flinch. He stands, stretching lazily before ruffling Oscar’s hair with one hand. “Goodnight,” he says, voice annoyingly nonchalant, before disappearing toward his own cabin.
Oscar groans softly, burying his face in his hands for a moment before dragging himself to his feet.
His cheeks are still pink as he heads toward his room, but there’s a small, undeniable smile tugging at his lips the whole way there.
The next day dawns bright and brilliant, sunlight spilling over the endless blue of the ocean and reflecting off the sleek deck of the boat.
The air smells like salt and sunscreen, and everything feels lighter.
Carlos is already a man on a mission, crouched in front of Sofia with a baby-blue swimsuit that looks comically tiny in his hands. Sofia is mid-squeal, kicking her little legs as he wrangles her into it, one chubby arm at a time.
“There we go, mi sirenita,” Carlos coos, scooping her up and giving her a loud, smacking kiss on her cheek. She shrieks in delight, immediately grabbing for his face with her tiny fingers.
By the time they make it to the deck, Sofia is squirming in Carlos’s arms, her excitement practically vibrating out of her.
As soon as her little toes touch the water, she’s splashing like it’s her life’s calling, babbling in baby gibberish that Carlos translates for everyone’s benefit.
“She says she’s a mermaid,” Carlos declares, grinning as he adjusts his hold on her. “And she’s never leaving the water.”
“Didn’t know mermaids drool this much,” Oscar deadpans, though his lips twitch into a small smile when Sofia gives him an enthusiastic splash in retaliation.
Carlos just laughs, leaning closer to bump shoulders with Oscar, which—of course—leads to him casually draping an arm over Oscar’s shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Oscar freezes, his entire body going stiff. His eyes dart toward the group lounging at the far end of the deck, all caught up in their own conversations, and then down at the arm slung across his shoulders. His ears flush a very telltale shade of pink.
“Carlos,” he hisses, his voice low and tense. “What are you doing?”
Carlos tilts his head, his eyes wide and so infuriatingly innocent it should be criminal. “What? I can’t touch my boyfriend?”
Oscar sputters like a kettle about to boil over, his face going from pink to red in record time. “That’s not—”
“Relax, cariño,” Carlos cuts in smoothly, his grin softening into something teasing and so unfairly charming. “You’ll get used to it.”
Oscar looks like he very much will not be getting used to it anytime soon, but he also doesn’t pull away. Carlos considers that a victory.
There’s a beat of silence before Oscar, still blushing like mad, mumbles, “So I’m your boyfriend now?”
Carlos raises a brow. “I thought we agreed on that last night?”
Oscar’s blush deepens, and he looks away, lips twitching like he’s trying not to smile. “Well, we just said we’d try. I didn’t think it meant, you know… boyfriends.”
Carlos hums, clearly amused. “Do you want me to make it official? I can get on my knees right now, make a whole speech, maybe even grab a ring.”
Oscar’s head snaps back toward him, eyes wide with alarm. “No! Save that for when you’re asking me to marry you.”
Carlos chuckles, leaning in just a little closer. “Noted. But don’t think for a second I won’t do it someday, mi amor.”
Oscar groans, face buried in his hands, but there’s no missing the shy smile creeping across his lips.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of sun-soaked fun.
Sofia is having what can only be described as the best day of her one-year-old existence, a pint-sized hurricane of kicks and squeals as Carlos holds her steady in the shallow water.
Oscar sits on the swim deck a little ways off, legs dangling in the water, his shoulders slouched in that effortless, unbothered way of his.
His hand grips the edge of the deck like he’s anchoring himself, though the soft, barely-there smile on his lips says he’s content exactly where he is.
Sofia, however, has other ideas.
Mid-splash, she twists in Carlos’s arms, eyes locking on Oscar. She lets out a shrill, garbled demand, her tiny hands reaching toward the deck.
Carlos shifts her, laughing. “What’s this? You’re abandoning me already?”
Sofia doesn’t dignify him with a response, her focus laser-sharp on Oscar.
“Guess I’m the favorite,” Oscar says as Carlos wades closer.
Carlos rolls his eyes but carefully hands Sofia over. “Fine. Take her. But don’t come crying to me when she decides you’re her personal jungle gym.”
Sofia clings to Oscar immediately, her tiny fingers grabbing at the collar of his shirt. She leans back just enough to stare up at him with wide, awe-filled eyes, as if Oscar’s existence is the most fascinating thing she’s ever encountered.
“Traitor,” Carlos mutters, watching them.
Oscar smirks faintly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on Sofia’s back. “Maybe she just knows quality when she sees it.”
Carlos huffs out a laugh, but the look he gives them is undeniably soft.
For the rest of the afternoon, Sofia stays glued to Oscar, stubbornly refusing to let go. Carlos tries to reclaim her, once or twice, but it’s useless. “You’re my mermaid,” he says, voice tinged with mock betrayal as he holds out his arms.
“Looks like she upgraded,” Oscar says, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.
Carlos narrows his eyes but doesn’t push it. Instead, he settles for watching them, his chest inexplicably warm every time Sofia giggles or curls tighter against Oscar’s chest like she’s never letting go.
By the time the sun begins to dip toward the horizon, turning the sea into a glittering canvas of gold and pink, Sofia has finally tired herself out.
She’s draped across Oscar’s chest like a very small, very adorable koala, her breaths slow and even as she sleeps.
Oscar, sprawled out on one of the deck’s lounge chairs, is out cold too. One arm is tucked behind his head, the other resting protectively over Sofia’s back, his fingers lightly curled.
Carlos steps out from the cabin and stops in his tracks, the sight stealing whatever breath he had left.
He leans against the doorframe for a moment, taking it all in.
Quietly, Carlos pulls out his phone, snapping a picture before he can second-guess himself.
The image is perfect: Oscar, hair a little messy from the breeze, his face soft in sleep, while Sofia looks like she’s found the safest place in the world on his chest.
He grins to himself as he opens Instagram. He should probably overthink this, but honestly, how could he not share it?
He’s posted Sofia with his friends a hundred times before—no one’s going to bat an eye. People will just see the sweetness of it.
Carlos types out the caption quickly, his fingers moving without much thought.
Two sleepy cats. @oscarpiastri.
He hits post before he can talk himself out of it.
Satisfied, Carlos pockets his phone and pads over to them. He sinks into the chair next to Oscar, careful not to disturb either of them, and leans back with content.
The sea stretches out endlessly before them, the sky ablaze with the colors of a perfect sunset. Beside him, the two people he loves most in the world sleep on, utterly peaceful.
In that moment, Carlos thinks, he could stay here forever.
Carlos doesn’t get to bask in his moment of blissful domesticity for long before the peace is shattered.
“Oh my God, he’s gone,” George announces loudly, his voice carrying over the soft sound of the waves as he steps out from the cabin, drink in hand.
Carlos groans, dragging a hand over his face. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“No, no,” George insists, pointing dramatically toward him. “Look at him. Sitting there like the picture-perfect family man. Next thing we know, he’ll be posting Oscar on his Instagram with a caption like, ‘My heart, my home.’”
Charles appears behind George, leaning lazily against the doorframe with a knowing smirk. “He already posted it, actually,” he says, holding up his phone to display Carlos’s Instagram story. “Two sleepy cats. So poetic, Carlos.”
“Why are you even stalking my story?” Carlos grumbles, though his ears are tinged suspiciously red.
Alex, trailing close behind, shakes his head with exaggerated disappointment. “Mate, this is embarrassing for all of us. You’re making me look bad in front of Lily,” he says, jerking a thumb toward his girlfriend, who’s lounging with Charles’s girlfriend by the side of the deck.
Lando, stretched out dramatically on a nearby chair, lets out a theatrical sigh. “You’re all making me look bad. Surrounded by couples, and Carlos, acting like he’s in some kind of indie gay film with Oscar. Meanwhile, I’m stuck being the single one.”
“Oh, please,” Charles says with a smirk, tilting his head. “You’ve been single for so long you could start a consultancy. Third-Wheeling: Tips and Tricks—your bestseller.”
“Ha-ha, hilarious,” Lando deadpans, holding up a middle finger without even glancing at him.
“Anyway,” George cuts in, turning his focus back to Carlos. “How are you feeling, mate? I mean, it’s clear you’re fully whipped at this point.”
Carlos rolls his eyes. “I’m not whipped. I’m just—”
“Head over heels, completely smitten, deeply in love,” Alex supplies helpfully.
“—not whipped,” Carlos finishes stubbornly.
“Sure, sure,” Charles says with a chuckle, crossing his arms. “That’s why you’ve been staring at Oscar like he hung the moon since you got here. Admit it, Sainz, you’re gone.”
Before Carlos can argue, Oscar stirs in his chair, letting out a soft noise as his eyes flutter open. Sofia shifts slightly against him but doesn’t wake.
Oscar blinks sleepily at the group, clearly disoriented, and Carlos immediately leans closer, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady Sofia.
“Hey,” Carlos says softly, voice taking on a tone so gentle that the teasing dies in everyone’s throats.
Alex raises an eyebrow, whispering to George, “Yep. Gone.”
Oscar squints at them, still half-asleep. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Charles says quickly, though the grin tugging at his lips betrays him.
“Just Carlos being all soft and romantic over there,” George adds, earning a glare from Carlos.
Oscar, still groggy, glances at Carlos. “Right,” he mutters, already closing his eyes again.
Carlos watches him settle back, his hand lightly resting on Sofia’s back as he drifts off again.
His expression softens, completely ignoring the group still watching him like hawks.
“Down bad,” Alex whispers to Charles, who nods in agreement.
“Let him be,” Lando says, throwing an arm dramatically over his eyes like a man resigned to his fate. “He’s in his little love bubble. Meanwhile, I’m over here third-wheeling an entire yacht.”
Carlos flips him off without even looking.
The yacht feels quieter. The buzz has softened into an unfamiliar hush. It’s unnerving, almost, how much space the silence leaves behind. Carlos suspects it’s intentional.
The girls had swept Sofia away with promises of an exclusive “girls-only” outing that Carlos is 60% grateful for and 40% deeply suspicious about. Still, it’s a gift. One he doesn’t plan to waste.
Carlos finds Oscar slouched into the living room couch, half-paying attention to a card game George and Lando are losing spectacularly.
It takes Carlos two steps to cross the room and lean over the back of the couch.
“Come with me,” he murmurs, his hand brushing the back of Oscar’s as casually as his heart pounding will allow.
George snorts audibly. “Subtle, mate.”
Oscar blinks up at him, startled and just a little wary. “What? Where?”
Carlos doesn’t bother answering, just grins and hooks his fingers around Oscar’s wrist. He tugs gently, enough to make his point. “Just come.”
Oscar glances at Lando, who raises an eyebrow that Oscar pretends not to notice. Then, to Carlos’s relief, Oscar follows, his curiosity edging out whatever instinct usually tells him to be discreet.
The cabin door clicks shut behind them, cutting off the faint laughter and the low hum of the yacht. The cabin is dim, golden light pooling from a single lamp.
Carlos steps closer without hesitation, hands lifting to cradle Oscar’s face.
“Carlos,” Oscar says.
Carlos smiles, thumb brushing over the sharp line of Oscar’s jaw. “Just us tonight, cariño,” he says, his voice softer than his grin.
Oscar’s breath catches, the smallest stutter, but Carlos doesn’t give him a chance to overthink. He leans in, closing the distance, and presses his lips to Oscar’s.
The kiss starts tentative, delicate, but it doesn’t stay that way. Carlos tilts his head, his fingers threading into Oscar’s hair as the kiss deepens. His other hand settles at Oscar’s waist, a warm and grounding weight as he pulls him closer.
Oscar leans into it, his hands fisting in the front of Carlos’s shirt. Restraint cracks around the edges as the kiss heats up, the tension between them shifting into something Carlos feels in his chest, his spine, his hands mapping the lines of Oscar’s back like they belong to him.
When Oscar pulls away, it’s abrupt but not final, his forehead pressing against Carlos’s. His breathing is uneven, his cheeks flushed, and Carlos wants to laugh at how much he loves the sight of him like this.
“You’re staring,” Oscar mutters, voice frayed around the edges.
Carlos smiles. “Can you blame me?” he asks, already dipping his head to kiss the corner of Oscar’s mouth, his cheek, the place where his pulse beats under his jaw. “You’re beautiful.”
Oscar makes a sound that’s part scoff, part exhale, part something that Carlos files away for later.
They tumble onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, Oscar half on top of Carlos, who lets out a soft, breathless laugh. The room tilts around them, quiet but charged, the kind of silence that feels full. Carlos runs a hand through Oscar’s hair, his fingers catching in the soft strands.
“I like this,” Carlos murmurs, voice barely audible over the soft hum of the air conditioning.
Oscar glances up at him. “Hum?”
“This,” Carlos says, his hand trailing down to rest on the small of Oscar’s back. “Us. Together.”
Oscar doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but then he shifts, pressing a soft kiss to Carlos’s collarbone. “Me too,” he admits quietly, almost shy.
Carlos exhales, his arms tightening around Oscar as the quiet wraps around them again.
Right now, it’s just this: Oscar’s weight solid and grounding, his breath warm against Carlos’s skin, and the steady thrum of Carlos’s heartbeat, loud and sure.
Just them, wrapped up in each other, the world outside forgotten.