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One week.
For most people, that is barely a bruise in time. Enough for flowers to wilt on a kitchen table. Enough for a bruise to yellow and fade. Enough for the world to move on from a headline.
For Lando, though? The remainder of his life.
When the clock strikes midnight in seven days, his lungs will empty and choose not to fill again. His heart, asleep and hungover. His eyes, closed and unmoving.
His death was already set in dark ink. Penned by the man he loved most. Carlos Sainz did not know he had signed the page. That was the cruelty of it.
Lando should have known that loving Carlos would bring him such cruel fate. But he didn’t regret for a second loving him. The love he had for him had been so incrusted in his insides it had become a part of his identity. Loving him had not been a decision; it had been sedimentary. Layer upon layer until it formed bone. To extract it now would mean dismantling himself.
And Carlos loved him back. Tragically not enough to keep him alive.
He was nine the day he learned love could be fatal.
The errand had felt like a promotion. Two coins folded in his palm, warm from sweat. His brother Oliver had smirked when their mother sent Lando for the groceries instead, grateful for preserving his time.
Little did he know that would be the worst thing to ever happen to him.
The bakery smelled of sugar and yeast. Flour dusted the glass displays like accidental snow., and Lando was calculating whether his two coins stretched to a chocolate croissant aside from the baguette he had been instructed to buy when he noticed her.
A woman in a knee-length floral dress stood on her tiptoes. Her shoes were slightly too large; her heel slipped with every stretch. She reached for a pink pastry box displayed too high for practicality. Unsurprisingly, her arm trembled.
She fell to the ground with a loud echo. A thud of fabric and bone. The sharper crack of a baguette striking the counter.
Lando did not think. He left the coins behind and extended his hand.
The red-haired woman didn’t notice him at first - probably because Lando hadn't yet given the “stretch” as her brother would say- too ocuppied fixing her disheveled hair to offer a glance in his direction.
Still with his right hand extended, and now a bit sweaty, Lando started speaking to get her attention.
“Umm… Are you well?”
She did not look at him at first. She adjusted her hair. Smoothed her dress. Clutched her handbag as though something inside might flee. Only when he insisted with a small voice and a steady hand did she finally meet his eyes.
The woman stared at the boy with wide panicked eyes, like it was her first time on earth and Lando was a different species. It scared the shit out of him. What disconcerned Lando the most was that she looked like she was barely breathing. Nor his body was getting any oxygen for that matter judging by how pale her skin had become and the way she seemed to struggle to move a finger.
Maybe she had hit herself harder than what Lando had heard… Maybe she couldn’t even move and she was left paralyzed!
Lando took a step closer to her and his hand twitched for being suspended in the air for long enough. Rapidly, the woman moved her head to the side with aggression so hard that it left Lando wondering how she hadn’t broken her neck in that movement.
As better as he could, Lando moved his gaze to follow hers, only to land on her bare hand.
“No, no. No. No! This can not be!” She whimpered to herself. Then, she tried to stand up but her knees were failing her, shaking uncontrollably while her eyes continued scanning the room. In a moment of generosity, Lando thought no better than grabbing her hand to help her stand up.
And that’s when chaos ensued.
Slowly, as if fearing what she would see, the red-haired turned to face Lando and the look of terror portraited in her face was enough for Lando to decide that he would ask Oliver to share his bed tonight.
For a brief and unnoticeable second, she looked down at their still joined hands from where she was still sitting on the floor.
Then her grip on Lando’s hand strengthed, almost hurtfully. Her nails were dugging into his skin, leaving a mark.
“You need to come with me.”
“What? No.” Lando recoiled, attempting to withdraw his hand that was now gripped with force by the stranger. “I-I don’t know you, and Mom says-”
“Now.”
In a matter of minutes they made it to a secluded cabin. Lando had stomped the whole way, his trainers scraping against gravel, heels digging in whenever the path allowed, but it had been useless due to how tiny his body was compared to the grip around his wrist. Now that he was getting kidnapped he regreted not getting into karate rather than karting. It would have been more helpful for situations like these, even tough he was sure he would have been completely incompetent in that area anyways.
The cabin was smaller than he expected. Wooden walls with thin cracks that let in slivers of pale light. Curtains drawn too tight. A couch with a dent permanently shaped into one cushion. He was given a seat and a cup of chocolate as though hospitality might soften abduction.
His eyes darted everywhere around the cabin looking for a way to escape, or at least something that could help him identify this place once he got out of here. A crooked nail by the door. A painting slightly tilted to the left. The task was getting trickier to complete as his eyes were struggling to keep the tears at bay at the thought of his worried mom searching for him after two hours of no news, checking the clock, dialing neighbors, trying not to imagine ditches.
The door creaked from behind Lando, the hinge protesting, making him flex his fingers against the armrest until his knuckles turned pale. The steps approached with confidence, unhurried and grounded, until the woman took a seat on the couch just in front of him.
She exhaled profusely, like she didn’t want to be here - like she didn’t have time to deal with Lando, but she was obliged to. Lando’s mind, which was still analysing every detail his eyes could capture, landed on the woman’s hands being now covered in gloves, and apparently struggling to hold a book as though unfamiliar with the weight of it.
“What’s your name, little one?”
The silence was brutal. The only noticeable noise was the distant sound of the wheels scrapping against the gravelly surface. Lando looked down at his joined hands, red by the force he was using to keep himself calmed for the time being.
“I am not here to hurt you. It’s not my intention in the slightest,” she added quickly to fill the void in the room. “I was just asking so I could have a way to adress you.”
With a trembling voice, he managed to creak out, “Lando.”
“That’s an original name. Where does it come from?” The woman questioned, a cigarette trapped between her gloved-fingers. Lando managed a convincing shrug without his trembling shoulders betraying him as much. “Okay, hint taken, you don’t want to talk. That’s fine with me. I just need you to listen carefully.”
“You promise you will let me go after I listen?” His fingers dug into the fabric of the couch, nails catching in a loose thread.
“I give you my word for it.”
Lando nodded, unconvinced still, but it’s not like he had any other choice but to believe her.
“When I fell in the shop, you were a very brave young man trying to help, and I appreciate that. I am just sorry you had to help me. See, I always wear gloves,” she explained, displaying her leather gloves by turning her hands side to side as though she were modeling them in an advertisement, “but I don’t wear them by choice.”
“Is that what you were searching for in the shop?” Lando had always thought she might have lost a wedding ring.
“Yes. With the hit I took somewhere along the way, my right glove disappeared. This usually would not be a big problem because I can buy new ones. The thing is, I wear them to protect others from my touch, and when you held my hand to help me up, you’ve… infected yourself.”
“I don’t understand,” he frowned. Suddenly, his body was rising in temperature under his sweatshirt. The smoke of the now lighted up cigarette was suffocating his peaceful breathing.
“I have a condition which I’ve now translated to you unintentionally. I must apologize for dragging you here without your permission, but it’s important you know what you suffer from now.”
A pause. The kind that stretches too long. She opened the book on her lap, careful, almost reverent, as though it might bruise under careless fingers.
“There is a long bloodline story that explains this, but I will spare you the details and specifications. Basically, love is not something we are allowed to have if it’s not spoken. Let’s say…” She tilted her head slightly. “What’s your hobby?”
“I like karting, and playing with my older brother. Especially when we steal those kinders on the top of the shelf.” His voice brightened instinctively at the memory, then dimmed again when he remembered where he was.
“Great. So, we as humans can love foods like the kinder, and we can love karts. Inanimate objects. That’s allowed. Then there’s a familiar love, which is the way you love your brother. That’s allowed too. But a distinctive form of love is the romantic one. Pray, how old are you, kid?”
“Nine.”
“Fuck. So young.” The word slipped out in a whisper. “Have you ever seen your parents kissing each other? Or a film where the protagonists look at each other in a different way than the rest of the crew?”
Lando grimaced thinking about it, shoulders tensing, nose scrunching at the memory of hurriedly looking away from the TV once.
“Well, that’s romantic love. And our condition does not let us love that way unless it is reciprocated.”
“I don’t understand what you are saying.” He sounded smaller now. Scared in a way that made his chest feel hollow.
“If you fall in love with someone, the moment you realize it, you will start to get sick. The first two weeks your coughs will be natural. Soft. Ignorable. The kind people dismiss with syrup and sleep. The worst comes at the third week. You will be delirious and sweaty, your thoughts slipping at the edges. And the pain tugging at your chest will be excruciating, like a tightening fist.”
She turned a page slowly.
“And on day 24, you will irrevocably die.” A beat of silence pressed into the room. “Unless that person initiates a kiss without you leading them on anyways.”
“I don’t believe you. This- It is not true.” His denial came out fractured, like he was trying to outrun the words before they settled into him. He was too young to die, even if he was not in love yet.
“I wish so too, but it is. Look at the positive side, you won’t have to wear gloves everywhere because only the carriers of the condition by bloodline can transmit it. You will be living a totally normal life.” She paused, meeting his eyes. “If you don’t fall in love, that is.”
Something electric sparked under his skin. A small panic blooming fast. His fingers began picking at the seam of his sleeve. His breathing shortened without his consent.
“Can I go?”
“Definitely. I shouldn’t have kept you here for this long anyway. Just take this with you,” she said, pushing the book gently toward him, whilst the cigarette was left resting on the ashtray, acting more as incense. “It’s a book written by my grandmother’s sister. You will find everything you need to know about this in here. If you were to feel some things in your body change, this book has the answer in it. It’s a copy, but treat it carefully, please. You will need it in the future.”
At home, once it was very well past bedtime and Lando had confirmed twice by passing through the corridors that his parents were snoring, he took the book out from the hiding place he managed to findhe had managed to create behind a stack of forgotten board games.
Under the covers, flashlight balanced awkwardly between his shoulder and chin, he started reading.
His index finger danced on top of the words at a rapid rhythm, unconsciously too overwhelmed to really take anything in. Names and dates blurred together. Margins held frantic annotations written by someone long dead. The words were barely being registered and his eyes were too sleepy to continue, but just before he gave up, the symptoms of the third week appeared right in front of his nose on a page where the paper was slightly more worn, the ink faintly faded, as though many had paused there longer than the rest.
The third week is where the body falls victim to unreciprocated love. Your eyes are not worthy of seeing if it’s not going to be a tool to let you be in contact with your beloved. Your hands shall be useless if they are not going to be touched by them. Why were they created in the first place if not for using them to worship the other? Your lips… They should not move unless it’s purpose is to love them. Therefore, the only way to be saved from cruel fate is a kiss from your beloved, to seal the reciprocation you are not allowed to convey if you don’t wish them to suffer the same fate as you.
It described fever that does not break. Limbs that feel misplaced. A delay between thought and movement, as though the body begins rehearsing absence. It warned that the mind remains clear enough to understand what is happening, that awareness is part of the punishment.
Lando read that paragraph three times before turning off the flashlight, lying on his back in the dark, pressing his small palm flat against his chest as if trying to memorize the place where it would one day start to hurt.
Either I die silent and scared if I were to fall in love, or the person I love dies if I confess to them.
With only two days left before the clock struck its inevitable end, Lando began to isolate himself. He did not want to die alone. He could not imagine that even in his worst nightmare, but he had no other choice when he saw how vulnerable he was.
His body was so pale and weak that any beauty that might once have inhabited it and that he could have called his own could no longer be found in any of his features. His skin looked almost translucent under the harsh hotel lighting, veins mapping blue rivers beneath the surface.
When he read the symptoms in that book, he immaturely believed that it couldn't be that bad. He had never been so wrong. Such was his discomfort with his own skin that Lando was unable to tell his hands from his feet. They felt like foreign objects attached to him by thin, fraying string. When his brain commanded a movement, his body refused to react until four seconds had passed.
And the pain in his chest was so acute that Lando did not even feel sorry for dying, he just wanted to escape from his body in any way possible.
There was no way anyone could be in his room. He had hidden himself away in a remote hotel in Bahrain and had made sure at reception, by paying a sum greater than the annual salary of an ordinary worker, that no one would be able to find him.
He had even deleted all traces of his flight details and hotel booking. Everything. In fact, three days ago he had posted a story on Instagram pretending he was on holiday in Switzerland.
Pinterest is a life saver, really.
Even so, the beep of the electronic card resonated in Lando's ear, putting him on alert. His body could barely tense up, but he heard his teeth grind and his knee twitched in an attempt to react.
As the footsteps approached his closed bedroom door, Lando was weighing up the possibility that if, by chance, the hotel was being robbed right now, and a thief wanted to get rid of him... Well, he wasn't opposed to that either. Dying today or in two days wouldn't change anything. It would just end the pain.
But the moment those footsteps stopped drilling into the floor, Lando realised that the person who had come for him was worse than any other possibility that had crossed his mind.
Two knocks on the door. Controlled. Familiar.
A heavy breath.
And then a Spanish accent, thick with something between frustration and desperation, clogging Lando’s airways more efficiently than the illness ever had.
“Are you there, Lando? Can I come in?”
Lando's heart sank when he heard that warm tone of voice and by just imagining Carlos on the other side of the door.
“I'm going in, okay?” Carlos warned, his wrist already turning the handle. The click of the latch sounded like a gunshot.
And Lando wasn't ready to see him. Lando was less ready than Carlos to see the other ironically. His muscles weakened at the sight of him and his breaths became short, searching for air to cling to.
“Lando. Lando. My God, what?” Carlos said worriedly at the sight of him. He rushed over to the bed, not even bothering to take off his jacket, which was already half unbuttoned.
He brought the cool air of the corridor with him, a shock to Lando's feverish skin. The mattress dipped under Carlos’ weight, the sudden proximity overwhelming. Lando tried to sit up out of reflex, tried to appear less fragile, but his vision blurred and he sank back into the pillows.
The warmth of his hand on Lando's forehead awoke the younger, his eyelids lifting at the rhythm of Carlos' breathing. Lando exhaled from the contact as if he had resurfaced from the water seconds after risk of drowning.
When his eyes finally focused, his newly recovered breath almost caught in his throat when he saw Carlos. He was beautiful. He wasn't his, but perhaps that was for the best, because if he were Lando's, he would no longer be so beautiful. His hair would be sparser if Lando could play with it. His lips would be less dry if Lando could moisten them, and his large, muscular back would end up scratched as a testament to the love that could be drawn from his body.
The thought was equal parts longing and self-punishment.
“Lando. Mi- What happened?” Carlos questioned further, his hand now resting on Lando’s wrist, drawing absent patterns on his skin. Circles. Half-moons. Unconscious. Every time Lando coughed, Carlos’ grip tightened like he was physically trying to hold him in place. Keep him here. As if touch alone could stitch him together.
He couldn’t reply. He didn’t want to. He shook his head slowly.
“Please, don’t ask. Please.” Lando’s voice was timid and shattered, barely stronger than a whisper.
Carlos’ expression hardened. Not in anger, but in resolve. The set of his jaw was steel.
“I need to take you to a hospital. You are in a state I’ve never seen before, and for God’s sake, Lando, you were alone before I crossed that door! I—” His voice cracked, and he swallowed the rest. He looked away for a second, composing himself. “I need to drive you somewhere.”
Carlos’ eyes looked lost, like the situation was escaping his reach. Lando’s lips twitched in something that almost resembled a smile, whilst his mouth was mumbling something unintelligible to Carlos.
“Sorry?”
“There is no cure,” Lando clarified, louder this time.
The words landed between them like something explosive.
Carlos’ lips parted at the revelation. His jaw worked as if chewing on something bitter. Then he bit the inside of his mouth hard enough that Lando could see the faint movement of pain, and shifted his lower jaw sideways, the nervous habit he’d never managed to drop.
Lando smiled at it despite everything.
“There has to be one,” Carlos insisted, the desperation bleeding into every syllable. “We have money and resources. We are lucky enough to have contacts!”
“There is none.” Lando added, his head surrending deep into the pillows, as if in surrender. Carlos’ hand found a place in Lando’s curls, gently tuggining at them, twisting them between his finger.
“What do you mean? You cannot be ill, Lando. Terminally? And I didn’t know?” The room seemed to shrink around Carlos's panic.
“I wouldn’t describe my condition as ill,” Lando murmured, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling so he wouldn’t have to watch Carlos unravel. “But I couldn’t tell you. Look at you.” His gaze flickered back down, catching the raw worry there. “I didn’t want you to ever look at me the way you’re looking at me right now.”
Carlos froze. “I have always looked at you the same, Lando.”
Lando chuckled softly. It hurt his chest. Yes. That’s the problem.
“I know,” Lando replied, shifting slightly to make room for Carlos on the bed now that he seemed closer to fainting than shouting. Without success, because the second Lando moved even a few centimetres, Carlos’ hand shot forward, trapping his thumb between his fingers.
Possessive. Desperate. But gentle.
Lando huffed weakly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Carlos’ eyes flickered with something dark. “Yeah. But for a second let me have you where you were. Within my reach.”
The room went quiet.
Outside, the world kept spinning. A car passed, tires hissing over wet pavement. Somewhere in the building, plumbing knocked softly. Life continued in cruel indifference, while Lando felt his life slip away slowly. He stared at their hands, at the way Carlos’ thumb was brushing against his knuckle. The warmth grounding him more than he wanted to admit.
This was the reason Lando chose to avoid contact on his third week. He was so weak for Carlos’ eyes. The choice was simple: If I tell Carlos I love him, he will die. If I don’t tell him, I will die unless he acts on it by himself.
There was no universe in which Lando could let Carlos die. Not like that.
With just a weak turn of his head, he could see Carlos. His hand on Lando’s. His eyes on Lando’s. His attention on Lando. Lando’s heart ached for the man. His hair was more diheveld than usual, but contrary to popular belief, Lando had always thought it suited him.
“Do you care to tell me?” Carlos asked, quieter now. Almost afraid of the answer.
“What do you want to know?” Lando deflected, though his chest tightened at how tired he felt.
“Why did you run away? Why do you believe you’re going to die?”
“I should ask you how you found me first.”
Carlos narrowed his eyes, clearly recognizing the tactic, but humored him anyway. His scrunched eyebrows were fuller than the last time Lando saw them, and briefly in a self-punishment moment, Lando wondered how many things he would miss when dead. Carlos’ hair would be cannier, and Lando would not be there to tease him for it. His smile would be surrounded by wrinkles, and Lando would not be there to love it.
He shook those thoughts away before they consumed him for good.
“Back in your rookie year, when we went Christmas shopping, do you remember?” Carlos started, his hand still firm on Lando’s thumb. The memory flickered behind Lando’s eyes and he laughed despite himself.
“Yeah. You almost got mugged in a ferris wheel because you were too distracted by the hot-dog man.”
Carlos rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth lifted. “Exactly. I am still amazed that guy managed to fit his balls in that costume.”
Lando cackled, really cackled, and immediately paid for it with a violent cough that doubled him over. Carlos’ hand flew to his back, rubbing circles, panic flaring again.
“Careful,” Carlos muttered.
“Worth it,” Lando rasped once he could breathe again.
“Anyway,” Carlos continued, watching him carefully now, “you made me download an app to track my location so that I wouldn’t get lost in London.”
“Mhmm. You did anyway.”
“Yes.” A brief, sheepish pause. “Thing is that app dinged on my phone saying you flew to Switzerland.”
Lando’s brows knitted together weakly.
“Wait. What? Does that thing still send you alarms? I deleted it five years ago!”
“Well,” Carlos shrugged, nose scrunching in that endearing way Lando had missed more than he’d ever admit. “Your account is still active.”
It was an impossibility. How on earth did Carlos find him through a stupid idea Lando had when he was nineteen? The name of the app was escaping him at the moment, but he did not recall it at all. And less would he have expected Carlos to keep it this long.
“And you have had it all this time?”
Another shrug, smaller this time. A faint blush on his cheeks. “I don’t usually delete apps. Or photos, for that matter.”
“That’s kind of creepy, you know?” Lando said, though there was no heat behind it. “For five years you’ve known where I was at any given time. A bit toxic from you, no?”
Carlos’ hand tightened around his thumb again. “I’m not toxic.”
“You have trapped my thumb so I couldn’t leave and you’ve flown to another country because you were spying on my whereabouts…” Lando forced a faint smirk. “How do you explain that?”
Carlos leaned in, close enough that Lando could see the unnoticeable gold flecks in his eyes. “You are worse than a politician,” he said through clenched teeth. “Using distractions to hide what really matters. You haven’t answered my questions.”
The humor drained from Lando’s face. He turned his head toward the window, staring at the pale outline of mountains barely visible through the fog.
“I ran away because I wanted to be alone.”
“Oh, come on!” Carlos’ voice cracked again, frustration spilling over. “I told you about my so-secret tracking weapon, cut me some slack.”
“Okay. Okay.” He inhaled slowly, feeling how uneven his lungs worked. “Since I was nine years old, I thought this could happen.” Carlos was giving him an uncertain grimace. So, Lando continued. “I didn’t believe it at first,” Lando continued, his voice thin, distant. “But everything I’ve read… everything I’ve felt… it’s becoming true.”
His pulse thudded weakly against Carlos’ fingers, and he finally looked at him again. “I don’t think I’m sick, Carlos. I think I’ve been counting down.”
“Lando. Lando. I don’t understand.” The grip on his thumb increased, as if Carlos needed the contact to ground himself, as if holding Lando tighter would make him stay.
“I- ugh. I can’t tell you. I may die, I may not. It does not depend on me.”
“Are you hungover or something? Cause you’re scaring me. You’re talking like the philosophers I used to ignore in highschool.”
“I am not, no. You know how I get when hungover.” Carlos nods as if Lando had just made a good point. “Let’s say I have a cold and I’m very dramatic about it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But I won’t be taking another plane today. So, you are now stuck with me.”
“Mphm,” Lando complained as Carlos dropped his body weight on his. His head was accomodated between Lando’s shoulder and the cotton pillow, and the smell of Carlos’ shampoo filled Lando’s nostrils. “I’d prefer to die.”
Carlos jokingly put his hand on Lando’s neck, and Lando made his best effort to wriggle out of it. His feet bumped into Carlos’, and his head turned the other way around, hissing lightly as his neck muscle complained by the movement. He felt a light kiss on his shoulder blade as an apology.
“Shouldn’t I be the one on top considering I will cough on your hair?”
“I’m too comfy,” Carlos said from above. “Besides, no amount of your dirty spit could tarnish the glow of my hair.”
Carlos let out a soft laugh, his chest rumbling against Lando’s. He settled more of his weight carefully, as if testing how much Lando could take, then relaxed into him, their legs tangling under the blanket. For a while, they just breathed together, close enough that every exhale was shared air.
Carlos’ hand wandered, slow and absentminded, tracing the line of Lando’s ribs through thin fabric. His palm was warm, fingers splaying wide as he drew lazy lines back and forth. Lando’s skin prickled in the wake of each pass, the touch grounding and intimate, but never rushed.
Carlos tucked his chin on Lando’s shoulder, letting the tip of his nose brush the curve of Lando’s neck. “You’re shivering,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. With his free hand, he reached down and caught one of Lando’s, weaving their fingers together and squeezing gently. Lando squeezed back, his thumb stroking over Carlos' knuckles.
Neither of them spoke for a moment. Lando could feel Carlos’ heartbeat, steady and close, and the way his thumb traced absent circles on the inside of Lando’s wrist. It was the kind of touch that said I’m here without saying anything at all.
A comfortable silence settled, broken only by the occasional shift of their feet brushing together, or the subtle hum of Carlos’ breath near Lando’s ear. Carlos’ hand lingered on Lando’s side, fingers splaying wider, slipping his hand under Lando’s shirt to caress his ribcage. Lando’s body twisted involuntarily.
“Why did you choose Switzerland? It’s too cold,” Carlos complained, his voice tickling Lando’s neck.
“People are minding their business here, not like those noisy Spaniards that are all over the place.”
Without expecting it, a cheeky pinch on his hip startled Lando. Obviously, he would not let it go that easil. So he replied with a bite on Carlos’ shoulder. The older gasped and turned his body around just enough to angle himself at a distance where he could safely tap Lando’s nose annoyingly.
Lando shrieked for help, but Carlos was relentless, so, in his hair judgement and acting like the gentleman he was, he spat on Carlos’ arm.
“Ugh. Disgusting.” Carlos gets off Lando, and the latter takes a breath that feels dull without Carlos’ smell.
“You chose to be here with a sick person!”
“Said sick person should not drool on their care-takers!”
“You are still here, Carlos,” Lando counteracted.
“Not anymore. I’m going to the kitchen,” Carlos announced, disentangling himself from the sheets and straightening his clothes.
“Noooo, don’t leave.”
Based on his tone, and his exaggerated mimics, trying to reach Carlos’ leg from the bed. it might have looked like Lando was mocking him. But no. Lando was really that petulant when sick.
“I will be making you food. You look like you haven’t eaten since the Queen died.”
“I would mock the Spanish royal family back if they weren’t so irrelevant.”
“Hmm. Sleep for a bit.” Carlos pressed a gentle kiss to Lando’s forehead before finally slipping out of the room.
His absence left a hush in the air, broken only by the distant clatter of pans and the faint, comforting smells that began drifting from the kitchen. Lando lay staring at the ceiling, the weight of exhaustion pulling at him- he should have been able to sleep, but after nearly eighteen hours of broken rest, his body refused. The bed felt too empty now, the sheets still warm from where Carlos had been.
He wondered if he would die happily knowing he got to love fully, even without being reciprocated. He would never, ever, be mad at Carlos for not loving him back the same way. Even so, Lando had never felt a lack of love around him. It could not be the type of love Lando wanted to be given back, but it was enough for him. More than enough.
He wished it could be different. Life was unfair, and sadly Carlos would pay most of it. Everytime Lando thought back to that day at the supermarket with the woman, he remembered just how scared he was of not making it home to see his mom, and the pain she must’ve experience while waiting for her little son to arrive.
And now it was Carlos’ turn to lose him forever. Lando wished Carlos wouldn’t cry as much.
He wasn’t the ‘soy lago’ of the two, anyway.
Eventually, the pull of curiosity (and hunger) won out. Lando swung his legs off the mattress, wincing at how weak they felt, and shuffled down the hall. He paused at the doorway, watching Carlos for a moment. How focused he was, the way he moved around the small kitchen. Something about it made Lando’s chest ache, soft and sharp at the same time.
He crossed the threshold and slipped up behind Carlos, arms wrapping slow and loose around his waist, chin resting on Carlos’ shoulder.
“Whatcha doing there?” Lando whispered from behind.
“Pancakes,” Carlos replied, swinging his body back to collide with Lando’s, earning a whimper from the other. Still, Lando beamed at the answer.
“I love your pancakes.”
“I know.”
Carlos tried to move his body to get the syrup from the fridge, but the heavy presence that kept clinging to him difficulted the move.
“Ay, get off.”
“Payback for trying to kill me in bed with your weight.”
“Fatshame me again and I will keep these delicious pancakes to myself.” Lando raised his hands and took a step back, disentangling himself from Carlos’ body.
A few minutes later, Lando was curled on the couch, a plate of pancakes balanced on his knees while Carlos battled with the stubborn TV remote, muttering under his breath as he tried to get it to cooperate. Whenever Carlos reached out for a pancake, Lando would hiss, drawing the plate closer and ducking under the blanket like a cat retreating to its cave - his cave being the left side of the couch, bundled in warmth and mock suspicion.
They ended up watching a Turkish telenovela, because none of them knew German and that was the only English subtitled channel available.
“That dude is so stupid, oh my God. His bride was shot by his mom and he’s taking his mom’s side?” Carlos exclaimed, indignant.
“What pisses me off the most is his cravat’s colour. Why did this bloke think getting married in neon orange was anything other than legally punishable by law?” Lando added, munching on his fourth pancake.
“He should be hanged with that cravat.”
“Agreed.” Lando said flatly, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he chewed thoughtfully.
Their conversation drifted naturally into absurd critique, but the underlying warmth in the room was undeniable. Lando’s gaze lingered on Carlos, watching the way his friend’s brow furrowed in concentration, how his lips parted slightly as he muttered about the plot. Despite the banter, a tender feeling bloomed in Lando’s chest an ache he tried to ignore. The reality of these moments slipping through Lando’s fingers at every time the clock struck a new hour.
“And the mother’s shooting skills? Where do they come from? She’s supposed to be a nun,” Carlos exhaled, annoyed. His hands had been in contact with Lando’s ankles, until he removed them to complain with his hands. Very southern European of him.
“Huh?”
“Oh, you missed that revelation when you were in the bathroom. Yes, apparently she was a nun de clausura for 20 years before she was kidnapped by her now husband.”
Lando’s brows furrowed, his pose straighter than before, separating his back from the couchrest. “Pause. So, the dad of the groom is the one who killed the country’s dictator?”
“Pretty much, yeah. That’s why the wedding is full of security guards in protection of him.”
“All that security for the bride to get shot. People nowadays getting paid for nothing.”
Carlos huffed. “You are getting paid for pushing on pedals and complain to the media.”
“Yeah, but I’m risking my life for it.”
“In theory, security guards do-”
A pillow hit Carlos square on the nose, thrown with precise aim from Lando’s side of the couch. Carlos clutched his face in mock outrage, eyes threatening, while Lando grinned behind the safety of his blanket fortress.
“Watch that! If you had flown away to Iran maybe I could get a rhino easily. The Swiss don’t know how to do that.” Carlos fired back with a look that promised revenge, but the room was already warm with laughter, the tension between them dissolved for now.
“Pff,” was Lando’s dry response.
Carlos waved a hand, and Lando couldn’t help but watch the way the lamplight made his skin look golden and alive. There was a tenderness in the room, something that curled around Lando’s bones and made him ache with a kind of sweet resignation. He took another bite of his pancake, chewing slowly, savoring the taste and the company.
The closeness felt overwhelming and at the same time like the only lifesaver left in a sea full of uncertainty. Lando felt like he was going to choke unless he spoke, so he spat out whatever words could come out first, trembling slightly.
“In all seriousness, I feel bad for the bride.”
Carlos chuckled faintly. “You should. It’s normal you empathise with people from your group.”
“What?”
“Don’t you remember when you called yourself my bride?” Carlos’s voice was gentle but teasing, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. His knee reached Lando’s giving it a playful clash. Lando could feel his intense staring from the side, but he refused to look back.
Because Lando went red. Like, really red. And he just hoped Carlos would not notice and in case he did, Lando hoped he would brush it off as a sickness symptom.
“Uh, I think I would remember that.”
“When we were teammates at McLaren we had an interview with a German media., and you offered to be my bride.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t get too embarassed, anyway. I think it’s close to lost media.”
“No, no. I remember.”
“You were blushing like crazy,” Carlos said, leaning closer, and this time it was him the one that was left breathless, “Like now.”
“It’s the illness,” Lando deflected, voice struggling to appear flat and controlled. “My cheeks become redder, and I struggle to breathe.”
“Then you’ve been ill everytime you’ve been around me.”
“Yes. Kind of like that.”
“Am I that ugly, Lando?” Carlos’s tone was playful but edged with vulnerability.
“Oh fuck off, you know how you look like. I don’t need to inflate your already boosted ego.”
Lando wanted to push Carlos away. Lando wanted Carlos to stop teasing him before his control went over the window and Lando decided to do something crazy like kiss him, sentencing him to his death.
But he couldn’t lie. That’s exactly what he wanted, what he had been yearning for a while now. Without losing Carlos, obviously.
“And how do I look like?”
“Breathtaking.”
“In the I am ill context?”
“No.” In the I want to devour you whole, Lando thought.
“Lando. Look at me.” Carlos pleaded. “God, you’re so red. Do you want a tea?”
“No.”
“Then what do you want?”
The air between them thickened, heavy with unspoken words and trembling anticipation. Lando’s eyes flickered down to Carlos’s lips, then back to his gaze, searching for any sign of hesitation, any flicker of doubt. But all he saw was longing. Raw, desperate, and painfully beautiful. Carlos’s breath hitched softly, a tremor that betrayed how much he was holding back, and Lando felt his own heartbeat thunder in his chest, loud and deafening in the silence. Every second stretched out, suspended in a fragile moment where the world outside faded away, leaving only the unyielding pull of their closeness and the uncharted territory of what might come next.
Carlos’s hand trembled as he reached out, fingers brushing the edge of Lando’s jaw, a tentative gesture filled with hope and fear in equal measure. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as if summoning courage from deep within, and then he opened them again. Focused, vulnerable, trembling with the weight of his feelings. The space between their faces closed ever so slightly, breaths mingling in the quiet, the tension mounting like a storm about to break. Neither of them spoke, but in that suspended moment, the unspoken truth hung heavily, an unvoiced question, a silent plea, that dared to acknowledge the possibility of what was about to happen.
“Tell me to stop. Please, Lando, push me away.” Carlos pleaded. His voice pained.
“I don’t want you to stop. I won’t push you away.”
Carlos’s face hesitated for a heartbeat, then slowly leaned in, closing the distance between them. Their lips met in a tentative, trembling kiss — soft at first, almost unsure, as if both of them were afraid to break the fragile spell. The warmth of Carlos’s mouth against his own sent a shiver down Lando’s spine, melting away the pain and sickness that had haunted him. It was as if Carlos was trying to kiss the illness out of him, to heal with each gentle press of lips, each shared breath. And somehow, it worked. The world narrowed to just this moment two souls connecting in a quiet, desperate act of love and reassurance.
Lando couldn’t believe it. He moaned in spite of himself. For so long he had loved Carlos. For so long had he longed to be like this with him. The electric touch of his lips reminded Lando that he was alive - that he would be alive. That he could live the rest of his life like this, kissing Carlos without fearing death.
Their bodies pressed together, tentative at first, Lando’s hands finding Carlos’s shoulders and holding on, not to anchor himself but to remember what it was like to touch and be touched by someone you loved. The gentle rhythm of their breathing mingled as they kissed, a soft, aching symphony that spoke volumes of their unspoken feelings. Lando’s fingers trembled as they traced the contours of Carlos’s skin, seeking reassurance in the contact, in the presence of someone who refused to let him go. “Don’t stop kissing me, I beg you,” he whispered against Carlos’s lips, voice thick with emotion. Carlos’s response was immediate, unwavering: “I won’t. I can’t.” And in that moment, everything else faded away leaving only the warmth, the tenderness, and the unbreakable bond that held them together.
The way they kissed was like everything they did together. They wanted to beat each other on track as much as they were fighting for dominance with their tongues. They cared for the other, that’s why Carlos’ bites on Lando’s lower lip were innocent nibblings. That’s why Lando’s moan was firing Carlos up.
“Fuck.”
Lando started laughing.
“What?”
“Your turned-on face. I’ve never seen it before.” Lando imitates it to mock Carlos.
“My turned-on face might be funny, but your moan sounded like a seal who has accidentally fallen on water.”
“Excuse you?” Lando laughed. “You are not getting them anymore.”
“Oh, but you know I am.” Carlos threatened, his turned-on face on frame again.
Lando used the excuse of wanting to hide from that terrific (hot) expression to get closer to Carlos by hiding his head in Carlos’ chest. He felt the tickles from the first minute he let his body relax against his, and Lando swinged, laughing and begging for it to come to a stop.
He looked at Carlos, he allowed himself to really look. Which, was a mistake, because Lando wanted to kiss him all over again. His smile had a tenderness he had never seen before in Carlos, or at least never at that level. Like it had been the smile Lando always had known, but now it was allowed to be free, to be fuller.
“Why don’t you look sick anymore, baby?” Carlos questioned. His hands were now placed on his beloved’s cheeks, caressing softly the skin. His eyes were relentlessly scanning through his, searching for any sign of discomfort, but Lando could only offer a cheeky smile instead.
“Must have been your kiss.”
“Urgh,” Carlos groaned, pushing Lando’s head away with a soft slap. “We haven’t even started dating and I’m already planning on breaking up with you.”
Things wouldn’t be perfect for a while, and Lando would need a whole bunch of courage to explain to Carlos his encounter at a supermarket decades ago without sounding crazy, but for now, they were fine, they loved each other, and most importantly, they wouldn’t have to love in silence ever again.