Work Text:
The rain poured hard over the concrete roof of the supermarket Charles had just shopped in, carrying plastic bags in both hands while he smiled, looking at the scene in front of him—his wife carrying their toddler while he played with his mom's hair. Their laughter echoed as they walked toward the parking lot, rain still pouring and soaking them as a gust of wind directed the water droplets toward them.
"Honey, I'll go get the umbrella from the security guard. You stay here with your daddy, okay?" his wife said as she put their son down. He immediately ran toward his father, who had already set the groceries down and crouched. "Are you okay, little Markie?" Charles asked as he gently wiped the water droplets from Markie's face.
"I'm okay, Daddy," Markie responded sweetly, earning a kiss from his dad.
A sudden bright flash and the sound of thunder cracked above them, scaring Markie, and Charles instinctively pulled him close. "Are you okay, baby?" Charles asked as he hugged him. The toddler didn’t respond. Instead, he chuckled, and Charles, intrigued, gently pulled the child away and looked at him with a confused expression.
"What’s wrong, honey? Everything alright?" Charles asked, worried. "That man has been following us, Daddy. And he’s goofy." Little Markie pointed behind Charles, causing him to get goosebumps. He turned around quickly and saw a man in a red hoodie. Charles studied the figure, but to no avail—he couldn’t tell who it was until lightning struck the dark sky again, revealing the familiar man meters away. Those eyes, those lips, the unmistakable nose, his hair messy under the hood. Of course, it was—
“Carlos?” he whispered under his breath.
A hand found its place on Charles' shoulder, causing him to jump in surprise. He turned quickly, only to find his wife holding umbrellas.“Charles, are you alright? Let’s go?” she asked. Charles shook his head and smiled.
“Uh... yeah! Let me grab these bags real quick.” He turned around to see Carlos still standing there, eyes glistening and wearing a smile—not his usual bright smile, but a sad, bitter one.
Charles picked up the plastic bags and walked with his wife and child toward their car. That wasn't Carlos, it’s impossible, he thought. He moved back to Spain. He’s famous now, acting, doing commercials—he’s too busy to be here. “Charles, look out!” his wife screamed as they were met by a pair of headlights. Charles snapped out of his thoughts just in time to swerve and avoid a collision. “Jesus fucking Christ!” Charles exclaimed, looking at his wife, who was visibly shaken. He immediately focused back on the road.
“Baby, are you okay?” his wife asked softly, her hand resting on his over the clutch. Charles stuttered, also shaken. Was I really that spaced out? He thought he was over him. But the thought of Carlos being here plagued his mind—it wasn’t going away; it was just getting worse by the second. “Yeah honey, I’m fine. Just a little tired, is all,” he responded after a pause, lifting her hand to kiss it. They arrived home, and luckily the rain had stopped. “I’ll take little Markie to bed. Looks like our late grocery run wore him out,” his wife said, carrying a sleeping Markie. “Okay, baby. I’ll unpack the groceries,” Charles replied, closing the trunk and giving his wife a light kiss on the lips.
He went to the kitchen and set the groceries down but didn’t unpack them. Instead, he sat on a barstool, pulled out his phone, and opened Instagram. He searched a familiar name, clicked the profile, and tapped a story posted an hour ago—a man posing in front of a hotel with the caption: Las Vegas, you are amazing.
It’s impossible. He’s in Las Vegas. Not here in Monaco. Charles’s eyes began to glisten with tears. But I was pretty sure that man was Carlos. It was unmistakably him. He didn’t realize he was crying until a tear fell on his phone. He sniffled and wiped his eyes as his wife entered the kitchen, a worried look on her face. “Honey, what’s wrong? Seriously, are you okay? What happened earlier?” she asked, embracing him.
“Nothing, honey. I’m just happy that you’re here,” he replied, his voice unsteady. She smiled, cupped his cheeks, and kissed him.
“I’m very happy you’re here too.” Something clicked inside Charles’s head. He kissed her passionately, his hands going under the sweater she was wearing.
“Oh, Charles…” she moaned as he carried her to the bedroom. They spent their night on top of each other, filling the room with sweet noises, sultry moans, and eventually their names shouted into the night.
Charles woke up with a familiar warmth beside him, along with the familiar woody scent—cedar and fresh herbs.“Good morning, sunshine...” a voice with a heavy accent said, and he immediately knew who it was. “Carlos...” he murmured groggily, fluttering his eyes open and seeing him there, in all his glory—his messy hair, his doe-like eyes, his bright smile.
“That’s right, Lord Perceval! It is I, Knight Carlos!” he said dramatically, and Charles laughed. He laughed and laughed, and Carlos immediately jumped on top of him to cuddle, their bare bodies pressing together. Carlos wrapped his arms around him, and Charles melted into the touch. He realized just how much he had missed this.
“I missed this so much, Carlos. I missed you,” he said, eyes glistening with tears. Carlos pushed himself up to look at Charles beneath him.
“I know, Charles. I missed you too,” he replied before diving in for a kiss.
Charles welcomed it, opening his mouth to let Carlos take control, their tongues dancing in a rhythm only the two of them knew. Their bodies moved in sync, like a dance they’d always known the steps to. Charles flipped them effortlessly, straddling Carlos' hips while continuing the kiss. Carlos’ hands moved to his waist, gripping tightly.
It was like muscle memory. They knew what to do, where to touch, how to please each other. It was perfect. They were perfect.
“After all these years, Carlos... it’s still you. It’s always been you,” Charles whispered, pulling away from the kiss, smiling as he caught his breath.
“Then why did you marry her?” Carlos asked, his voice full of hurt and disappointment. Charles’s smile faded quickly. “What?” Carlos pushed him off and stood up, pointing a finger at him.
“Why did you marry her, Charles?! You said it had always been me—but why?!”
Carlos was now shouting at 7 a.m., his voice echoing around the room. Charles stood up on the other side of the bed, confused and hurt.
“What? Who? It’s always been you, Carlos!” he insisted, trying to calm him down. "Liar! You’re a liar, Charles! It was supposed to be me! We could’ve had a life together!” Carlos’ voice grew louder, his anger now frightening. Charles flinched, eyes brimming with tears.“Carlos, please! Just calm down!” he pleaded, putting his hands in front of him as Carlos slowly advanced, his posture threatening.
“You’re scaring me, Carlos. Please!”
Charles hit the wall behind him as Carlos continued to corner him.
“Charles,” Carlos said lowly.
“Carlos?” Charles replied, his voice shaking.
“Charles.” Again, the same tone. The same word. Over and over again, like a broken recorder.
“Yes! Carlos, yes! What is it?” Charles cried out, but Carlos did nothing but repeat his name.
“Stop! Stop! Make it stop!” Charles screamed, covering his ears, closing his eyes.
“Charles!” his wife said, shaking him gently. Charles jolted upright in bed, visibly shaken and sweating. “Baby, what’s wrong? You were crying in your sleep.”
He looked around, disoriented, taking in his surroundings. His wife was already dressed, ready for the day. He let out a breath of relief... and disappointment.
Relief because it was just a nightmare.
Disappointment... because Carlos was only in that nightmare. “I—I’m sorry, baby. Just a bad dream,” he said as she sat beside him and kissed his forehead.
“It’s alright. I know you’re tired, so I didn’t wake you. There’s a meeting with all the F1 racing specialists at 10 p.m., so get ready. I’m taking little Markie to school,” she said, packing her things to leave.
“Thanks, sweetie. Take care. Love you,” he said, standing up to go shower.
“Love you too, honey. Have a great day at work.”
"You guys go ahead and eat, alright? I’m still at the paddock, still discussing some stuff. Okay? Love you too." Charles hung up the phone, sighing as he leaned back in his office chair. The team had been in full work mode since early morning, and Charles was drowning in meetings and paperwork for the upcoming Grand Prix. His wife had called ten times throughout the day, checking in on him, but he could only give short answers—too consumed by the mountain of tasks ahead. “Wife started dinner already?” a familiar voice asked from the doorway. “Yeah. I told them to eat without me, which is a bummer,” Charles sighed, genuinely disappointed. He loved sitting down for meals with his wife and little Markie.
“We’re actually done for the day. So get your ass up—we’re leaving this place,” Lewis said with a grin, already walking away from a messy-haired Charles.
Charles quickly ran his hands through his hair, attempting to make himself look somewhat presentable. He grabbed his coat from the rack and his phone, quickly sending a text:
Charles:
I'm on my way home. Do you want anything?
As he waved goodbye to Lewis and a few coworkers, he stepped into his car and was about to buckle in when his phone lit up:
Wifey:
Can you get me an ice cream please?
Take care, love you!
Charles smiled and replied with a simple heart emoji.
Hubby:
❤️
He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, driving slowly, humming a tune stuck in his head. Soon, he pulled into the supermarket parking lot—the same one where they usually got their favorite ice cream.
He grabbed a small cart at the entrance, figuring he’d pick up a few more items along with the ice cream. As he strolled down the frozen aisle, he scanned the shelves, eyes lingering on different tubs before spotting the one his wife loved. He reached for the last pistachio-flavored tub, but another hand grabbed it at the same time.Charles looked up, startled, and found himself staring at a man who raised an eyebrow at him.“I think I got to it first, man,” the stranger said.
Not wanting to cause trouble, Charles let go with a polite smile. “Sorry, man.”
He looked again inside the freezer, and after rummaging through the stacks of flavors, spotted another pistachio tub hidden beneath the others. He chuckled softly to himself.
“Found you, little bastard,” he muttered as he placed it in his cart. He wandered the store, picking up a few more essentials. As he turned the corner into the aisle where they sold cones, he stopped dead in his tracks.There he was.
“Carlos?” he called out at the exact same time the other man said, “Charles?”
Their eyes lit up instantly, the spark of recognition unmistakable. Memories rushed in—those sweet beginnings, the laughter, the kisses, the euphoric feeling of being wrapped in each other’s arms.
They walked closer, their carts gently bumping. But just as quickly as the joy appeared, it faded—replaced by the pain. The heartbreak. The echo of whispered words still haunting them:
“I can’t do this anymore. I think we need to break up.”
They stared at each other in silence, the air around them thick with things unsaid. Carlos was the first to smile politely. Charles followed with one of his own, masking his emotions. “I didn’t know you were visiting here, Carlos! It’s been, what... twenty years?” Charles said, trying to sound casual. Trying to hide the bitterness.
Carlos nodded. “Time flies, huh?” His gaze dropped to Charles’s shopping basket, and he chuckled lightly. “A lot of ice cream there, Charles. Still can’t decide which flavor to get?” he asked, pointing at the assortment of tubs.
Charles laughed, his heart tugging. “Yeah. My wife loves the pistachio ones... but I still can’t pick.” He hesitated. Was it a mistake to mention her? But Carlos just laughed and tapped him on the shoulder, easing the tension. “It’s crazy. After all these years, you still can’t decide on a flavor.” They both laughed gently, the awkwardness lingering beneath the nostalgia. Then came a pause.
A quiet moment where they just looked at each other. In that gaze, something deeper passed between them. They had their own lives now. Their own families. They were happy. And yet... Charles saw it in Carlos’s eyes—not desire, not passion. Just nostalgia. A soft kind of ache. A mutual understanding.
Their trance was broken when an elderly woman behind Carlos cleared her throat.
“Excuse me, handsome men. I don’t mean to interrupt your moment, but I just need to grab something from that shelf you’re standing in front of.” They both laughed awkwardly and moved out of the way, apologizing as she passed. They proceeded to check out in silence. As they walked together toward the parking lot, Carlos broke the quiet.
“It’s kind of sad,” he said softly.
Charles stopped walking, eyes narrowing slightly. Carlos turned around and saw that expression—the look that begged him not to start. But he knew they had to. They never got closure. Not really. “I—I’m sorry, Charles.”
Charles shook his head, voice trembling. “Carlos, please. Don’t. It’s alright.”
But Carlos pushed on. “No, Charles. I’m not walking away this time. Not without saying what I should’ve said twenty years ago.”
His voice cracked, eyes already glassy.
“It’s been eating me alive. All these years... it still does. It kills me knowing how much you must’ve suffered when I disappeared.”
Carlos set his groceries down and placed his hands on Charles’s shoulders. It took a moment before Charles met his eyes.
“I was hurt,” Charles said, his voice raw. “So hurt. When I heard you were retiring to pursue acting in Spain... I was devastated. But I was proud of you. I even wanted to throw you a surprise party.”
He let out a bitter laugh.
“But then... I called you. And your manager answered. Told me you’d already left. Without a word. That was the kick in the gut. Why, Carlos? Why did you leave me hanging like that? Wasn’t I enough? Was everything fake? Every kiss, every embrace—was any of it real?”
Tears streamed down his cheeks. He knew how ridiculous he must’ve looked—forty years old, crying in a parking lot.
“Of course it was real, Charles. And you were enough,” Carlos replied, his voice firm but gentle.
Charles pushed him away.
“Then why?!” he shouted, voice breaking.
Carlos stood frozen. He didn’t have the answer. Not really. “I don’t know, Charles,” he admitted, defeated.
Charles nodded slowly. He had moved on. He had a family now. There was no point in dwelling on the past. “I forgive you, Carlos,” he said softly, picking up his bags. “I really do. Goodbye.”
Carlos nodded. He understood. Charles was happy now. So was he. They might not have had the chance to go on their honeymoon. Or to slow dance in the kitchen with leftover wedding cake.
They never got to play Santa for their kids.
Never stayed up ‘til 2 a.m. wrapping gifts and whispering so they wouldn’t wake the little ones.
Never argued about where the new furniture should go or what color to paint the nursery.
Never grew tired of each other, then chose to stay anyway.
Never lived their quiet, boring, beautiful life like they dreamed about.
It was supposed to be “’til death do us part.”
They didn’t even make it past adulthood.
They never got the vows.
Only the heartbreak.
And they still carried it—quietly, in moments when the world wasn’t looking.
When they both got home that night, they didn’t tell their wives who they ran into.
They didn’t talk about it. The memories were theirs alone.
As Charles fell asleep that night, he remembered them—twenty years ago.
Carlos’s soft hair between his fingers.
His heart still in Carlos’s hands.
And the dream of a future they never got to live.