Chapter Text
“I’m sweating like a fucking whore at church,” Lando curses, pulling at his shirt in an attempt to cool himself down.
“Aye,” Carlos agrees solemnly beside him, half-heartedly fiddling with the AC at the back of the van in an unsuccessful attempt to coerce some cool air out of it. Lando sighs and peers out the window. Green fields spin by in a never-ending blur. Overgrown vegetation reaches out between fence posts to brush against the edge of the van. The soft melody of some indie band drifts from the speakers. Carlos abandons his fiddling and turns to rely on the higher powers. Lando snickers as Carlos bows his head in silent prayer to the cold air gods, forehead pressed against the useless AC unit.
Finally, finally , the van slows to a stop. The driver leans behind his seat,
“Right boys, time to hop out now, we’re here.”
Lando doesn't have to be told twice, swinging open the van door and tumbling out, Carlos right behind him. Outside in the open air Lando takes a second to breathe, lifting his face up to the sky. He feels the gentle brush of a sea breeze over his face, breathes in its crisp and sweet scent. He can’t help but smile.
Carlos nudges him, “Let’s grab our bags,”
They retrieve their packs from the van, waving a friendly goodbye to the driver as he speeds away.
Together they stand surveying the beach. Beautiful turquoise waters stretch as far as the eye can see, the surface disturbed lightly by the wind. Carlos looks over to him with a twinkle in his eye which Lando returns, the corners of his eyes crinkling. They drop their bags and the nearest picnic bench overlooking the bay and pull out a wrinkled old paper map to spread out before them. It is nearing midday now, the bright sun perched high above. Lando swears he can feel his skin actively burning, cheers, hole in the ozone layer.
As if he can read his mind Carlos leans over, “Looking a bit pink there cabrón” he says, pinching Lando’s cheeks.
“Fuck off” Lando barks, batting his hands away, “we weren’t all blessed with tan skin.”
“Yes, but I put sunblock on.”
“I put sunblock on when you remind me to,” Lando huffs.
Carlos just laughs, already pulling the sunblock from his pack and passing it to Lando. Lando always forgets, Carlos always brings extra. He hates seeing Lando burnt, rattling off skin cancer statistics like he's Lando's mum. It’s stupid, the way Carlos cares for the both of them. Once Carlos deems Lando sufficiently protected they both turn their attention back to the map.
“So we’re here,” Lando points to the label on the map reading ‘Kawakawa bay’, “and we want to be…. where?” he trails off looking over at Carlos who was staring intently at the map.
“I think the lady said It was one bay over?”
Lando drops his head on the table.
“Mate,” he exhales, forehead pressed to the wood “I cannot believe we are travelling to some random-as-fuck beach campsite because the lady in the supermarket line recommended it”
“She was a nice lady, Lando” Carlos chides, “old people know things.”
“Of course we’re trusting beach advice from an ancient stranger in the supermarket queue. That’s totally normal.”
Carlos doesn’t even dignify that with a response. He just sighs, long, dramatic, and full of suffering. ‘Rude’ Lando thinks. It's been a few hours since they've eaten breakfast and Lando can feel the slight tug of hunger in his stomach. He pulls his pack from under the bench and rifles around in the pockets searching for a snack. Inside, the only thing he finds is an empty chip packet and a half-eaten bag of Pineapple Lumps. Fuck. He wrinkles his nose. The candy had been acquired from the lad in the corner store back in Auckland, who had vehemently recommended the snack after hearing their 'foreign' accents. The fella practically shoving the bag into Carlos' arms declaring it a “true Kiwi snack,” and a "must try." Carlos, curious, had cracked open the bag and popped one in his mouth as they were leaving the store,
“This is a culinary insult” he had announced, jaw working around the lolly, eyebrows furrowed.
“Lemme try,” Lando grabbed the bag off him and bit into one, he scrunched his face,
“Yeah that’s not good,” he agreed, swerving to the other side of the pavement to throw the bag into the nearest bin.
Carlos smacked his shoulder before he could do it though, pointing towards the window behind him, where the employee was very clearly watching them behind the register.
“We can’t insult him,” Carlos hissed.
Lando raised both eyebrows, unimpressed, “I think he will live,”
“Lando no, it’s rude, we're insulting his culture,” They both turn to look at the guy through the window. The employee hadn’t moved. Still staring. Still judging. Like the fate of New Zealand’s national pride rested in that bag. Lando furrows his brows.
“Do you think he's gonna cry if I throw it out?”
“I’m not sure,” Carlos answered hesitantly, eyeing the guy through the glass. Lando sighs,
“Just put one in your mouth and smile at him, then we can throw it out!” Carlos recoils, grimacing.
“No, Lando”
“Yes, Carlos”
“Fucking fine, ” Carlos growled, plucking another pineapple lump from the bag. The guy watched. Carlos put it in his mouth and chewed, shooting an exaggerated thumbs up through the window. The guy beams and finally turns around to help a customer.
“Go, go ” Carlos had urgently whispered, spitting the lolly into the bin and gapping it, leaving Lando alone to quickly shove the packet into his bag and chase after him. In his rush he forgot to throw the dammed thing out.
Lando peers into the packet, wincing at the way the heat had caused the 'lumps' to melt and fuse together creating a sticky mess of chocolate. Carlos looks up to see the familiar yellow bag in Lando’s hands. His face drains of colour.
“No,” he whispers, tortured, “no more, Lando. Please.” He leans away from that bag as if it was radioactive.
Lando laughs, “you're such a drama queen,” and gets up to throw the packet in the bin, for good. Carlos is visibly more relaxed when Lando returns, Lando smirks at that a little.
“Anyways,” he says, “I am fucking starving, can we get something to eat?”
“Sure” Carlos agrees easily, folding away the map, “I think I mostly know where we’re going now, anyways.”
They wander along the main road admiring the rocky bay. The sea sparkles in the sunlight like a precious jewel. Seagulls scream above. There are a few kids hopping between the rocks with buckets, their giggles drifting over, carried by the wind. Aside from maybe one or two families, the bay is mostly empty. Everything feels distinctly remote. Lando thinks back to the beaches in the UK, which he knows would be heaving with people on a sunny day like this, and he suddenly feels far away from home, in the best way possible.
Eventually, they stumble across one lone store lining the main road.
‘Kawakawa Bay Store & Takeaways’ the sign proclaims, Lando smiles relieved. Carlos has already pulled out a list, efficient as always, striding ahead to gather the right supplies. Lando is happy to trail after him, gazing idly at the products on the shelf. He walks past the hot food cabinet and pauses. Beautiful golden brown mince and cheese pies stare back at him. Fucking perfection. Over the last few weeks after landing in Aotearoa, Lando has developed a soft spot for a good pie, and so has Carlos.
“The concept is weird,” Carlos had announced around a mouthful,“but, like... weird in a good way.”
He buys two and shuffles to wait outside for Carlos to finish doing the shopping, sinking into a bench outside. Carlos emerges a few moments later laden with 3 days' worth of non-perishable food which they divide between their 2 packs.
“Here,” Lando says, reaching over to give Carlos his pie.
“Thank you, Lando” Carlos smiles as he grabs the pastry from his hand and takes a bite.
“Fuuck,” He groans, “this is just what I needed.”
Lando tries to ignore the way that sound makes him feel. Thanking every god that the heat on his cheeks can be attributed to the sun above and not the noise Carlos had just made. There's that squirming feeling in his stomach again, one that warms him from the inside out, the one that makes looking Carlos in the eyes difficult at times.
“Anytime mate,” he responds, a beat late, but Carlos doesn’t seem to notice.
After consulting their map one more time, they set off, continuing to follow the main road until it runs out. Lando can feel the sweat building on his brow as they continue walking, passing a sign that says ‘Tuturau Bay’ as Carlos leads them down to yet another beach.
“I think we just keep walking up the beach,” Carlos says, hands on his hips, scrutinising the map, “The campsite’s only accessible by boat or on foot.”
Lando raises his eyebrows but keeps quiet, trudging behind Carlos in the sand. They approach the end of the beach and Lando begins to feel a foreboding sense of dread. There doesn’t seem to be anything past this point except ocean and rocks.
“Carlos,” Lando breathes, frowning, “are you sure this is the right way?”
Carlos pinches the space between his eyebrows, the way he always does when he’s thinking,
“Yes I’m sure of it, we just have to find the trail, which will lead us right there,”
“Okayyy,” Lando says, dragging out the word just enough to earn a side-eye from Carlos.
“Just trust me, yeah?” Carlos says, grinning over at him.
“Oh, sure,” Lando deadpans. “Because that’s never gone horribly wrong before.” It comes out way more sincere than he meant it to, but Carlos just grins wider, clearly pleased.
They wander along the edge of the beach, scanning for any sign of a trail. The sun beats down on them, oppressive. There is sand everywhere. It’s starting to feel hopeless.
“Oi, LANDO!” Carlos shouts from further down, Lando looks up, weary .
“LOOK AT THIS!” Lando pulls himself up and jogs over to stand just behind Carlos.
“Told you I’d find it,” Carlos says smugly, gesturing to a half-hidden signpost almost swallowed by the surrounding greenery. Lando squints at it, 'Tawhitokino Beach Track' it reads and the sweetest relief floods through him. It’s there, proof that they’re actually on the right path.
“You’re actually useful sometimes,” Lando mutters, grinning, exhaustion momentarily forgotten. Carlos bumps against his shoulder lightly, stepping forward to start up the track.
“I think what you meant to say was 'thank you,’” Carlos teases, shrugging his backpack on properly and begins ascending up the stairs.
"Fuck you," Lando says primly, moving to follow Carlos wake.
⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖
The track isn't too difficult, but Lando is acutely reminded how unfit he is.
“How many,” he gasps, “more stairs are there.” He scowls up at Carlos who is prancing up the stairs like a fucking mountain goat. When he looks back at Lando his face looks annoyingly fresh, he doesn’t even say anything, just grins. Lando is willing to bet that he’s actually enjoying this, the fucker. Lando flips him off.
“Aye, I didn’t even do anything,” Carlos protests, laughing, but slows down so he can walk closer to him, Lando grumbling and groaning the entire time.
“It’ll be worth it,” Carlos says, a little softer this time, “Promise.” Lando glances over, still catching his breath. Carlos reaches out his hand toward him, wiggling his pinky in front of Lando’s face,
“Pinky promise?” he says,
Lando laughs, “What are we, five?” still, he diligently hooks his pinky around Carlos’ anyway, giving it a little squeeze.
“If I end up eaten by a possum or whatever lives out here, I’m haunting you.”
“Never fear Lando,” Carlos puffs his chest, "I am here to protect you.” Lando snorts, but, yeah, that’s probably true. However, he can’t let Carlos have the last word,
“Sureee buddy.” Lando retorts, laying the disbelief on thick.
Carlos just flexes his arms in response, and Lando just shoves him away, smiling.
Once they make it over the hill, the track evens out, it's mostly downhill now, winding gently through the bush. Carlos is all certainty and direction and Lando is happy trailing behind. He thinks that Carlos thrives on this kind of thing, being in control, being the leader. Lando’s the one who's more likely to be reckless, the one who dives into things without thinking. Perhaps because he's safe in the quiet knowledge that Carlos will probably be there to catch him if everything goes to shit. With the worst behind them, Lando finally has enough breath to actually look around.
The foliage is wild and dense, and impossibly green. Not the polite garden-variety green of parks back home, but something older, untouched. The kind of green that feels like it could swallow a person whole. Lando drags his fingers along the underside of a fern and lets out a small, delighted laugh when it shimmers silver . Carlos hears it.
“Ponga,” he says, without even looking back.
“Of course you know that,” Lando mutters, fond.
Birdsong rings overhead, not the kind of bird song he’s used to, but sharp, whistling calls that rise and fall like conversation. The rattlting sounds of the Cicadas settle like a blanket around him. Lando remembers hearing someone back in the city describing it ‘as the song of summer’. Carlos keeps naming plants as they pass, Kawakawa, Pōhutukawa, something with berries he tells Lando not to eat, and Lando is content to just listen. They finally break through the bush and step onto the sand of Tawhitokino Bay. He sighs, long and loud and borderline theatrical.
Carlos grins at him,“We made it,”
“Barely,” Lando mutters, but he's smiling too.
The beach is beautiful. He grins and reaches down to pull his sneakers off, wiggling his toes in the soft white sand. Gentle waves lap at the shoreline in a steady rhythm. Beyond the sand, tall grasses ripple in the breeze, and twisted trees hang over the bank, leaning towards the sea. The beach is empty. Lando turns to Carlos, who’s standing a few steps ahead, eyes fixed on the shoreline. There’s something quiet in his expression, something still, a tension in his shoulders that is notably absent now, that was there before. He looks fucking ethereal like this. The harsh midday sun carves out the sharp line of his jaw, highlights the slope of his nose, and catches in the edges of his chestnut wind-tousled hair. There’s a softness to it all, the way he squints into the light, the way the breeze pulls at his shirt. Then he turns around and looks at Lando and there's joy, bright and pure in his eyes and what else can Lando do but smile back at him, giddy. He can ignore the aches in his back from the backpack and the sweat pooling on his eyebrows, nothing else matters.
Carlos breaks the silence, “It’s lovely, no?”
Lando snorts, dragging a hand through his damp curls, “almost worth being dragged through the bush like we’re fucking Bear Grylls.”
Carlos grins, unbothered. “You loved it.”
Lando rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. “I tolerated it. For the view.”
And maybe he’s not just talking about the beach, because yeah, the beach is stunning, but the real problem is the man next to him, all sunlit and wind-tousled, looking like some kind of walking cologne ad.
Unfair. Illegal, even.
Lando pinches himself to interrupt the thought, Carlos, unaware moves to continue walking,
They’re finally coming up on the campsite now, nestled right at the edge of the beach, a small sign welcoming them in. The site is nothing more than a small patch of cleared grass, completely surrounded by dense bush and coastal foliage. A single long-drop toilet stands solemnly at the back of the plot. There is a small stream trickling away beside the campsite, running lazily across the beach to join the ocean. Everything hums with life, wind slipping through the swaying pōhutukawa trees, the rustle of flax, the far-off squawk of seabirds. The whole place feels half-wild, buzzing, breathing, like it’s been waiting for them.
“Let’s go,” Carlos gestures ahead, “we still have to set up the tent.”
⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖
Tents, Lando decides, are far too complicated for their own good.
“Fuck me,” he groans, trying to wrestle two stubborn pole ends together. Carlos hums in vague agreement from where he’s crouched, flipping the tent’s inner lining around like he’s trying to locate the elusive ‘door’ the instructions keep talking about. The rental company had kindly included a set of instructions with their gear, helpful only if you can parse the frankly nauseating diagrams. Two grinning doodles cheerfully assemble the tent with ease, Lando contemplates drawing a third one beside them crying.
“Why are there so many zips?” Carlos laments to no one, dumping the fabric in defeat and gazing dramatically at the sky like it offers answers. Lando sighs, joining him in giving up on the poles and sprawling out on the grass. They're both sweating profusely, sticky with sunscreen and sand.
“Maybe we should just sleep outside,” Carlos suggests, wiping at his forehead.
Lando squints at him. “What about the possums?”
Carlos shrugs, utterly unfazed, looking out into the distance, “If they’re coming, we’ll go down swinging.”
There’s a long pause, both of them silently staring at the pile of fabric that’s supposed to be their tent. Lando begins to laugh loud guffaws that develop into uncontrollable giggles, Carlos joining in until they both can't stand straight, doubled over in laughter at the ridiculousness of everything.
Summoning up their remaining willpower they manage to construct something akin to a proper tent, it’s wonky and held together with clips and prayers but it’s standing.
“We win!” Carlos cries, pushing the final peg into the ground with the heel of his shoe. Lando takes a second to breathe in relief, the possums are kept at bay for another day.
He surveys their little 2 person tent with a deep sense of pride. It is little but mighty, standing barely 2 meters wide and just above that in length. The top of the tent just grazes Lando's ribs. He privately thinks the tent wouldn't be big enough for one person, let alone two, but that's a future Lando problem. Hot sticky sweat drips down the back of his neck and runs down his back, and when Lando lifts his arms to adjust his hair he can feel damp patches under his armpit that no doubt show through onto his shirt. He looks towards the sea,
“I'm desperate for a swim mate,”
“Me too,” Carlos agrees, already peeling off his shirt.
Lando slings their bags inside the tent with a grunt of triumph and rummages around inside for his swimmers, or togs, as he’s learned the Kiwis call them. The tent’s barely zipped shut when Carlos shoots him that look, all mischief and challenge, and he bolts.
“Oi, fuck off you wanker,” Lando yells, taking off after him.
They race from the campsite down to the sea, kicking up sand, whooping and yelling like kids. The water hits him like a shock, fresh, cold, and perfect. Lando barely has a second to breathe before Carlos barrels in behind him, arms snaking around his waist.
“Don’t you dare-”
Too late. Carlos lifts him clean off his feet and dunks him under. Lando surfaces with a gasp, hair plastered to his face, laughing like an idiot, adrenaline thrumming in his veins.
“You’re dead,” Lando says, trying to come off as serious but he is still grinning through the water, a little breathless. Carlos can’t stop laughing like a goddamn seagull, loud and unrestrained. Lando is approaching Carlos now, jumping up to latch onto Carlos, swinging his body weight to force Carlos to topple over, drowning both of them in a tangle of yelps and limbs. They break the surface again, coughing and wheezing and laughing like maniacs, Lando flicks water at him.
“That’s what you get,” he says, breathless. “No mercy.”
Carlos pushes wet hair off his face, grinning. “You call that revenge? I barely felt it.”
“Oh, you want real revenge?” Lando challenges, edging closer to the other in the water. Carlos tilts his head, arches a brow, smirk sharp.
“Make it worth my while,” he says, eyes flicking down, then back up, challenging.
Lando is already ducking down to wrap his arms around Carlos’ sinful waist again, trying to tackle him over, but Carlos just adjusts his stance and digs his heels into the sand beneath the water, creating a stalemate. He leans down to speak into Lando's ear,
“You’re gonna have to try harder than that,” he chuckles lightly, his breath warm against Lando’s cheek. An involuntary shiver runs down Lando’s spine. Carlos leans away, grin downright smug, still not moving.
“You hugging me or fighting me, mate?”
Lando scoffs, “does Carlos want a hug that bad” he coos, mock-sweetly, “come on over here, big boy.”
Carlos' face does something weird at that, eye widening and mouth dropping open slightly, and for a second he just blinks at Lando. Lando’s grin flickers for a beat feeling suddenly nervous, like he’s crossed some invisible line they’ve managed to sidestep all their years of friendship. But then Carlos laughs perhaps a little too loud, a little too delayed - and shoves water in his face.
“You wish,” he says, voice teasing, but there’s something tight at the edges. Lando splutters, regaining his footing.
“You’re deflecting,” he accuses, splashing him back.
“Me?” Carlos smirks, slicking his hair back like he’s in a shampoo commercial. “Never.”
Neither of them mention the moment. They keep splashing, and edge louder now, rougher, like maybe if they make enough noise, they won’t have to hear the quiet part underneath.
⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖
Eventually, they drag themselves out of the sea, soaked to the bone and breathless with laughter. The sun is beginning to dip lower, casting long shadows across the sand as they towel off, shivering slightly in the evening breeze. Carlos busies himself setting up the two fold-out camping chairs. Lando rummages through one of the bags and pulls out the little camping stove,
“Fancy a cuppa?” he yells over to Carlos,
“Yes please,” Carlos yells back, intent on assembling the chairs.
Lando hums a bar from a song he thinks he heard on the radio as he fills the kettle with bottled water. After an initial struggle with the gas he finally manages to turn the stove on, popping the kettle on top to boil. They don’t say much, but silence has never felt uncomfortable between them, both content just to exist in each other’s orbit. A good kind of tired hums between them, the aftermath of a day full of sun. Lando watches the smoke rise in tendrils out the spout. A high-pitched whistling sound leaks out the kettle and Lando quickly removes it from the heat. He pours 2 mugs, 1 sugar for Carlos, none for himself, a dash of milk for both.
Carlos has finished setting up the chairs, proudly surveying his work with his hands resting upon his hips,
You look just like my dad right now,” Lando teases approaching Carlos with the mugs. As he passes, he gently brushes a hand along the top of Carlos’ back to announce his presence. Carlos glances over his shoulder, unimpressed.
“I hope my hair’s not greying yet, cabrón.”
“Not yet, old man,” Lando grins, handing him the tea.
Carlos takes it with a small huff, undermined by the fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he accepts the mug.
“Thank you,”
Lando hums back in acknowledgement, sinking into his camp chair.
They sit in companionable silence, cradling their mugs. The sun had begun its fiery descent down in the sky, framed perfectly by the pōhutukawa trees. The waves crash in a lazy, hypnotic rhythm, Lando melts into his chair like butter in the sun. The absolute peace of it all - it settles in Lando’s chest like something he didn’t know he needed. The breeze runs a gentle finger over his face, and the distant cry of seabirds fades into a blur.
Lando peeks an eye open to gaze over at Carlos. His eyes are closed, head tilted back, and maybe now it’s safe to ask.
“So..” Lando begins softly, “why are we here Carlos?”
Carlos glances over, an uncomfortable look on his face,
“I told you, the lady-”
“No, Carlos. Why are we here ?” Lando gestures to the sky. Carlos shifts in his seat.
He remembers when he got the call. Lando had bustled his way through the front door of his dingy little Woking flat after his shift at the cafe, curls dripping with water. He had already pulled out his phone to text Carlos about the cat he’d saw at the train station when his phone had buzzed an incoming call, Carlos’ icon popping up on the screen in front of him.
“Hola,” Lando greeted when he had picked up the phone and instantly knew something was up when Carlos didn’t immediately groan at his pronunciation. For a second, all Lando had heard was static and the distant patter of rain hitting his own windows.
“Hey,” Carlos had said finally, his voice too careful, too level.
“Hey man,” Lando quickly replied, worried. “Is something up? I’m free, I can walk over right now, just give me like-”
A long inhale on the other side of the phone had caused Lando to fall silent. Then,
“Do you wanna go to New Zealand?” Lando had frozen mid-step, wet jacket clinging to his arms.
“What?”
“I just-” Carlos had exhaled sharply, and there had been something wild in it. Breathless. A frustrated, electric energy Lando had never associated with him before.
“Carlos,” Lando had breathed, unsure how to proceed.
“I just… I need to get out,” Carlos had said, his voice cracking ever so slightly before he’d steadied it again. “Everything is-” He’d cut himself off and sighed. “It is loud. In my head.”
Lando had made a soft, pained sound. Carlos had continued.
“And I kept thinking about travelling with you. Like we talked about last year.”
“Yeah, okay,” Lando had said, “but why New Zealand?”
Carlos had huffed a laugh, a soft, tired thing. “It’s the other side of the earth. Practically as far away from here as we can get.” Lando hadn’t said anything for a moment. Just stared at the rain streaking down his window. It had felt sudden, ridiculous, impulsive. And yet,
“Okay,” he’d said. It felt like the only word he could manage that night, but it still came out steady. Carlos paused.
“Wait, seriously?”
“Yeah. Let’s do it,” Lando had smiled, something sparking in his chest, “let’s run away. Or whatever this is.” There had been silence. Then a sound on the other end of the line, something that had sounded like a laugh tangled up in a sob.
“Only you, Lando.”
Lando had squawked. “You’re the terrible influence, not me” he had shot back.
“You started it.”
“Real mature, Carlos” Lando had grinned, adrenaline humming under his skin. “When do we fly?”
He remembered showing up at Carlos’ flat that night, anxiety still buzzing in his limbs like static. The moment Carlos opened the door, Lando pulled him into a hug, tight and desperate, so fucking relieved to see him okay. His hands fisted in the back of Carlos’ t-shirt like he was afraid to let go, like the fabric might anchor him. Carlos startled at first, caught off guard, but his arms had slid around Lando, holding him close.
“Hey, cabrón,” he'd murmured softly, “it’s alright. I’m fine,”
Lando huffed, tightening his grip.
“I’m the one offering you comfort right now,” he muttered into Carlos’ shoulder, stubborn.
Carlos huffed a quiet laugh against his hair, warm and a little breathless. “Could’ve fooled me,” he’d said, but didn’t let go either.
They had stood there just like that for a long moment, the hallway light humming above them, Lando’s heart gradually slowing in his chest. The world outside faded to a hush.
“You scared the hell out of me,” Lando admitted, voice muffled into Carlos’ collar.
“Sorry,” Carlos said.
“I’ll always be here for you,” Lando said, looking into Carlos’ eyes, determined for him to understand,
“Thank you,” Carlos said, voice tight, his hands around Lando's waist tensed slightly.
They had spent the rest of the night tucked on Carlos’ couch, munching through chips and watching Love Island reruns. Lando hadn’t dared ask what had brought this on, sensing there had been something fragile in the air that would shatter if acknowledged.
Looking at Carlos now Lando can see the quiet cracks in his posture. Carlos looks relaxed, yes, sun-warmed, tea in hand, hair still damp from the ocean. But there is weight on his shoulders again, tension in the set of his jaw. Like he was holding something heavy. Lando sighs. He just wants to shoulder some of the weight Carlos carries.
“I meant it, you know?”
“Meant what?
“I’d follow you anywhere, you know that? No questions asked”
Carlos opened his eyes, squinting at Lando through the golden haze of sunset. His mouth twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I know.”
“Do you?” Lando presses, “Carlos you’re my best friend, there is no one I trust more than you, no one who knows me as well as you,”
Carlos sighed,
“I broke up with Ella.”
“Oh,” Lando breathes, shocked, “I’m so sorry man, What caused it?”
He privately thinks that perhaps this was a long time coming. Ella was a wonderful lady. Great for Carlos in theory, pretty, polite, kind, but she’d never really seen Carlos. She took him to meet her family in starched shirts, booked to dine in fancy restaurants with names Lando couldn’t even pronounce. And in return Carlos had changed around her. Squaring his shoulders, laughing quieter, ordering dark beers instead of the sweet cider Lando knows he prefers. She didn’t know how Carlos’ ears flushed pink when he was embarrassed, or that he loved collecting weird little facts and watching the National Geographic channel late at night. She didn’t know about the ridiculous chili-themed bed socks he wore around his flat.
“I’m 27,” Carlos says, and Lando blinks at the non-sequitur.
“Huh?”
“I’m 27 and I don’t have a long-term girlfriend or a particularly great job, and I just,” He pushes his head into his hands, “I realised that I was only dating her to fill in at least one checkbox for the perfect son, and she didn’t deserve that from me,”
Lando doesn't say anything at first. Letting the quiet settle around them again, the waves crashing softly in the background. He sipped his tea, waiting.
“I think I knew,” Carlos continues after a moment, voice quieter now, “for a long time. That it wasn’t right. But I kept trying to force it. Because I thought… maybe if I could just make this one thing work, then everything else would fall into place and make sense too.”
Fuck, that's- Lando wants to reach out so badly, but doesn't want to shatter the moment. He takes a moment to gather himself.
“You don’t have to be the perfect son,” Lando says eventually, his voice soft. “Or have everything figured out by twenty-seven, you’re not letting anybody down.” He allows himself to rest one hand lightly on Carlos’ shoulder.
Carlos looks over at him, eyes a little glassy in the orange glow of the setting sun. He’s gripping his mug so tight Lando can see his knuckles going white.
“It’s an expectation. I owe something, something I might never be able to give. And I keep thinking if I just tried harder.” He cuts himself off.
The words hang heavy in the air. Lando draws in a breath, his heart tightening like an angry fist in his chest. He hates that Carlos believes that. That he’s been made to believe it. What a load of fucking rubbish. This problem suddenly feels big, intense, and suddenly Lando feels overwhelmed by the powerlessness of it all. He just wants to help, gather Carlos up in his arms, and hold him tight, whisper comforting words into his ear and make Carlos’ problems go away, make it all alright again.
“Well, for what it’s worth,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, “I like you just how you are.”
Carlos blinks at him,
“Oh,”
Then he buries his head in his hands and starts to shake.
“Carlos?” Lando says, alarmed, and fuck, he’s crying, Carlos is crying and everything is wrong . Lando doesn’t even think- just leaps over to Carlos closing the space between them in a heartbeat, wrapping an arm around Carlos’ shoulders, pulling him close into a hug. Carlos crumples against him.
“Hey, hey” Lando rubs a hand around in circles on Carlos' back, “It’s alright. You’re alright. I’ve got you,”
Carlos leans into him, making these shuddering little breaths, like they’re tearing right out of his chest, like he’s been holding it in for years and only just now is he letting himself fall apart, fuck . Lando presses Carlos' head a little more firmly against his shoulder, his heart squeezing painfully. Carlos clutches the back of Lando’s shirt like a lifeline. He’s shaking so badly it’s like he’s coming apart in Lando’s arms. Lando presses his forehead against Carlos’ temple, keeping his voice low and certain,
"I’m not going anywhere, okay?" Lando whispers, “you’re stuck with me now,"
Carlos lets out a wet, broken laugh against his shoulder.
"Even if you get sick of me," Lando adds, patting Carlos' hair, "I’ll still be here."
“Like mold, you are,” Carlos croaks, "or like, bed bugs,"
“Rude,” Lando sniffs, mock-offended. “Here I am, being a supportive mate.”
Carlos pulls back a little, scrubbing his sleeve across his face.
“You’re the worst,” he says hoarsely.
“You love it.”
Carlos gives him a long, tired look, and then a small, real smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I do.”
Lando’s heart almost combusts right then and there.
“Good,” Lando says, voice a little rough, “because you’re stuck with me forever, no take backsies."
Carlos groans, slumping back against Lando’s shoulder. “You’re lucky I’m emotionally compromised right now,” he mutters. “Or I’d push you into the sea.”
“You wish you were that strong, mate.”
Carlos lets out another breath, softer this time. His hands finally unclench around Lando’s shirt.
“Thanks,” he says, and this time his voice is a bit more sure. Lando is just so glad that Carlos trusts him like this, that he feels comfortable enough to share, to lift a bit of the weight off his shoulders.
“Anytime,” Lando answers.
They crawl into their tiny 2-person tent later that night, and, under the cover of darkness, Carlos lets Lando tug him down, resting his head in Lando’s lap. Lando hesitates for a second, then starts carding gentle fingers through Carlos’ hair.
“My ex used to do this to me when I got overwhelmed,” Lando says, scritching at his scalp lightly with his nails. “S’posed to calm you down, or whatever.”
Carlos lets out a breath, low and shaky. “This is... kinda a lot, eh?” he says with a crooked smile, the one he wears when he’s trying to keep calm, but he doesn’t move away. If anything, he moves in closer, pushing into Lando’s hands, eyes fluttering shut. Lando makes a concentrated effort to keep his eyes on Carlos’ hair, not his face and they way it's gone slack and relaxed, beautiful.
They both settle. It’s a familiar kind of comfort. A little more intimate, maybe, but not unfamiliar. They’ve always had a way of falling into each other like this, no big deal.
“Has always worked for me,” Lando adds with a small shrug. Carlos is silent for a moment, contemplative.
“It’s calming “ He finally says, "Everything is quiet now,”
Lando tilts his head back and lets the stillness settle in too, listening to the wind and waves outside. When he glances down again, Carlos’ hand is loosely curled in the fabric of his pug-themed pyjama pants, an anchor to hold onto.
“We will sort it out,” He whispers, voice barely rising above the sound of the wind and sea outside the tent walls. Carlos just nods, already halfway asleep.
Lando keeps combing through the strands, long after Carlos' breathing evens out.